Chapter Text
Written for a prompt on LJ's Norsekink – "Sif's the perfect Asgardian woman. She's of noble birth, she's beautiful, she's a great warrior. EVERYONE, from Odin Allfather to the lowliest servant, expects her to marry Thor. But then she and Loki elope."
NB – I only know Thor from the movie, so apologies in advance for anything out of sync or incorrect with the comics/myths. Also, I'm not sure of the names for some things, so any constructive criticism is definitely wanted!
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“Where is he?” Those were the first words Sif spoke as her feet touched the floor of the great Gateway between the realms. It took her less than a moment to find her footing after the sudden rush of speed of the Bifrost and she looked towards her half-brother in earnest. She did not have to speak the name of who she sought, he knew well enough there was only ever one man Sif wanted to see after a battle; that was if he did not already accompany them.
“He is in the great library,” Heimdall responded, his voice as dark and grave as ever, his voice still full of disapproval and reprimand, even now.
Sif nodded her head in acknowledgement and appreciation and then marched out of the great Gateway, jumping upon her black stallion and racing back across the Rainbow Bridge, leaving her companions in the dust. Whether they ever cared when she rushed off, Sif did not know, nor did thoughts like that ever cross her mind. She was too intent upon seeing him, the God of Mischief and Magic, the Trickster and Silvertongue, Loki Odinson, her husband.
The thought of that word still sent a shiver of excitement down Sif’s spine, even though it was often followed by the memories of cruel whispers and malicious gossip, twisted stories and blatant lies made up of how the Goddess of War, the great warrior maiden, had married the wrong prince. The malevolent whispers were not as great as they once were, but they still followed them around, haunting them and casting shadows on their otherwise, relatively happy marriage.
When their elopement had first become known, there was barely a soul in Asgard who was not shocked and surprised, who did not join in the murmurings and discontent at the news. Everyone had their own theories as to why it had happened, from a trick of the God of Mischief to an enchantment from the Dwarves, even a political manoeuvre of the Allfather’s to help bring peace among the Frost Giants and the Asgardians. One thing all the theories had in common, though, was a form of magic or mischief, deception or political gain. None of them even considered the possibility that the elopement was brought about due to the feelings of those involved. They could not even begin to comprehend that the beautiful and powerful Lady Sif should choose to marry the second prince out of choice, out of love. They did not understand why she should choose him, not even a real Æsir, but a Frost Giant, when she could have married the first, the real, prince, the great and mighty Thor, who had driven the citizens into battle and victory countless times and who would one day become king of the whole of Asgard. Why would she turn down her chance to become Queen, to rule beside the wielder of Mjölnir, the most powerful of all weapons in all the nine realms?
The questions and stares had followed her wherever she went, the people unable to understand her choice and so filling the spaces with their own crazy and vicious speculations on the elopement. And why should they understand? Sif had often thought. There were times when even she could not comprehend the decision of her own heart. But then they did not know the Loki she knew, the Loki she had grown up with, had become friends and comrades with and who had eventually become her lover. They did not know the Loki who hid behind his silver laced words, his tricks and his mischief, who kept himself apart from the brash warriors that lined the banqueting halls across Asgard. They had never seen the value of the second prince, who preferred to wield magic and cunning rather than sword and lance, who saw the power, the worth, in sorcery and knowledge and not in brute force and battle. Even Sif, his wife, could never claim to fully understand the God of Mischief; she could only understand those parts of himself he chose to share with her, could only gleam what little she could when his walls were down and his thoughts and emotions showed through.
So whilst the whispers that surrounded their elopement did not surprise Sif, they angered and frustrated her. She had longed to shout out to all of Asgard the true value of her husband, to put straight and fight all the rumours and lies that abounded with nothing but the truth. But she knew it would do no good, for people never listened to truth unless their hearts and minds were open, and their hearts had always been closed to the second prince of Asgard, even before they knew the reality of his heritage and understood his involvement in the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge and the death of the Jötunn’s king. Even when Odin and Frigga and Thor had welcomed back their son and brother with open arms after his time of repentance on Midgard, the hearts of the Æsir had remained firmly shut to their prodigal prince. And their hostility and resentment towards the God of Mischief only intensified when he stole and married the woman who was destined to marry their future king and become their sovereign Queen.
Besides, Loki had expressly forbidden her from telling everyone the truth and in this regard she knew she had to obey her husband. “They will not understand,” and, “they will not care,” he had pronounced and Sif had only conceded for she knew the truth that lay within these words of the trickster god. And so the whispers and the conspiracy theories had abounded, slowly abating, but still there, even now, when life was shown to continue on much as it ever had. Even when Thor, their favourite prince and the pride of all Asgard, had not cared, had even blessed the marriage that took away his expected bride. But the people did not care, they did not understand and they did not know the truth of how the marriage had come to pass. Perhaps if they had, they may not look upon the so called treachery of the second prince with quite so much malice and contempt. Perhaps if they knew how much sacrifice had been behind the trickster’s actions, they would not condemn him so. But they did not know, and would never understand, and Sif had long ago learnt to live with the whispers and stares of the people of Asgard.
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Hope you enjoyed reading it! More chapters should be on their way soon.
Oh and I'm fully aware that Sif/Loki are not "canon". However, in the film, there is nothing to say they aren't canon either (and there're certainly lots of moments that could be interpreted as past/present or future romance).
Chapter Text
Just like to say again I only know Thor really from the film, so please make allowances for any mistakes with names of things etc (though please point them out!). Also, I’ve thrown in a few of my own ideas here, so I hope they don’t conflict too much with canon. (and Loki/Sif are not really anti-canon in the film, you can certainly interpret their actions in a shippy way! (they have bucket loads of intense chemistry in my opinion :-) )
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When she neared the great, golden gates of the citadel, Sif barely slowed her pace, the gatekeeper only just clearing the way in time for the lady warrior and her stallion to gallop through. She didn’t even have time to spare him a glance, her horse travelling as fast as it was able to on the narrow Rainbow Bridge. As Sif approached the palace walls though, she sat deeper into her saddle and pulled firmly on the reins, bringing them both to a steady, slower trot. When the guard on duty approached her, Sif leapt off the horse and landed firmly on her feet, barely pausing for a moment as she handed the reins to the guard, years of practice making the fluid movement second nature. She was about to thank the guard for taking her horse, when he happened to look down and see the inside of her right wrist, which had become exposed as her cloak had slipped. The look of disgust that crossed the guard’s face as he recognised the mark she bore, though gone in an instant, was as clear as crystal to Sif and she narrowed her eyes in the way long practiced after centuries of battle. The guard flinched under her steadfast and defiant gaze and at least had the decency to look ashamed at his reaction. Without sparing him another glance or a single word, Sif turned away and marched into the golden palace, her grey silk cloak billowing behind her in the speed of the movement.
Only once she was within the palace walls and out of sight of the scornful guard, did Sif give in to the urge to look upon her wrist and see the mark there which had been so repulsive to him. It was Loki’s mark, the sign of the God of Mischief, entwined with hers, Lady Sif, the Goddess of War, and it was a symbol of their elopement, their bond and their eternal marriage. The long horned helmet lay in the middle and was cut diagonally through with a sword on the right and a spear on the left, crossing in the middle and all encased by three never ending circles plaited together. The interlocking letters of L and S overlaid these insignias and all were surrounded by ancient rune markings full of ethereal strength and power. Sometimes the mark was difficult to see, but now it glowed brightly in an ever changing pattern of red and green light, spanning nearly the breadth of Sif’s wrist. It looked almost as if it were burning, but it gave her skin nothing but tingling warmth and, as she gently caressed it with her left fingers, the colours only danced before her eyes ever brighter. Though there were no others around, out of habit did she hide her smile as she looked upon their mark; the symbol of her relationship and connection to the trickster god. Even though it could still turn the faces of the most gracious of courtiers to revulsion when they recognised and remembered its full meaning, it filled Sif with a comfort and an affection she found quite difficult to describe. It swelled her heart and spurned on her footsteps ever faster as she marched through the magnificent and ornate corridors of the golden palace, heading towards the great library.
As the distance faded between herself and Loki, the mark on her wrist grew ever brighter, the colours spinning and swirling along their markings like rain drops over cracked, parched earth. Warming and quenching her skin as if they knew they were growing closer to their matching pair, to their rightful home. The sparkling array of green and red mixing and merging together took on meaning, intricate patterns, almost as if they were singing a soundless song of joy, a harmony resonating and growing in intensity with every step she took. The smile hiding in her eyes broke free and her mouth widened into a grin as she watched the colours dancing before her eyes, transfixed by the movement as her feet guided her along corridors they knew so well. The hood of her cloak hid her face from view, but those she passed along the corridor knew who she was immediately, the powerful lady warrior and they knew better than to cross paths with her. If some looked at her in reproach and resentment and others in awe and admiration as she returned from battle, Sif was not aware, she paid them no heed. The red and green lights playing across her wrist as she ran her fingers lightly over the mark, and the thoughts of the one she was seeking, was all Sif could care enough to comprehend.
She wondered if Loki was watching his mark, if he could see the lines adorning his wrist glowing in their brilliant brightness as she drew near. She wondered if he was waiting for her, as impatience to see her as she was to see him. The thought sped on her footsteps and she dropped her wrist to quicken her pace, her arms now swinging quickly beside her as she strode across the great corridors. Thinking, not for the first time, why the great library was so far away, why it was hidden in some far off corner of the palace, well away from the warriors entrance. It was too far and with every step she took, her mark glowed ever brighter, visible now through even the thickness of her silk cloak.
Sometimes, when she was with Loki, he would make the matching insignias on their wrists come alive; the sword and spear would do battle inside the rings, watched over by the horned helmet and cheered on by the runes. The two letters of their namesake sometimes joining in the battle, changing into red and green ghosts, caught in an endless battle that would never be won and never be lost. But a victory was never important, for there was no war to conquer anymore, not between the red and green spectres locked in their continual combat, keeping them connected and keeping them together, happy and with purpose. The figures dancing around each other in perfect harmony, perfect control and perfect balance, before joining as one, the colours merging as the battle, for now, was laid to rest. Sif would laugh and cheer as the figures played their parts, acting out different adventures as Loki’s brilliant imagination and magic was brought to life around them.
Sif still did not know how much of the magic embedded within the marks were laid there when they first appeared, when their wedding took place, and how much magic Loki had instilled in them since. The magic was deep, though, powerful and ancient and she could feel it always running through her veins, growing stronger when Loki was by her side. For as long as Sif could remember, the marks had always shone brighter when they were close, and would fade away to almost nothing when there was great distance between them. Thoughts of the other would bring back their glow, albeit faint, and Loki had shown her simple tricks and glamour for hiding their brightness when stealth and secrecy were needed. She rarely used the tricks he’d taught her, the mark and its playful lights always such a joy, but Loki instructing her in the ways to do so had meant more to her than she had ever been able to express. Loki, for his part, did little to hide the mark too, their brilliant glow always shining bright beneath the black, long sleeved tunics he often wore.
She had asked him, of course, countless times, how much the magic of their marks were due to him. But she was always met with a grin, a smirk and a quirk of the eyebrows as he sometimes deigned to answer, “My Lady Sif, why ever would I do such a thing?” Sif had never any reply, for it mattered little other than curiosity, and she usually only smiled and laughed at her mischievous husband, often having to wipe the smirk off his face with a kiss. Much as she had done the day they’d first appeared, when they eloped. Such a long time ago now, but an ever present memory within her mind, bringing her joy and happiness and a strong, almost overwhelming feeling within her heart that she could not express. Even if the events surrounding their marriage had been far from perfect, if events out of their control had forced their hand and clouded their happiness. Even if near everyone’s reaction had been filled with doubt and derision, ridicule and reproach. But Sif liked to look with warmth and fondness on that time, the more painful memories faded with the passage of many months and years, until only the happiest of those remained. They were never fully gone though, memories never fully erased and, reminded of the guard’s cruel expression, the painful recollections returned until Sif’s smile faded and the mark on her wrist lost some of its brightness and warmth.
There were never any regrets, not for Sif. How could there be? When the events that had transpired had only, in the end, brought her such happiness and contentment. Loki though, in all his self doubts, even now, would sometimes wonder and suspect. When the whispers became louder, or the stares more fierce, he would question her on whether she harboured any, would sometimes fail to believe her when she tried to tell him, show him, otherwise. At these times, Loki’s own doubts would fester and hers would grow in reflection, when the searing glow of their marks would fade and almost wither under the doubts. Until she wondered if Loki himself did not regret his decision. His idea.
For it was Loki’s idea, their elopement, as so many of their adventures over the years had been, with Thor and the Warriors Three. The trickster god playing his games and having his fun. Only this had been no game, they had no choice, not really. And so the doubts remained, at times, casting their shadow over their marriage. But then Sif always had been less caring of the whispers and the stares from the people of Asgard. She was a warrior and she was strong; she was used to fighting to get what she wanted.
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Okay, that’s the end of chapter 2. Sorry it got so long and waffly – my muse rather got carried away! I’ll try and rein her in a bit better in subsequent chapters – if anyone is still reading! If you are, thanks! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome!
Chapter Text
“He wants you to marry Thor,” Loki had said, his voice measured, controlled, calm, though even he had not been able to hide the sadness and bitterness etched within his expression.
Those words, and the image of Loki’s face, still haunted Sif, echoing round and round her mind; the words that had set in motion their elopement, had been the basis for their whole marriage and caused them both to be scorned by nearly all of Asgard. Whilst she had no regrets, those words epitomised everything that was wrong between them; all the doubts and painful memories that plagued them when the whispers and the stares grew past forbearance. When the slights and reprimanding looks of the people of Asgard made them remember why their marriage had even had to take place, that they had no other choice...
Sif’s footsteps faltered a moment, a slight pause in her march as she was bombarded with these painful recollections. She tried to push them away, quickening her pace once again, trying to drive them out with each clang of her boot on the marble floor. It did no good; the pain of their past which she tried to keep locked away so deeply came flooding back and all she could do was increase her speed and wait for the moment when she’d see Loki again. For it would only be then, when she saw his face, felt his arms around her and his lips upon hers, that the painful memories would be pushed away and, once again, only the pleasant ones would remain. For now though, as she marched across the great corridors of the golden palace of Asgard, which seemed to grow longer with every step she took, the memories of the events conspiring to bring about their marriage barraged her thoughts.
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It had been a beautiful, summers day, when the skies were such a crystal clear blue even the moons and the stars could be seen shimmering around Asgard in their distant skies. When the oppressive, smouldering heat made even the fiercest and most dedicated of warriors abandon their training to seek rest and shade. Only Sif seemed determined to keep practicing, standing by the fighting arena with her sword in hand, swinging it menacingly in the air as she tried to encourage the Warriors Three to join her.
“It is far too hot to even eat in this weather!” Volstagg complained as he pushed away the plate of chicken wings in front of him.
“But you have already had a long rest, it is high time we were practicing again.”
“If it is too hot for even Volstagg to consume food, then it is far too hot to even think about fighting, Sif.” Fandral answered. He didn’t even flinch as Sif’s sword audibly cut through the air and landed inches way from his chest. His only answer to her threat was to close his eyes and take on the appearance of slumber once more. Sif turned her gaze to Hogun, but he was already wise enough to feign sleep and was too far away for her to threaten with her sword. She needed a spear, but they were on the far side of the arena with the other weapons. Where Thor stood, his sword hung loosely by his side, lost in thought and staring into the distance, as he ever seemed to be, his mind in the distant land of Midgard.
Narrowing her eyes at her friend’s desolate countenance, Sif decided immediately to take action and marched over to him, her footsteps loud and her sword swinging through the air, glistening in the bright sunlight as if trying to blind the enemy. Thor should have heard and seen her approach, but it was only when Sif called his name that he looked up with a start. He saw the sword in her hand held out in invitation and shook his head slowly.
“I am sorry, Sif, but it is too hot now to fight.” He glanced towards his own sword, as if suddenly aware he was holding it, and sheathed it quickly. “I think I will retire inside, where it is cooler.” With that, he then turned and walked away, back towards the palace, his head bowed again in thought and his footsteps slow and weary, as if every movement were a challenge.
Sif watched him walk away, her thoughts turning melancholy as she remembered the reasons for Thor’s disquiet. He missed her, the mortal Jane, who had visited them on Asgard only the previous week. The very moment when the bifrost had been repaired, Thor could not be stopped from returning to Midgard and visiting Jane. Sif did not know all the particulars of their time on that realm, but she did know that he had formed with a strange group of warriors who called themselves the Avengers. She knew that between them they had tracked down and fought with Loki, who had been plotting mischief upon the people of Midgard. Neither Loki nor Thor would tell her what this mischief involved, but she knew it had been far from pleasant for Thor and his mortal friends and that it had led to Loki’s defeat. After seeing Jane again, Thor had returned home alone, for Loki had stayed on Midgard, hiding out and licking his wounds.
Yet it was not long before Thor returned to Midgard and this time his return did not find him alone. Though the second prince had yet to return, his mortal woman had accompanied him and Thor had proudly paraded around with the Midgardian, as if she were a prize he’d collected in battle. Thor’s melancholy mood had brightened to such a beaming radiance it had made Sol the sun goddess pale in comparison and even Sif had been delighted to see her dearest friend so happy. Jane had not stayed long in Asgard though, the Allfather had insisted she return to her own world soon and this had only left Thor in even greater desolation and despondency. On Thor’s urging and, if rumours were to be believed, threatening, the Allfather had conceded that Jane would be able to return, but her visits were few and far between and every one left Thor even more melancholy than the last.
This last visit of the mortal woman was no exception and Thor’s dark mood had followed him around like a shadow for days. Sif was worried for him, but she did not know what she could do, especially when he turned down the opportunity to spar with her, usually such a successful diversion for any of them when they were troubled.
With a heavy sigh, Sif turned back around towards the Warriors Three, just in time to see them suddenly lie down in pretence of sleep. She would find no distraction in any of them today and Sif needed her own diversion as much as Thor. She took a few practiced steps across the arena, lunging forwards with her sword dancing in the sunlight, before spinning around and dropping to the floor as if avoiding an attack. She kicked her leg out and thrust her sword upwards, imagining the feel of it sinking into the hard, resilient flesh of a troll as it was slain at her hands. It was of no use though, it did nothing to stop Sif’s own restless thoughts and worries from ricocheting around her mind, every slash of her sword and beat of her feet upon the dusty earth merely compounding and intensifying her uncertainties. Even the thumping of her heart and the sound of her heavy breathing as she jumped forwards and upwards, side to side in practiced steps as old as time, were unable to drown out the anxieties that plagued her.
Sif sheathed her sword in resignation, giving up on practice today. It really was too hot and she swept her hair away from her face, looking up at the bright sunshine with her eyes closed, catching her breath for a few moments before looking around her. She knew it was hopeless though, he was not there, she had not seen him all day, not even that morning, for he had gone by the time she had awakened. Her hand clenched tightly around the hilt of her sword and a strange ache began in her heart as her thoughts finally got the better of her determination and pushed through. She was worried about him, more so than usual, for he had been growing more and more distant with each passing day, each passing hour.
It had all begun around the time of the mortal’s previous visit, the first since Loki’s return to Asgard. He had been watching her carefully, her and Thor, and the reactions of everyone around them. At first Sif thought him jealous of the attention the mortal was receiving, but as she watched him watching them, she noticed the way his face and behaviour had changed. As the mortal’s visit had continued, Loki had grown quieter, more subdued and contemplative, such a small shift that most would not have noticed. But Sif knew Loki well, had grown up with the trickster god and she had seen the way his eyes narrowed and his hands clenched, the way his head tilted slightly to the side, listening to every word going on around them. She had watched his eyes flickering fast, taking in and scrutinising every expression and every glance of their friends and his family. She had almost seen his mind working; seen him examining and cataloguing away every piece of evidence, every word and action, storing them away for future reference and analysis.
He had started to grow distant then too, shutting himself away from her and refusing to talk about what was troubling him. Loki had always been like that though, the more a problem vexed him, the more he would hide himself away and Sif had long ago learnt the signs and to leave him be. But since Loki’s fall to Midgard, since the truth had come out of his true heritage and they had all learnt just what he was capable of, Sif had been determined to try harder. She would no longer leave Loki alone with his tricks and his plottings, no longer let his doubts and worries fester and turn him bitter and vengeful. So she had tried to work out what was disturbing him, what worries clouded his mind. Yet Loki was not used to sharing his problems and Sif was not used to convincing him to and, when Loki’s mood had brightened a few days later, when the smirk in his lips and the laughter in his eyes had returned, Sif had decided to just let it be.
But Jane’s most recent visit had thrown Loki into a much darker, more hostile and unbalanced mood and so Sif had done her best to push him further, to prise the truth out of him and make him reveal just what was plaguing him. Her actions had not as yet succeeded and left Sif with a growing, aching concern for him, a gnawing, overwhelming fear that Loki may return to what he had once become, when Thor had been banished to Midgard. That thought scared her more than any other, a churning, paralysing fear which she’d tried to fight with weapons, slashing her sword through the air to slay the demons in her mind. Hoping the clanging of weapons and shouts of fighting with her friends would drown out these fears that stifled her, that stifled Loki and caused only a growing, painful distance between them.
Sif took a last contemptuous look at the Warriors Three, the only evidence that their slumber was feigned being the odd opening of their eyes, watching her as she stood there, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword tightly, until the fingers became white. It would do no good to let things fester. She was a warrior, the Goddess of War, and she itched to take action, to fix whatever problems were stirring, to fight whatever battle needed to be won. With her mind at once determined, resolute and fixed upon one purpose, she spun on her heel and marched away from the training area. She had to find Loki and she had a very good idea where he had sulked off to.
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Thanks for reading and I hope to get the next chapter up soon. I hope your enjoying it and that the jump to the past didn’t jar too much – I was trying to avoid writing it all in past tense. Reviews, good or bad, are always welcome
Chapter Text
There were only a limited number of places Loki would hide when he wanted to be found by those closest to him and that day had been no exception. That day when finding Loki had set them on a path they had no control over, a path that changed their lives completely and forever. For it was when Sif found Loki that hot, summer’s day, that he shared with her his troubles and set in motion the wheels that turned to bring about their infamous marriage. If Sif had known what was about to happen, perhaps she would not have been in such a rush to find him, maybe she would have slowed in her search, given up the hunt sooner and not let the events come to pass. Or perhaps she would have simply found him faster, eagerly hurried to his side and pushed him to the truth harder, brought about the chain of events leading to their elopement quicker. As it was Sif could never have known what awaited her at the end of her search, so with her mind only focused on finding Loki and forcing him admit to what was troubling him, she went through his usual haunts.
Sif tried the nearest place to the training grounds first, which was the great and majestic library, a place Sif herself never visited unless she aimed to find Loki there. At the back of the library, where the shadows lengthened, the marbled floor lay cracked and the dust that hung over the shelves was thick enough to write her name in, and plenty were the times Sif had done exactly that during her childhood. Where the great, hefty books with their ornate and intricately carved covers were yellowed and scratched, the text faded and worn and the pages curled with age. Where the great words written within spoke of magic and spells beyond those of all but the greatest of sorcerers; powerful magic that had laid to rest trapped in their thick bindings for centuries. Behind all this, at the bottom of the long row of dusty shelves and dirty flagstones, lay a small, almost hidden alcove, a small bay window with a seat just about big enough for two, the soft cushions now threadbare and faded with age and use. Here, Sif could usually find the trickster; his head buried in one of the ancient texts, his face tight with concentration and smeared with the dust upon the pages and the ink from his quill as he scribbled his notes down. But he was not here to be found this day; the seat below the window, which looked out upon the sprawling gardens of the palace, remained devoid of any life or any books, of any dust or any ink.
Without another thought, and without a single word, Sif turned on her heel and walked briskly out of the great library, resisting the urge to sneeze from all the dust and all the more determined to find the mischief maker now that her first attempt had failed. She decided quickly that he would not be in his chambers, nor anywhere else in the palace; not on a blazing hot summer’s day like today. He would be outside in the shade, away from the scorching sun, where the air was cooler and fresher. So Sif headed straight towards the palace gardens, to the distant corner near the bottom end of the rose garden, far away from the main palace. Where the thick, intertwining branches of the cedar and oak trees sheltered the ground from the blazing sunlight and the dense, high hedges surrounding the palace garden’s cut back a few feet to form a shallow opening. Where the nearby weeping willow hung down in wisps and curls, hiding the small bench that was perched there from view, weathered by the hot sun of an Asgardian summer and the bitter, biting cold of an Asgardian winter and tilted with age as the thick roots of the trees and the overgrown weeds tried to push it over.
The dilapidated bench sat empty though, as lonely as the surroundings and as empty as the air, the only sound and movement being the faint stirrings of the leaves in the trees as the wind filtered through, a gentle breeze doing little to ease the blistering heat beating down around the enclosure. Sid did not linger though, despite the tranquillity and coolness of the shade, for there was no doubt now in Sif’s mind as to where Loki would be and she headed there without another thought. She would have gone there straight away if it wasn’t for the distance, for it was the most likeliest of places to find the God of Mischief on such a day as this. Away from the gardens and past the sprawling houses and busy streets that made up the small town next to the golden palace. Past the outer walls of the citadel, past the meadows full of wild flowers of every colour of the Rainbow Bridge, dancing merrily in the faint, cooling breeze. Past the first, great ash and elm trees of the forest and just within their thick walls, where the light was sickly and pale and the floor a tangled mass of roots and fallen leaves. Where the only sounds to ever be heard was the wind whispering through the trees, the distant grunt and rustling of beasts burrowing through the undergrowth and the occasional squawk of the birds of prey as they crashed down through the thick canopy to capture their prey.
Sif had long ago stopped being afraid of the forest and the stories of the beasts that lived there. Even as a small girl, she had followed the two princes in without question and had now faced many of the beasts that lived within its mystical depths, even slaughtered those few who dared to challenge them on their adventures. So the quiet, deathly stillness, the sudden, startlingly loud crunch of the creatures that lived there and the stifling, muggy air of the forest did not alarm her. With a determined stride she stepped off the main path, following the faint markings in the undergrowth with confidence, the way long etched and burned within her memory. It was not far off the main path, but Sif had never known another out of their trio to walk this way, not since her, Loki and Thor had discovered it in their youth, many centuries ago. Sif had sometimes wondered if Loki had protected it somehow, cast out his spells to deter any visitors and hide it from their searching gaze. She always forgot to ask him though, whenever the thought struck her and she questioned now whether it was because she was afraid of the answer he may give.
Despite the uneven ground and the tangled roots and rotten leaves that lay beneath her boots, Sif’s footsteps never faltered, not until she stepped out of the thick wall of gnarled trees and into the opening that poured through with sunlight, blindingly bright after the dimness of the forest. It was not the sudden, burning sunshine that caused Sif’s footsteps to stop though, nor was it the whip of the cool wind that swirled around the clearing and whipped her hair across her face. Neither was it the distant pounding of the waterfall further upstream, nor the river that gushed and raged along its narrow channel, rushing down hill with all the speed and vengeance of an army hurtling towards battle. The sound, though distant and faint, was deafeningly loud to Sif ears as she stepped out into the opening, the sudden noise a stark contrast to the quiet silence she’d grown accustomed to on her journey here.
It was the figure sat in the centre of the clearing that stopped Sif’s march in its tracks, his head bowed down and his back slumped in defeat. Loki, the trickster god, the second prince of Asgard and the reason for her fervent quest, sitting there so dejectedly, looking so lost and lonely, so small against the tall, mighty trees of the forest surrounding him.
The sight of him made Sif’s breath catch in her throat and her heart miss a beat, before it started to thump loudly within her chest. He looked so sad sat there, like the boy she knew from her childhood, with his hands by his sides on the damp earth and his feet dangling over the edge of the bank, into the cool waters of the pool below. The books by his side lay unopened, stacked neatly in a small pile and his face was cast in shadow, the great oak that spread its branches out into the clearing throwing half the pool in darkness.
Loki showed no acknowledgement of her presence, no sign that he had seen her, but Sif knew he was well aware that she stood there, at the edge of the clearing, watching him. No doubt he’d thrown out spells across the open space, along the main paths of the forest, to warn him of any approach. He was sure to have heard the sound of her footsteps, rarely quiet and even less so on the crunchy leaves of the forest floor. But he did not turn towards her, nor speak nor even move. So Sif stood and watched him for a few moments, watching as a few stray beams of sunlight broke free of the great oak and poured through, dancing across Loki’s face in time to the wind that sang around the trees, stirring the leaves and causing the sunlight to flicker and shift. She watched him because she was unsure of what to do, what to say to the man in front of her. The words that had formed in her mind on the walk here felt heavy in her mouth, they choked in her throat and froze on her tongue. It was not like Sif to prepare in advance like this, she usually planned, decided and acted within the space of a single breath, but the journey here had leant itself well to planning her speech. Only now those carefully chosen words fell away and left her feeling awkward and nervous, unsure of herself and what to do.
It was not a feeling Sif particularly liked and rarely did she experience it, so with a firm shake of her head she forced herself to march forwards, to sit beside him by the waters edge, wrapping her arms around her knees and holding them up so her boots did not get wet in the deep pool. As she sat, she was ever careful to keep her distance from him, to not let herself brush against his body or move herself too close. It was ridiculous of her really, this distance she was careful to maintain, for had they not only last night stolen kisses under the Asgardian starlight and whispered sweet nothings softly into each others ears? Had they not crept away from the banqueting hall, shrouded from sight and holding each other close, sharing a bed in her chambers? But that was last night and this was the bright light of day, where things were so much more real and potent, where it was so much more difficult to hide. For their actions now could not be so easily forgotten, the words they spoke and the truth they acknowledged so easily ignored. Her courage, usually so strong and fierce on the battlefield, so hot and burning within her veins when faced with a fight, a challenge, was failing her. It was too easy to let the words remain unspoken, to let the distance that had longed since plagued them, though far worse since the mortals visit, remain.
But today Sif had sought out Loki with one purpose in mind and she was determined that this time she would not fail, that she would not give in to the fear and doubts that pressed at her thoughts. Summoning as much courage as she could, imagining herself not facing her childhood friend and lover, but an enemy she had to fight, a battle she had to win, Sif made her move. She quickly pulled off her boots and stockings and let her legs dangle into the deep, cool water, shifting towards Loki until their bodies were just touching. When Loki did not move, Sif continued, her actions quick and decisive before her confidence failed her. She reached out and placed her hand over his on the hard ground and let her feet wrap around Loki’s loosely in the water. She stayed like that for a few moments, seeking out greater courage and, when Loki still made no reaction to her presence, she took the final step. Reaching out with her other hand, she gently brushed his thick, dark hair away from his face so she could lean down to whisper in his ear, “Please Loki, tell me what it is that bothers you.”
Sif did not know what reaction she expected, but it was not this. Not for Loki to turn towards her slowly, to let the truth spill from his lips so easily. “He wants you to marry Thor.”
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Thanks to everyone who’s still reading and I’m sorry my muse got rather carried away with all the heavy descriptions! I hope you’re still enjoying it though, there’s more chapters to come. Anyway I’d love to know what you think, good or bad! Thanks!
Chapter Text
At Loki’s words, Sif choked on the breath that caught in her throat, felt her fingers still in his hair and the blood in her veins turn to ice, as if she’d just set foot onto Niflheim. She couldn’t speak, even if she had found the words to say, and so she remained perfectly still, though her heart beat fast, pounding in her ears in time with the distant crashing of the waterfall.
After a lifetime of waiting, Loki turned his head towards her slowly, her fingers in his hair becoming entangled in the thick locks as loose strands feel across his face. The stupid, irrelevant thought that Loki was in dire need of a hair cut flickered across her mind, before she pushed it away and raised the courage to meet Loki’s gaze.
Now that their gazes were locked, Loki spoke the words again, his voice still so measured, so controlled and calm. “He wants you to marry Thor, Sif.”
This time, Sif felt as if the words were burning her, the ice in her veins suddenly melting and exploding into flame as comprehension of the words smashed through into her consciousness. She jumped away from Loki in a flash of speed, standing up sharply on her feet, her hand going reflexively to her sword hilt and her stance set for battle. The only indication that she was not set to strike down her enemy was her head, usually glaring so mockingly and defiantly at whomever dared to face her, now hung down, looking at the ground, avoiding Loki’s cold, emotionless eyes.
The only battle that did commence was in her mind, as it wrestled over the words, trying to strike them down and defeat them. But even she, the Goddess of War, could not fight away words once spoken and so her mind quickly adopted a new tactic, a different strategy to conquer and understand this battle. She was not famed for her wit or intelligence like Loki, but wars were won and lost on the basics of logic, of strategy and stealth. The tide of battle could turn within seconds and a death blow dealt in the space of a heartbeat. And so Sif’s mind was used to working fast, weighing up the situation and administering the best course of action within moments. With a skill hard learnt through centuries of conflict, Sif automatically forced her mind into calmness, sought for the logic within Loki’s words and began to reason and comprehend them.
She pushed the first thought that came to her away, fast. The thought that is was a trick, some game of the God of Mischief. For she had seen the look in his eyes, heard the tone of his voice, and they were empty, far too empty. There was no faint smirk playing across his lips or mischief dancing within his eyes. No, Sif knew it was no trick and his distant, despondent behaviour over the last few days, weeks even, suddenly made sense, the pieces beginning to fall into place. And so the next question pushed itself into her mind. She need not ask who he meant, for there was only one soul in all the nine realms who could scupper Loki’s plans and leave him so defeated, only one who had the power to control the destiny of the future king of Asgard and that was the King himself. And so the question that did spill from her lips, in a voice battle hardened and determined, was, “Why?”
Loki looked away from her then, back down into the crystal clear depths of the water below him. “The mortal, Jane.”
Sif nodded, though not in understanding and Loki continued, his voice slow, as if he was weighing up every word before he spoke. “He is afraid that Thor will choose to marry the mortal, that she will become Asgard’s new Queen. So he intends to marry Thor off before that can happen.”
“But why?” Sif asked again, her stance still strong and determined, though her hand had relaxed on the hilt of her sword.
“She is mortal,” Loki replied simply, turning to look at her once again, as if that answered every question his words could conjure. When Sif still looked on in incomprehension, Loki winced slightly, before he continued. “Surely you must know how he hates the idea of a non Æsir for a queen? How terrible it would be for him should their child become Thor’s heir? How my father feels about polluting the blood of the kings of Asgard!” His voice was growing angry as he spoke and the last few words were almost spat out in contempt. His face turned quickly away from her, but Sif could well imagine the hard and bitter set to his features, just as she saw the way his fingers tightened on the ground under them, fingernails digging into the rich, soft earth.
Sif stopped the next words from tripping from her tongue and instead made herself reconsider the situation, for there was more to Loki’s frustration and viciousness than his words decreed. Sif began to realise that Loki’s deep seated bitterness over the favouritism of Thor and the relatively new knowledge that he, himself, was not a true son of Odin, was threatening to come exploding to the surface. She swallowed nervously, well remembering what had become of them all the last time Loki’s inner turmoil and rage had broken through. A change in battle plan was needed and she made herself sit down again, beside Loki, though she could not quite summon the courage to reach out and touch him. Her presence alone helped calm some of Loki’s tension though and she watched it drain slightly from his face and body.
“But why me?” Sif eventually asked, the next question that had plagued her since Loki had first spoken.
He turned his face towards her and gave her a strange look, an odd mixture of exasperation and disbelief. He spoke slowly, as if talking to a child, carefully; his eyes boring into hers and Sif had to fight hard the urge to fidget and look away. “Because you are the great warrior maiden, Lady Sif. The Goddess of War and Thor’s closest friend. You have proven your worth in countless battles and all of Asgard agrees there could be no finer queen to sit upon their throne.” Loki paused and moved his face closer, his eyes still staring intensely into hers, as if trying to read through to her very soul. He only continued when Sif found herself no longer able to hold his penetrating gaze. “Surely you must know, Sif, that my father has planned your marriage to Thor for many centuries?”
Sif had dropped her eyes because she could see and did not want to acknowledge the truth within his words and now she nodded slowly in acceptance. Loki’s fierce, scrutinising gaze was making her feel guilty, ashamed and she said carefully, her voice more determined than she felt. “I am aware people have ideas, Loki, but certainly of no more than that.”
Loki continued to watch her and Sif forced herself to meet his gaze once more. Her own feelings of shame were beginning to frustrate her; she had nothing to hide, no reason to feel guilt or dishonour, she had done nothing wrong. As the defiance in her gaze grew, Loki looked away and Sif wondered whether he believed her. His gaze fell once more to the still water of the pool, staring so intently into it, as if it held all the answers to the questions of the nine realms, rather than just the rounded pebbles and boulders that lay scattered deep beneath its surface. The water had always been so clear, so still, the surface only marred when her, Thor and Loki had swam within its depths as children. Its peaceful tranquillity a stark contrast to the raging river that ran just out of sight of the clearing, its turbulent waters feeding this small silent pool from underground. Sif stared into the depths, trying to see what Loki did, trying to understand what was going through his mind. All she could see was their reflections, their dark, matching hair and pale faces, though Loki’s was far paler than hers, which was tanned from many days spent under the burning Asgardian sun in the palace training grounds.
Sif watched his reflection for a long moment, tried to read his expression and to understand his thoughts, but his face held no more meaning than the still, clear depths of the pool itself. Sif dropped her legs suddenly, her feet hitting the cool water and his reflection became twisted, distorted before her.
“How do you know?” Sif finally asked, when the water had returned to its mirror like stillness and she could see Loki’s face clearly once more. “Have they said anything?”
Loki’s face twisted into a bitter smirk at her question and he said, bitterly, “Tell me! Why on earth would they tell their adopted son anything at all!” When Sif narrowed her eyes at him through their reflections, her gaze a warning, Loki continued less venomously, “I doubt even mother knows what father is plotting, unless she saw it in one of her visions.”
He paused again and Sif watched as Loki worked hard to make his face emotionless and unreadable once more. His voice now his usual measured tone, he continued, “I know because I see it in his eyes. I see him plotting, watching Thor, watching Jane, watching you.”
At his last words, he turned his head towards her and Sif felt a shiver of fear down her spine; the idea of the Allfather watching her, planning her future so, and the deep emptiness of Loki’s eyes, frightened her. “Are you certain?” She asked, hoping neither her voice nor her expression betrayed her weakness. She was unable to look at Loki though, but she could see him watching her intently through the water’s surface, felt his eyes piercing into hers once more.
“Yes.” Loki answered, the simple word made so much more profound by the heaviness that had crept into his tone. “Though I know not when. But sometime soon, Sif, before the mortal’s next visit.”
Sif nodded, she had no reason to doubt the sincerity in Loki’s words. Instead she felt a distinct and unnerving feeling that Loki was shutting himself off from her once more; turning his gaze back to the clear depths of the pool and silently announcing an end to the matter. Whilst his gaze was still expressionless, Sif could clearly see Loki had already admitted defeat; see the dejection in the weariness of his eyes and the resignation in the slouch of his back.
Loki’s apathetic and despondent behaviour scared Sif into action, and she quickly began, “Then we must go the Allfather now! Before it is too late.” She made as if to jump up, determined to do exactly that, when Loki reached over and grabbed her arm, stilling her. It was the first time he had touched her that day and, though his grip was firm, it was gentle and made her skin burn. She looked up at him suddenly and Loki caught her eye holding it as firmly as he did her arm.
“And what will you say to him, Sif? If he will even grant you an audience!”
Sif glared at Loki, growing more frustrated and annoyed at his apathy. He may be willing to concede defeat so easily, but she was not. She pulled her arm out of his grip, but held his gaze firmly as she said, her voice full of determination, “I will tell him the truth about us.”
“And have all of Asgard know about us?” Loki asked, his voice still frustratingly calm, though Sif noticed he was finding his neutral expression difficult to hold. Good, she thought bitterly, it is about time he showed some emotion about what was actually happening!
“It was you who was always determined to keep our relationship a secret, Loki.” Sif replied coldly, holding his gaze fiercely.
“And you who made no argument of wanting it otherwise.” Loki immediately countered, his voice betraying his bitterness as he continued to hold their intense glare.
Sif was the first to turn away, though not in guilt but exasperation and frustration. She glared into the water and tried to calm her thoughts, it would do them both no good now if they let these age old arguments between them break free. There were far more important matters to discuss than the pitfalls and problems that had plagued their relationship for so long. With an audible sigh and using all her battle strength to push her anger aside, she turned towards Loki and gently covered his hand with her own. Only when Loki turned to face her did she speak, “I would have all of the nine realms know about us, Loki, if it meant I did not have to marry your brother.”
She squeezed his hand and looked at him in earnest, hoping he understood the emotions and thoughts behind her words, things she did not know how to express. Loki only held her gaze for a moment before looking away, letting his hair fall over his face so she could not see his expression clearly, even reflected within the water.
“Do you think it will make any difference?” Loki asked, his voice becoming tainted with resentment as he pulled his hand away from hers. “Do you think my father will care about a small thing like this?”
Sif tried to push down her disappointment and annoyance at Loki for pulling away from her and for brushing off their relationship so simply. “But surely if we explain…”
“It will make no difference!” Loki snapped, cutting her off with his resurgent anger and contempt. “Do you think my father will care enough for his adopted son and his little friend to destroy the plans he’s been setting for centuries?”
“But if Thor protests, if we tell him first and face the Allfather together…”
“Thor!” Loki bellowed, venom cutting through the word, “you think he will dare defy father?”
“But he can’t force me, Loki, I can protest…”
“You!” Loki caught her off guard again with a derisive laugh which chilled Sif to her very bones. “You think you will defy the Allfather? Betray your king who you are sworn as a warrior to obey?”
Sif pulled back from him, feeling her blood run cold as fear slipped through into her veins. Fear at the madness that had crept into his eyes and at the anger that had crept into his voice. There were few things that turned the Goddess of War’s heart to dread, but seeing her lover start to waver on the edge of insanity and remembering painfully what had happened when last he had fallen, turned her very soul to ice and her heart to lead.
She reached for his hand again and clutched at it desperately, trying to bring him back to sanity, back to her. She held her breath as she gazed beseechingly into his eyes, silently begging him to return. “Loki.” She reached out and gently caressed his face, sighing deeply as she felt the tension start to leave his body and his eyes slowly loose the glint of madness that burnt within their emerald depths.
Finally, his face became expressionless once again, with only now a hint of sadness reflecting in his gaze. “There is nothing we can do, Sif.”
“There must be something, Loki,” Sif pleaded, feeling her own frustration grow as Loki’s calmed. “We cannot just sit around and not do anything!”
When Loki remained silent, his face still empty and his countenance still so solemn and dejected, Sif pulled her hand away from his and brought her knees up to clutch against her in frustration, digging her fingers into her legs to try to counteract the throbbing need to take action within her veins.
“There is nothing, Sif.” This time it was Loki’s turn to be comforting and he reached out and took her hand, untwisting it from the other that was clutched tightly around her knees. “We can argue and fight until we have no breath left within us, but it will be of no use, father will never back down on this.” He reached over with his other hand and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers gently brushing against her cheek as he did so. When Sif relaxed slightly under his ministrations, he continued, “I am sure Thor will make you a good husband, Sif, there is no need to worry.”
“And you think that is all that matters!” Sif cried indignantly, dropping her knees so suddenly a splash of water cascaded over them both as they hit the pool. She pulled her head away from Loki’s and gazed bitterly at the ground beside her. “You think it does not even matter that my future husband is clearly in love with someone else?”
Loki was surprised by Sif’s reaction, she could see it in his eyes as she turned back to snarl at him. But Loki was far more practiced at hiding his thoughts away than she and was far quicker in countering arguments that were not going his way. “But Jane is only mortal, Sif,” he answered, his tone surprisingly gentle and kind, “Thor will soon move on and, in time, he is sure to fall in love with you – he will do his duty and love you as his wife.”
“And I, Loki?” Sif asked dryly, “you think I will move on and fall in love with Thor so easily?”
Loki only held her gaze a moment longer, before turning away from her and casting his eyes back into the depths of the water. He did not say anything and neither did she. Sif knew full well that, even now, Loki doubted her friendship with his brother. It was yet another wedge that had existed so long between them and Sif was not about to allow him to drive it between them again, not now. So she continued to glare at Loki until he eventually spoke, repeating his earlier words. “I am sorry, Sif, but there is not anything we can do.”
If Sif had not been watching Loki so closely, if she did not know him so well, she would have missed the fleeting glimmer that crossed his eyes and the slight turn of his lips. But she did not miss it and it reminded her all to well of a feeling often repressed by Loki. Guilt. “What is it, Loki?”
Sif was not fooled by Loki’s look of surprise and confusion and she narrowed her eyes at him in warning. A look which could make even the fiercest of foes shiver in fear on the battlefield and Loki was not immune. He stared steadfastly into the water, but Sif could see through their reflections the way his feigned expression quivered and his throat moved in a barely detectable swallow.
Sif narrowed her eyes further, glaring intensely at him through the water, and made a show of reaching for her sword. As she unsheathed it and laid it to rest across her lap, she saw Loki’s mask slip and his eyes once again flicker with guilt and a slight tremor of nerves. Loki knew full well she would not be afraid to use her weapon and that this was no bluff or harmless threat.
Knowing he could not afford to test her patience further, he finally spoke, watching her intently through their reflections. “It is a ridiculous idea, Sif. One that is not worth even thinking about, let alone considering.”
Sif glared at him through the crystal clear water; she would not be so easily swayed by his arguments. “That may be the case, Loki Silvertongue, but you have clearly thought and considered it and I only deserve the chance to do likewise.”
When she saw Loki’s expression still remaining blank, she quickly moved her sword from her lap and let it drop between them, near to his bare calves where they dangled into the clear water. Loki’s reflection followed her sword and Sif carefully laced her words and expression with malice as she finished speaking, “It is, after all, my own future that is to be considered.”
Loki finally relented then and Sif saw his reflection shift in the water as he turned towards her. Sif copied his movement, but she did not lessen her glare until he finally spoke the answer she wanted. With his voice as calm and measured as always, his face as hard as stone, he said carefully, “The only way to avoid marrying Thor would be if you were already married before my father announces his plans.”
Chapter Text
Hi there! Thanks for still reading. Just like to say again that I only really know Thor from the film; I don't know much about the comics or the myths. The stuff about the Elves is just my own idea!
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So surprised was Sif at Loki’s words, that the grip on her sword slackened and it fell from her hand, rushing towards the water and slicing through its mirrored surface. It was only saved from sinking to the deep depths of the pool by Loki’s quick reflexes and magic. As the hilt of the sword slipped past the surface, a shot of green light leapt forwards and grabbed hold, raising it up and into Loki’s reaching hands. Sif watched all this with very little thought and even less comprehension. Her mind was too consumed once more with the words Loki had spoken.
Marry him? It was not something she had really considered before, maybe in the distant future, but now? They were certainly not ready for marriage, even after many centuries there were still too many doubts and misunderstandings between them, too little trust and communication. Even before Loki had fallen and their relationship had been dealt an almost deadly blow, they were still not ready for such a commitment as marriage. Yet, what alternative did she have? Marry Thor or marry Loki? That was not a question she even had to think about and she turned towards Loki as he turned towards her, holding out her sword like a peace offering, magically made dry and sparkling in the flickering sunshine that escaped through the thick oak branches above them. She took the sword from him without looking, she was too busy staring determinedly and intensely into his eyes. She wanted to see his every expression as she spoke her words of agreement to his plan, “Yes, alright. I will marry you then.”
Her response was hardly one full of enthusiasm and happiness, but then Loki’s proposal had hardly been of the usual variety and he looked incredibly surprised by her quick and determined answer. His mouth dropped open, caught on the words he had been about to say and his emerald green eyes lit up in shock. Sif saw his throat move a few times as he tried to find the words to speak and saw his eyes flickering as he fought down his reaction. When he finally did answer, his voice was almost perfectly balanced, “It does not have to be me you marry, Lady Sif.”
Sheathing her sword quickly, Sif simply rolled her eyes at the stupidity of his statement. “Who else am I going to marry then, Loki?” When she noticed his face twitch and his lips begin to move in speech, she quickly narrowed her eyes at him and snorted, “I think I would rather marry Thor than anyone else beside you, Loki.”
“Then marry Thor you shall,” Loki replied, emotionless. He had turned back towards the pool, but let his dark locks fall over his face so Sif could see his features and his expression no more.
Sif felt her anger and frustration at him rise within her, why could he just not be straight with her for once, just this once? Why was he always so determined to play games and hide his thoughts and dance around with his words? Sif’s patience was running very thin and she glared at him until he flinched slightly. “So you would prefer to see me married to your brother than marry me yourself?” Sif tried to keep her voice controlled, but even she could hear the resentment, hurt and anger in her tone.
An audible sigh was all the reaction Loki allowed Sif to witness and he eventually said, “Marrying Thor would be far easier, Lady Sif.”
Sif snorted at that and kicked her foot at the water where the reflection of Loki’s face remained hidden from her in annoyance, causing their images to distort and a splash of water to cascade over Loki, startling him enough that he turned to her once more. “Since when did I ever care about taking the easy way out? Where is the challenge, the triumph, the honour in that?”
“But we are not ready for anything even like marriage, Sif,” Loki replied almost petulantly and Sif could hear the hints of pleading and desperation in his voice as it wavered slightly. He turned away from her and Sif saw a flick of his hand and a flash of faint green light as the water droplets suddenly evaporated from his clothing.
“And you think I am more ready to marry Thor?” Sif replied angrily. Her hand remained on the hilt of her sword and she gripped it tightly in her frustration, though she could not deny the truth within Loki’s words. She knew that marrying the trickster god would be far from easy, especially considering all that had happened between them. For ever since Loki’s fall, things had never quite been the same; his actions had left them both bitter, with deep feelings of betrayal and even less trust and understanding between them. Sif knew Loki had not fully forgiven her for siding with Thor and travelling to Midgard to rescue him, that Loki assumed her friendship with Thor was greater and far worthier to her than her relationship with him.
Sif did not know how to overcome such suspicions between them; she did not have the words to express the differences between her friendship with Thor and her love for Loki. She had only hoped that time would once again prove her dedication to the God of Mischief, that he would come to realise once more than she would always love him in a way she could never love anyone else. But time was not a privilege they had any more and even before Loki’s fall, Sif knew such things were far from certain between them. The thought of marrying him when such problems existed sent a shiver of anxiety and apprehension down her spine, but what choice did they have?
“But do you not see it would be a disaster, for both of us?”
“No more so than were I to marry your brother!” Sif just glared at him, hoping he could see the annoyance in her gaze as he tried to hide from her through his hair again. His words and the way he was refusing to look at her were very rapidly wearing on Sif’s patience and she did not have much of that even at the best of times.
“And you would defy my father, your King? Marry the enemy, the Frost Giant who has brought nothing but havoc upon the nine realms and shame upon the house of Odin?” Loki turned towards her as he spoke, the madness and contempt, bitterness and self hatred creeping into his words and his expression once more. His hands clutched tightly to the earth under his palms and Sif could see the way the fingers curled, resisting the urge to strike at something.
Sif simply sighed in frustration and dug her hand harder into the hilt of her sword, the nails piercing her skin around the weapon. She did not know what else to say, to do. For what could she say, what words could help soften the anger and bitterness that had festered within Loki for so many centuries? How could she explain how much he meant to her, to those that cared for him? Where had things gone so wrong between them that he would question her desire to marry him over his brother? Perhaps if Loki had returned to Asgard sooner, perhaps then their relationship would not have been so badly destroyed. Perhaps if he had never fallen with the Rainbow Bridge, they would have found it much easier to rebuild, to repair the damage done between them. But as it was, it seemed that every day they had spent apart, with Loki hiding out in Midgard, another year of distance, of mistrust and misunderstanding, had forced itself between them. She knew that Loki saw her own distance as a form of betrayal, that he was bitter that she had not played a hand in trying to bring him home. But Sif had tried to make Loki understand that she had no choice, that she had not been allowed to return to Midgard to find him. That Thor had forbade it and she herself was not sure enough of Loki’s reaction to betray her friend. She reached over and took his hand, threading her fingers through his on the warm, soft earth. “I would still rather marry you than marry your brother, Loki.”
“And suffer the shame of disobeying your king? Suffer the scorn of the whole of Asgard?”
“What do I care for what Asgard thinks, Loki? Besides, the Allfather has yet to command it of me, so I am betraying no one.”
“You do not know what it is like.” Loki replied, his voice now more weary and resigned than the bitter and resentful tone he had used but moments before. “How painful it is to hear their whispers following you, to see the revulsion and hatred in their eyes, to see them draw back in disgust and fear.”
Sif looked at Loki in surprise, it was not like him to be so open, to talk so freely of what was troubling him. Yet whilst her sympathies for the fallen prince took hold, her own frustration began to get the better of her. “Do you forget then, Loki, how the people of Asgard first reacted to the idea of a female warrior? You think I did not notice the very same whispers and looks of scorn and derision aimed at me?”
“But that is different, Sif, for you have proven your worth and your right to fight alongside the warriors of Asgard, your right to become the queen of this realm. That is why my father so desires for it to be you who marries Thor.”
“And so we must do what the people of Asgard expect of us? Resign ourselves to an existence of misery and regrets to make them happy?” Sif looked at Loki crossly, her anger and frustration biting into her words and she squeezed his hand harder in warning. “Do you also condemn your brother to the same fate? Separate him forever from the mortal who holds his heart and who he pines after each day?”
Loki suddenly looked away from her then, glaring down at his own reflection in the pool and Sif knew she had hit upon a weak point in Loki’s armour. For ever since Loki had returned, Sif knew he had been eager to become worthy of the forgiveness his brother had so freely given. Whilst he may not act for himself, perhaps not even for her, he would surely act on behalf of his beloved brother.
“It is not that simple, Sif.” Loki eventually replied, trying hard to keep his voice empty and cold, though his feet swinging in agitation in the water and a small, sad smile playing across his lips belied the nonchalance in his tone.
Sif narrowed her eyes at him further, feeling her frustration start to twist to panic. Panic that he did not want to marry her, that he would prefer to see her marry his brother than commit himself. The panic loosened her tongue too much, but Sif was glad when her tone did not waver and her voice remained firm and derisive. “So you would prefer me to marry your brother then, Loki?”
When Loki gave no answer or reaction to her words, Sif felt her patience finally snap. She reached forwards to grab his chin and turned his face towards her so he had no choice but to look into her eyes. “Know this, Loki Odinson, if I marry your brother I will be a faithful and honourable wife to him. I will not betray him, even for you.”
Loki’s lips twisted up into a smirk as he answered, “I would expect nothing less from you, Lady Sif.”
Sif pushed his face away in disgust, not caring when his body was caught off balance and he had to clutch at the ground to prevent himself from falling forwards into the water.
“Then you have only yourself to blame when I am wedded to your brother, Loki.” With her voice dripping with disapproval and contempt, Sif began to stand, no longer able to face the God of Lies and Trickery who sat beside her.
“Wait, Sif,” Loki suddenly called out, reaching forwards and grabbing hold of her arm. His grip was firm, but that was not what stopped her. A burning, intense sensation swept through her at his touch and as she looked down she saw the faint outline of green light lingering on the air. She looked at Loki suddenly, catching his eyes and seeing behind his mask to the truth within them. It was not like Loki to lose control of his magic like that, to let it slip from his fingers without warning and it proved to Sif more than any words or action ever could, how close to breaking Loki’s control was. In that moment she realised just how much pain he was biting down and how much resentment and bitterness were simmering just below the surface. She also understood, in that one moment as she never had in all the years they had been together, how much she meant to Loki, how much the thought of losing her pained him and yet how he thought they had no other choice.
As her own eyes widened in understanding and acceptance, Loki turned away sharply, glaring fiercely at the ground beside him, his whole posture tensed and angry that he had given himself away. He let go of her arm and clasped his hands tightly between his knees, pulling away from her so there was a good few inches between them, though the distance between them was far greater than that which could be measured in mere inches or miles.
“It could not be a simple Asgardian wedding, Sif.” He turned back towards her, his mask once more held firmly in place, though his hands still twisted nervously together. When Sif merely looked on in confusion, he continued, “Father would only break an ordinary marriage, see it destroyed, that is if we could find someone willing to even perform the ceremony.”
Loki looked away from her again, back into the safety of the pool and Sif followed his movement, watching him watching her through their flickering reflections. “It would need to be a marriage father cannot break, Sif, an Elfin marriage.”
Unable to stop her reaction, Sif drew in a short, sharp breath at his words. The people of Asgard knew all about the marriage ceremonies of the Elves, how they, as a more traditional immortal race, mixed magic within their weddings. Magic that was said to bind the bride and groom together for all eternity, powerful magic rumoured to cause harm should either one stray and deep, everlasting magic that followed them even to the great unknown, beyond death itself. A shiver of fear ran down Sif’s spine at the thought, before she cursed inwardly as she saw Loki had seen the shock and apprehension in her reaction.
“I understand,” Sif forced the words out, gripping her sword so tightly her fingers turned white.
He glared deeper into the pool, his expression becoming twisted and his eyes almost crazed. “Do you, Sif?” Loki asked, his voice becoming as distorted as his expression. “Do you really understand what it will mean, being bound to me through an Elfin marriage? What may become of you if anything should happen to me? If I should…”
Loki’s words were cut off in a nervous gulp, but Sif did not have to hear the words to understand what he meant and suddenly the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. She did understand then, what was troubling Loki, holding him back. He was fearful for her; of what would become of her should he fall again, back into the madness and anger that had pushed him over the edge before. Anger fuelled by the resentment and bitterness that had plagued him for centuries, that was always simmering just beneath the surface, that every day scared Sif that it would break free and she would lose Loki forever. And if that did happen, what would become of her? Would the binds of their Elfin marriage drag her down into his madness? Would she be faced forever with the heartbreak over his fall, their separation, the magic within their marriage making it impossible for her to ever move on? And yet what was the alternative? To lose Loki forever anyway and be forced to marry a man she could love only as a friend, who was already in love with someone else? To forever be tormented by the presence and temptation of his younger brother, who would always be close by?
Even as the questions swirled around Sif’s thoughts, she knew well enough that her decision had not changed, that it would never change, no matter how much Loki tried to make it otherwise. He could strike fear in her all he wanted, but he should know well enough it would not work. For she was the Goddess of War, used to conquering her fear and marching into battle, well practiced in pushing her doubts and misgivings aside and defeating her enemy no matter what the odds. Besides, what point was there fearing the unknown when the alternative was so unthinkable, so distressing?
“Do you really want to chain yourself to me, Sif, for all eternity?” Loki finally asked sadly, his voice resigned as he saw the determination in her eyes, though he gave one last feeble attempt, anxious for her to understand, to really know what she was agreeing to.
Sif took Loki’s hand again and held it gently, wrapping her fingers around his and bringing it to rest on her lap. “I do not want to lose you, Loki, not again.” It was all the words Sif could find to express how she felt; how her heart had broken and her tears were wrenched from her soul in private over the rumours of his death. How much the memory of their separation had destroyed her and made her long to see him again, despite what he had done. Sif pushed aside those painful memories, for now the time had finally come when a decision had to be made, when they had to choose between exposing their relationship or ending it completely. Sif knew with every beating of her heart and every breath within her body what her choice would be. The question was now, what choice would Loki make.
“It is up to you, Loki, do you want to marry me or see me marry your brother? It is that simple.”
After a long pause that seemed to last countless lifetimes, Loki eventually spoke, “I suppose we have no choice, then.” Loki’s sigh of defeat was audible enough for anyone to hear and Sif tried to bite back the heartbreak it caused her to know Loki was so unwilling. For she could understand it, felt it herself, knew they were both making such a significant sacrifice to stay together and to help their friend and brother. So she tried to push the pain away, to set aside the doubts and anxieties and to instead take action, to focus on the positive, the knowledge that she had won this battle of wills against Loki. That she would not be forced to marry his brother and would instead be able to marry him, the one her own heart had chosen so many years ago. She smiled then, for there was much to be pleased about; she and Loki would remain together and, just like they had done for countless years, they would work through any difficulties the gods of fate decided to throw upon them. “You need not look so sad, Loki. I am sure marrying me will not be that trying.”
Sif playfully punched his arm, tried to brighten the melancholy mood between them. It seemed to work, for now at least, as a playful smile twitched at the corners of Loki’s lips and his eyes once more held a twinkle within their emerald depths. “I am not too sure about that, Lady Sif, I can see you being a very trying wife indeed!”
Sif kicked his legs in the pool, laughing slightly as a cascade of water rained down upon them. And if the laugh sounded a little desperate, a little forced, she was determined not to notice. Instead she let the cool water wash away her fears and worries, for now the decision had been reached and she was determined to let it plague them no more. “I am sure I will be no more difficult than you, Loki, God of Mischief and Trickery!”
As his smile grew, Sif took the opportunity to reach towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him nearer, their legs becoming entwined within the pool. She brushed her fingers up into his hair as she bent down and whispered softly in his ear, “I’m sure there will be a few advantages to marriage, Loki.” Then, she brought her lips down towards his and kissed him gently.
“So, we are to be married then?” Loki asked, pulling away from her slightly. His voice sounded childlike, filled with awe and wonderment, as if he could hardly believe she had agreed.
Sif simply smiled at her future husband and rolled her eyes. “Of course, Loki, why ever did you think it could be otherwise?” Before he could answer, she pulled him against her once more and kissed any words he may have spoken away.
It was only mere moments before Loki responded to her kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist and turning more fully towards her. And if their kisses became slightly desperate then, anxious, frantic, as if they were kissing away all their doubts and fears, Sif was determined not to notice. For they had made the only choice open to them and there was no point in further worry. Besides, Sif thought as she let Loki push her down onto the warm, soft earth, his lips dropping to press firmly against her neck, marrying him would not be such a hardship, after all.
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Chapter Text
Sif rose early the next morning, the morning of her wedding, just as the sun was appearing above the horizon, when the sky was slowly turning from its bright star studded blackness to a fiery blue, the faint chinks of the early morning sunlight flittering through her curtains and spilling across her face. It did not wake her though, for she was already wide awake and had slept little that night. For how could she sleep, on this night before her wedding, when doubts and anxieties mingled with her joy and delight? When memories of the reason for their marriage and the need for secrecy weighed heavy on her heart and warred with her happiness that she was to be married to Loki? Maybe if Loki had stayed sleep may have found her, for she always found comfort sleeping in his arms, even though she often awoke now to find him gone. But he had insisted they spend the night apart. “It is tradition,” he had argued as she had narrowed her eyes at him, and “the mortals consider it bad luck!” Sif had conceded on this point, afraid at the real reason for his persistence. That he was giving her a chance to back out, to change her mind and not go through with their planned elopement. And so she had not seen him since dinner last night and even then he had maintained his distance, not quite meeting her eye across the banqueting table and excusing himself whenever she approached. It did little to settle Sif’s nerves and doubts, but then she suspected that was his intention.
Loki did not know when the Allfather’s plan was to unfurl, when his desire for her to marry his first and true born son would be announced, but Loki had been adamant they had time, there was no need to rush into anything. Sif, however, had disagreed venomously. She did not want to risk the chance of the Allfather catching them off guard, making her marry Thor before her elopement to Loki had taken place. She also worried that Loki was stalling deliberately, hoping she would reconsider or they would not marry in time. So she had insisted they travel the very next day to Alfheim, to visit the Elves and to be married. Loki knew better than to argue with her then and so it had been settled between them; they would meet at dawn, before any in the royal palace awoke, by their bench in the lost corner of the gardens.
The small bag she had packed last night lay against her dresser, beside her sword and shield, and Sif picked it up as she finished dressing, slinging it over her shoulder before holding her sword in her hands, staring down at it in thought. She did not suppose she would need it, not for her wedding and it felt strange to even be considering taking it. For if she were to be married in Asgard, it would be in the grand palace, in the great hall full of their friends and family, with the beautiful Asgardian sun streaming through the windows and making her dark hair shine like the spun gold it had once been. There would be a feast in their honour and guards in their finest ceremonial clothing to keep watch. But that marriage would no longer take place, for if it did it would not be to the one she’d chosen. Instead, they had no choice but to wed in secret, fleeing like cowards to a distant realm with no one there to share in their joy. Sif did not understand why this bothered her so much, why she should care that they had to elope rather than have a grand wedding in Asgard. For she had never been one for large celebrations and extravagant ceremonies and she had certainly never given much thought to her own wedding. When the young girls had been giggling over their plans and desires for their future weddings, Sif had been learning to wield sword and spear, fighting to the ground the very boys the girls would chatter about.
So it was with a surprisingly heavy heart that Sif quickly fixed her sword around her waist and her shield at her back. She would feel lost without its presence anyway, it was so much a part of her now, and it may be of use if they met with any trouble on their way. The Elves were not enemies of the Æsir, though the two races kept their distance, but Loki and Sif were not travelling to Alfheim on official Asgardian business and so would not be granted any safety or diplomatic immunity. Sif also could not help but wonder if it may come in useful to convince a certain prince who had proved so hesitant and unwilling to agree to this plan, even though it was of his own making. Sif knew she should not let this worry her, for Loki had always been wary of their relationship, keeping his distance emotionally as if always afraid he was about to lose her and preparing himself for the worst. Whilst it frustrated her and angered her no end, she did at least understand Loki’s uncertainties, for he was used to always being second best, living in his brother’s shadow and never being fully accepted. He had never really understood that Sif had chosen him, that she loved him in a way she could never love his brother, or anyone else. That she would never leave him or regret the times they had shared together, no matter how he may try to test her or push her away with his doubts. Perhaps now that she was to marry him, one of the deep wounds within their relationship would finally heal. Maybe now he would finally accept that she had made her choice and it was him, that it would always have been him, even if they had never been forced upon this present path.
Grabbing her cloak and opening the door, Sif took a last look around her chambers. She felt a strange sense of loss then, for she would be leaving this old life behind her now. She would return of course, but she would no longer be Lady Sif, Warrior Maiden, but Princess Sif, wife of Loki Odinson and daughter in law to the king. She wondered how long she would even be able to stay here, once she was married; if she would be moved to the royal chambers and into Loki’s rooms. If they were even allowed to stay at all, once the treachery of their secret elopement became known. She shut her door quickly and only paused outside for a few moments; it would do no good focusing on the past, or how things might have been. The path that lay ahead of her was the only option now and she quickly pushed her resurgent fears and nerves aside. She walked hastily away, her footsteps quick and determined, though light on the floor as she avoided the more heavily guarded of the corridors.
Once she’d stepped outside into the palace gardens, Sif paused for a moment, breathing in the fresh, dawn air deeply, and feeling the cold anxiety fade slightly from her heart. She had not been seen, the guards had not stopped her and questioned where she was going at so early an hour. There was now nothing preventing her from heading towards the dilapidated bench hidden beneath the weeping willow on the outskirts of the garden. Loki had insisted they meet here, away from the palace walls and any guards patrolling the grounds. For he was not able to find the secret paths between the realms within the palace; the strong and ancient magic that had been built within its walls for protection shut out the energy of the Bifrost that was needed. Of course, the Bifrost itself was not accessible to them; Heimdall would not allow them to travel without express permission from the king, and they had no excuses for travelling to Alfheim. Whether Heimdall himself was aware of their plans, Sif did not know, though she hoped her half brother would not interfere if he did. He was the only person Sif knew who was aware of her relationship with the trickster god and, though he did not approve and made his displeasure of the second prince well known, he had kept their secret and shared with her his visions of the fallen god when Loki had remained on Midgard. For it was the great Guardian of the Nine Realms who had first become aware of Loki’s presence after his fall, who had first confirmed to them all that he still lived. Whilst Loki’s skill of remaining hidden from the Guardian’s sight had meant his location was unknown, it was a comfort for Sif to know that he was alive on Midgard, even though she feared for his wellbeing and craved every day to track him down and convince him to return home.
She had still felt anger and betrayal at his actions, not just towards her, but towards his family and all of Asgard, but stronger than that was how much she had simply missed him. She missed the annoying smirk that danced across his lips, missed the twinkle in his eyes and the teasing in his voice when he had been up to some trick or game. Missed the feel of his arms wrapped around her, the warmth of his body as she slept beside him and the feel of his lips pressed tight against hers. She knew she would forgive him for what he had done, that she would do anything to bring him home and begin again whatever had once existed between them.
She had offered, of course, on behalf of the Warriors Three and Thor’s friends, to return to Midgard and seek out the second prince. But Thor would not allow it, had only shaken his head, insisting that Loki would return home when he was ready. And what could Sif say to that? How could she explain to Thor that there was so much more between herself and his brother than friendship? That out of any of them, it was Sif who would be most able to change Loki’s mind, to extend the forgiveness of Asgard and to convince him to return home? So Sif had no choice but to wait; wait until Thor was next able to return to Midgard and hope with all her heart that this time he would return with the prodigal prince. And each time he had not, Sif had felt the knife of pain and betrayal dig further into her heart, until she did not know how it carried on beating, how the world carried on turning around her. But it did and Sif had to let it, had to throw herself into her daily tasks of fighting and feasting and playing merriment with her friends. For they did not know, they did not understand how deeply the fall of Loki had pierced her soul, broken her heart and shattered her dreams.
Then, one trip many months after the Bifrost had first been repaired, Thor had returned, with his brother and his mortal woman in tow and Sif had once again been able to look upon the God of Mischief. The Allfather had insisted celebrations run into the night and the people of Asgard were never one to turn down an occasion for feasting, no matter how much their resentment towards the prodigal prince still remained. Yet, as much as Sif had longed to celebrate and as overjoyed as she was to see Loki again, she could not join in the exuberant festivities. Instead, she had found herself both dreading and longing for the moment when she would be able to speak to him alone, to find out what he still felt for her and whether they could rebuild the bridges between them. But apart from the official meetings, where Sif had to bow her head and shake his hand in greeting like the comrade she was meant to be, she did not have a moment to talk to Loki for many days. She did not have the freedom of Thor or the Queen, she could not wrap her arms around him and embrace him fiercely in front of all of Asgard.
It had not helped that Sif had been certain Loki was avoiding her those few, early days. He was forced by his brother and father to attend the celebrations and feasting, but he would always drop his gaze whenever she caught his eye, or move away whenever she approached the group he was part of. He never once visited his usual haunts, the places she knew to find him, instead remaining in his chambers or that of the royal household. Sif had let him avoid her at first, it was easier that way, but as the longing to make amends and start afresh began to outweigh her fear of rejection, Sif made an effort to track him down. Even when she cornered him in one of the balconies, even when she had forced him to talk about their relationship and how things stood between them, many important things remained unsaid. It was too easy to ignore small yet significant words like sorry and forgive, love and hope. It was far easier to just let themselves fall back into the familiar routine of many years, of stealing glances and kisses when no one was watching, of sneaking out of the other’s chambers before the palace awoke and hiding themselves away from prying eyes. But as Sif stalked across the damp manicured lawns of the palace gardens that day, she knew they could no longer continue in this secretive denial, could no longer pretend to all the world and to themselves that there was nothing between them. And so she walked determinedly on, every step she took taking her one step further from her old life and one step nearer to her new.
As she approached the bench, she felt her heart skip a few beats as she caught sight of Loki, feeling a sudden, inexplicable relief that he was there, waiting for her, for she had not been aware she had feared the alternative. But then perhaps Loki knew that Sif pounding her fists hard against his doors would have only brought unwanted attention and decided this was the preferred option.
He was sitting on the back of the bench, his heavy black boots on the seat and his rich green cloak cascading behind him. He was dressed in his full ceremonial armour and his golden horned helmet and a small pack sat beside his feet on the bench. He looked especially handsome in his resplendent robes, but that was not what stilled Sif in her tracks and made her breath catch in her throat. He had clearly not seen her yet, for he was staring off into the distance, allowing her a perfect view of his profile. He looked weary, tired, as if the weight of the whole nine realms rested on his shoulders. Not like a man who was to be married that day and Sif felt her panic rise within her. He does not want to marry me, Sif thought, her hand clutching tighter at the bag she held across her shoulder, her other hand reaching defensively for her sword. Before she had chance to decide how to act though, Loki sensed her presence and turned towards her.
“You came.” He sounded surprised, awed almost, hints of childlike wonder spilling into his voice. The glimmer of delight and joy that flickered across his face for a brief moment was enough to make Sif push her doubts aside once more.
“Of course I came.” She rolled her eyes and stepped further towards him, hoping her nonchalance would hide the hesitation that had clouded her mind a moment ago. Cocking her head to one side, she deliberately ran her eyes over him, before crossing her arms and saying mockingly, “You are looking rather dressed up, Loki.”
Loki just shrugged, but Sif saw the faint smirk that danced across his lips. “It seemed appropriate.” He took the opportunity to look her once over himself, his eyes moving slowly, burning into her and Sif tried to ignore the way it made her skin tingle and her heart beat a little faster. “I see the same cannot be said for you.”
Her only response was to glare at him further, especially when the smirk widened across his lips. He got down off the bench top, picking up his helmet and pack as he stood up.
“You are not bringing that thing along, are you?”
“But of course, it would be a shame to not wear the full outfit. Besides,” his smirk only grew as he looked at her coyly, “I know how fond of it you really are.”
Sif tried to keep her scowl, but it was threatening to break into a smirk of her own as she heard his words. She had teased him almost incessantly over the years about his helmet, with its stupid pretentious horns and fancy sparkling gold base. Whenever he had to wear it at a formal event she would always point at his horns and roll her eyes, breaking out into a smile as he glowered at her. It was as much a part of Loki as her shield and sword were to her and she could not imagine Loki in his ceremonial armour without his horned helmet.
Narrowing her eyes at him and hiding her smile, she said with a lot less annoyance in her voice than she intended, “Just as long as you only wear it when you have to.”
Looking her directly in the eyes, his own dancing with merriment, he slowly put his helmet on and smiled brightly at her. Sif stepped towards him and reached to knock it off, but Loki quickly dodged and instead grabbed her arm lightly, pulling her towards him so fast Sif lost her step and fell against him. She looked up to see Loki’s face so close to hers and tilted her head as he leaned in, about to kiss her, but then he suddenly stilled. Another moment later he stepped away and Sif did her best to recover her composure and still her pounding heart.
“Are you sure about this, Sif?” He asked, his voice now full of uncertainty and weariness once more.
“I am!” Sif replied, crossing her arms and facing him defiantly, trying to push away the doubts that tried to penetrate once more into her thoughts. “But answer me truthfully, Loki, are you?”
When he gave no reply and turned away from her, Sif’s panic and anger broke through her control. She was sick of this talking, these fears and Loki’s frustrating ability to dance around the problem. She craved action, a fight, facing the problem head on and forcing a final resolution. Moving as fast as her centuries of battle training permitted, she quickly drew her sword and stepped towards Loki. He was too surprised to react and Sif easily spun him around, wrapping her arm around his chest and crushing his hands down beside him. She pressed his back against her front in a strong hold and held her sword against his neck in warning.
“Answer me, Loki! Do you want to marry me?” She tried to keep her voice firm as she spoke against his ear, but it trembled and caught on the words, though her arms remained strong and her sword did not waver.
She watched him intently as he swallowed, his eyes taking in the sword pressed tight against his neck, not quite breaking the skin, and her steadfast arm allowing him no option of movement. “Yes.”
Such a simple word to be forced out of him, but one that held so much meaning and significance, so much emotion and feeling for them both. His voice sounded sincere, but it was Sif’s turn to doubt his regard for her and she did not drop her grip or her sword. He swallowed once more and continued, “But not like this, Sif.”
She watched him a moment more, twisting his face around so she could look into his eyes, look for any hint of lies or trickery. But there were none, she could see only the truth within them and she dropped her hand and stepped away from him, her sword falling to the ground though she did not sheath it. “No, not like this,” Sif finally replied, her voice weak, heavy, weighed down by so many conflicting emotions within her, within him. “But we have no choice, Loki.”
“There is always a choice, Sif.” Loki said softly, his words so quiet Sif had to strain her ears to hear them.
“If you mean between you and Thor, then I have already made that choice, many years ago,” Sif countered, her voice bitter as her frustration simmered again within her. She narrowed her eyes at him, stepping forwards and raising her sword again in warning. She felt a measure of satisfaction as she saw him flinch briefly, though his stance remained firm. “And I have never regretted that decision, Loki.”
“But you may live to regret it, Sif, and then it will be too late.”
Sif stepped closer towards him, but dropped her sword by her side, lifting her head towards his so she was close enough to feel his breath on her cheek and stare intently into his eyes. “Is that what you are afraid of, Loki? That I will live to regret marrying you?”
Loki flinched again under her fierce gaze, turning away from her a moment later and stepping back. “Yes.”
“Then you have nothing to fear, Loki, for you have no reason to doubt me.” Sif raised her head high and sheathed her sword in surrender, she would threaten him no more, now that she finally understood his fears and misgivings. They were unwarranted, of course, but were no surprise and Sif finally laid her own doubts to rest about Loki’s reluctance.
He turned towards her again, though still kept his distance. “But you will be bound to me for all eternity, Sif! The magic within the marriage will punish you if you should ever seek comfort elsewhere. There is no going back, Sif, an Elfin marriage is unbreakable.”
“As is my love for you, Loki. And it has held fast and weathered the many storms thrown upon it.” Sif refused to drop Loki’s gaze, holding it firmly and defiantly, daring him to challenge her. She was not afraid to speak the truth anymore, to reveal to him how much she loved him, she could only hope now he would accept her words, that they would be enough.
Loki suddenly looked away and Sif wondered if he believed her. She saw his mind working, saw his fingers clench repeatedly at his side as he worked hard to keep his expression composed. Finally she saw his body relax, saw the tension leave him as he reached his decision. When he turned to face her once more, he was smiling, though it failed to quite meet his eyes. “Then it is settled. You will travel with me to Alfheim? To elope?”
“Yes.” Sif stated simply. “Though if you question me again, Loki Odinson, I swear I will run you through with my sword.” She gripped the hilt threateningly, fixing her fierce, warrior eyes upon him so he understood this was no empty threat.
“But of course, Lady Sif.” His smirk returned and he bowed mockingly at her, earning him a venomous glare. He picked up his small travel pack that had fallen to the floor and flung it over his shoulder. “I see no reason for any delay then.”
He held out his hand towards her and Sif glared at it for a moment, before reaching forward and taking it, wrapping her fingers tightly around his. Loki immediately pulled her closer, wrapping one arm around her waist as the other moved to conjure the shadows around them. Asgard, and the thick dewed grass and weeds beneath her feet, slipped away as Loki found a secret path between the branches of Yggdrasil that would take them to Alfheim.
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A.N. - Thanks so much for still reading - very much appreciated! I hope you're enjoying it and it's not getting too angsty! More chapters should be on their way soon.
Chapter Text
It had been a long time since Sif had last travelled on the secret paths between the realms. Long before Thor’s ruined coronation and things had grown colder between her and Loki. For such a long time though, she and Loki had delighted in travelling to the different realms, away from Asgard and the need to hide. They had explored on their own, without Thor and the Warriors Three, and Loki always managed to find such exciting places for them to visit. In fact, it was the last time Sif remembered Loki being truly happy; laughing and smiling with genuine mirth.
She had forgotten how much different travelling between the realms with Loki was to the Bifrost. There, the rush of speed and the blinding light of a thousand stars hurtling towards her was almost painful, the sudden jerk of movement as her body was pushed across such a vast distance nauseating. Travelling the secret pathways could not be any more dissimilar and Sif never failed to be awed and mesmerised by all the fascinating sights surrounding her. The journey took about as long, but, where the Bifrost was a whirl of light and speed, with Loki, it was slow, gentle, as if they were simply floating through the ether, the stars twinkling around them in breathtaking brilliance. All the colours of the Rainbow Bridge lying scattered around, swirling in gaseous clouds and slowly shifting through the cosmos.
When she turned towards Loki, she saw him watching her, his face carved into a smile, one which reached his eyes and was filled with genuine delight. She smiled at him and pulled him closer, the feel of his strong arms enclosing her completing her as she looked around once more at the dazzling display.
All too soon, she felt the shadows pull around her again and long, damp grass and solid earth beneath her feet. She blinked a few times, finding her bearings and she pulled slowly away from Loki. No more were the manicured lawns and trimmed hedgerows of the palace gardens surrounding them. In their place stood a long, never ending row of tall, fierce trees, reaching up almost as far as the eye could see and casting the ground beneath in thick, dense darkness. Only a small, twisted path alongside a thundering stream could be seen travelling into the depths of the forest, soon disappearing as the thick green canopy swallowed all the light. Around them, away from the trees, the path continued downhill, following the widening stream which disappeared into the horizon, amidst a wash of broad, brightly coloured meadows.
They could almost have still been in Asgard, the scenery so reminiscent of their great forest and surrounding fields, but there was magic in the air here. Sif could hear it humming softly as the wind rustled through the leaves and brushed against her, a distant, almost undetectable sensation ticking her skin. She might have missed it altogether, were it not for her familiarity with Loki’s magic and she glanced across at him. She could see a faint outline of green mist swirling around his skin, mixing and recognising the foreign magic within the air. Elfin magic, so much stronger and concentrated than that ever found on Asgard. She felt it as she breathed in, the magic starting to run within her veins, reminding her of just why they were here; that they needed this strong Elfin magic to ensure their elopement could not be broken by even the powerful Allfather. The feel of such potent and ancient magic sent a small shiver of fear through Sif and for a moment her gaze became anxious as she looked across at Loki. She quickly swallowed it down and forced a bright smile on her face, hoping to reassure him. She did not want to give him any more reason to abandon their current path.
He noticed the anxiety in her eyes though and his face darkened for a moment, before he finally spoke, his voice careful, measured, “The forest is protected by a greater magic than even I can overcome. I cannot take us any nearer except by walking.”
“And how come you have brought us here, Loki?” It was a question to settle her curiosity, not an accusation, but Loki winced slightly all the same.
“These elves are somewhat…” He paused for a moment, obviously searching for the right word, “Separate from the others, less connected with Asgard.”
Sif nodded in understanding, realising what he meant. They were outcasts and would be more willing to help them in their plight. At least, Sif hoped that would be the case. “And will we be quite safe here, Loki?”
“Of course,” Loki answered, his voice deliberately light and his smile twitching. Sif knew well enough he was lying, perhaps even testing her, to see if she would fall at this next hurdle. But she was Lady Sif, warrior maiden, and a dark forest on the outskirts of Alfheim was not going to defeat her courage. With a smile almost as fake as Loki’s, she asked, deliberately bright, “And how long before we reach the elves?”
“It will be a few hours walk, I am afraid, but we have plenty of time. There were several advantages to our leaving early.”
Sif nodded. She did not envy the idea of a long walk in this ominous, unknown forest, full of such powerful magic and unknown creatures and she wished they had been able to bring horses to hasten their journey. Still, she had faced darker, scarier forests before and, though Thor and the Warriors Three were not there to watch her back, she trusted Loki implicitly, in that matter at least. He had proven his worth on the battlefield and his skill in combat many times.
“Then we best get moving.” Sif smiled at Loki and, knowing he would follow, immediately headed towards the narrow, twisting path that ran alongside the raging stream.
As soon as she reached the thick walls of the trees, she felt the protective barrier and the magic thrumming louder through the air. She only paused for a moment though and resisted the urge to look back at Loki. He would know if it was safe to pass. As she continued on, into the darkness of the forest, she felt the magic shift and dissolve around her, heard it crackle as it allowed her through.
The light immediately darkened and sound suddenly became muted, the air thickening with magic simmering all around. Sif felt a shiver of apprehension flow through her, a sense of foreboding creeping through her veins. This was no ordinary forest and Sif immediately put all her senses on alert, her warrior instincts guiding her. Her pace did not slow as she continued forward, though she let her hand rest in readiness on her sword hilt. When Loki reached her side, she instinctively reached out her hand and gripped his tightly. She did not look at him, but fixed her gaze ahead. She could feel his eyes on her though, his surprise obvious, but he did not pull away and instead moved closer to her side. The feel of his fingers entwined with hers and his body close beside her gave her comfort, grounding her. It helped push her increasing trepidation aside; apprehension over this dark, sinister forest and the strange anticipation of what lay at their journey’s end.
They walked mainly in silence, following the narrow path as it twisted and turned, pulling them deeper into the forest. The thick, heavy branches were like a fortress all around and the only light a sickly, faint green as small shivers of sunshine escaped through the canopy. They walked fast, determined, or at least she did, her stride long and steady. Loki, she was sure, would have been slower, hesitant, but he kept pace with her well enough. The way became more treacherous, the loose stones of the path slipping precariously under her boots as the path became overrun with thick roots and fallen branches, determined to trip them up and succeeding more than once. The path was so overgrown now, littered with decaying leaves and the darkness growing with each step, that Sif began to lose track of the way completely. She could still hear the raging stream nearby, but she knew it was only through Loki’s magic that they did not become lost. The deep anxiety grew within her and Sif knew it was not just her own fear. The magic was filled with warnings, the rustling, melodious sound of the wind filled with danger and faint murmurs of threatening words.
Loki saw her glance uneasily at him and answered her silent question, “They do not want to be found.”
That was evident enough, for the deeper they travelled within the forest, the more powerful the magic became. Sif could feel the growing intensity sneaking along her skin, whispering through the trees and brushing past her as she walked, like water parting for an approaching ship. She may be used to dark forests and facing fierce creatures, but this magic was slowing eroding her confidence and courage and making her skittish and fretful, her breathing shallow and heart rate fast.
A sudden crack in the undergrowth had Sif jumping around, her sword cutting through the air in front of her and her feet apart, ready to fight this unknown foe. The noise silenced as abruptly as it arrived and Sif peered through the murky undergrowth, seeking out the source. Her heart had started jumping in her throat and she looked up, suddenly, as Loki came up beside her, placing a calm hand over her own.
“Be calm, Sif.” He pushed his hand down, causing her sword to move towards the ground. She let him for a moment, before regaining her composure and stepping away from him. She sheathed her sword quickly, cursed herself for being so agitated and glared at Loki. “And you, Loki, are you calm?”
No answer, but she did not expect one, at least not a truthful one. Though Loki was smirking, she could read the answer well enough; see the tension that riddled his body, see his muscles pulled taut and the vigilance in his eyes.
Sif did not slow her pace, not even as the thick roots caused them to trip and the way ahead was ever more shrouded in darkness. It was only at Loki’s insistence that they stop when they stumbled upon a small clearing, the light so bright after their hours in darkness that Sif was blinded for several moments. She’d had no concept of time passing as they’d walked, but the late morning sun, now so bright above them, showed they’d been travelling for several hours. If Loki’s estimation was correct, they were nearly at their destination and Sif was loathed to stop now, anxious for their plan to come to fruition. She only relented to rest when Loki pointed out, his speech and reasoning as eloquent and convincing as usual, that they had yet to eat this day and Sif heard her own stomach growl at the reminder. She sat down nervously, her sword at the ready and her posture set for immediate movement. She quickly fished out a golden apple from her pack and ate it quickly; anxious they did not linger. Even in the bright sunlight of the clearing, Sif still felt the darkness of the forest creeping into her bones, furthering her anxiety and almost mocking her for her fear. Her battle instincts were still raging and she was unable to relax, though it did have the added advantage of preventing her from thinking of what would happen at their journey’s end. She would marry him then, Loki, the second, scorned prince of Asgard and the one she was never expected to choose. The thought of actually marrying him, so soon now, filled her with a strange mixture of fear and joy and it mingled with the uneasiness the forest distilled in her, only setting her nerves more on edge.
She finished her food quickly, and then glared across at Loki, who was taking his time, deliberately she was sure. When he had eventually finished, he picked up her pack to hand to her, and immediately put it down again.
“What in all the nine realms have you go in here, Sif?” His voice a mixture of mocking and mirth, overly playful to try to combat the uneasiness they both felt in this strange, elfin forest.
Quickly, Sif made to grab her pack, but Loki was quicker and held it out of her reach. He dug inside the pack and pulled out a few more snacks and a bottle of ale. Sif at least managed to grab those off him, but was unable to retrieve her pack. The next item he fished out was a small, corded bag which Sif knew full well was heavy.
Even his smirk faded as he looked across at her, his gaze heavy and questioning. Sif did her best not to squirm. They both knew full well what was in the bag and Sif was not going to oblige and give him the explanation he obviously expected.
He held the purse in his hand, as if gauging the value by its weight. When he finally spoke, his voice was light, but far too measured and controlled. “Why do you carry this?”
Sif rolled her eyes, trying to lighten the atmosphere with feigned exasperation. Loki’s eyes bore into hers until Sif could hold them no longer and looked away. She managed to keep her voice strong and defiant though, as she replied, “I assumed even the elves would require some remuneration for their assistance.”
His eyes narrowed as he began tossing the purse from hand to hand, not quite able to fully mask his vexation and wounded pride. “There is no need for you to contribute, I have everything under control.”
Sif glared at her future husband, “If we were married in Asgard, you know full well I would be expected to pay, as bride.”
Loki watched her carefully, gauging her and Sif did not like his penetrating gaze. She tried hard to keep her face impassive, earnest that he see no hint of regret or disappointment in her face.
“You know that is not true, Lady Sif, for if my father approved the match…” Here he paused and looked away from her, hiding his expression, “He would hear no mention of you paying for the ceremony. For surely even the adopted son of the king of Asgard can afford his own wedding.” His voice had become tight, controlled and Sif could hear the bitterness and resentment simmering to the surface once more.
Sif was about to say something flippant, to dispel the heavy tension that had sprung up between them, intensified by the dark, thickness of the forest air around them. Loki distracted her though, as he suddenly threw the purse at her and Sif’s words were lost as she managed to catch it in her palms, the heavy weight of the gold coins burning her palm. Whilst her gaze was diverted, she did not notice Loki dig deeper into her pack. It was only as he pulled out a thin bundle wrapped in cotton that a sudden panic overwhelmed Sif and she lurched towards him. He had second guessed her actions, for he was even then jumping up, backing away from her across the clearing. The light cotton covering was quickly tossed aside and Loki let the item wrapped within spill from his hands. It was a silken, exquisitely beaded dress, trimmed with lace and dotted with intricate embroidery, forming intricate patterns over the soft, white silk.
Stopping in her tracks, Sif looked on anxiously as Loki’s gaze flew rapidly between her and the dress in his hands. He took a few more moments to regain his composure than Sif and she quickly reached forwards and snatched the dress off him. The damage was done though; Loki looked at her incredulously, his mouth gaping open in surprise, before he quickly closed it and swallowed. He tried to search for words and Sif was pleased when she beat him to it.
“Do you not know they consider it bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding?”
Finding his composure now, and swallowing back his disbelief, Loki answered mockingly, “I did not know you stood by the superstitions of mortals, Lady Sif.”
Sif quickly wrapped the dress back up and stuffed it in her pack, along with the purse and the remaining food. Her face was filled with fury, fuelled by the embarrassment she felt at her weakness. She tried to hide her feelings behind her actions, though she could not stop her hands from shaking. “I think we should not try to test such superstitions at the moment, Loki.”
He was not supposed to see her dress, not until the wedding ceremony was about to take place. She was embarrassed by it, she could at least admit to that, and was furious with him for making her feel so. And with herself, for her own folly in letting him, her own weakness in having brought it at all.
“It belongs to your mother, does it not?” Sif gave no answer, keeping her gaze down and locked on her pack, the offending dress now safely out of sight. Loki continued, “Why did you bring it?”
Sif looked at him then and felt a small measure of triumph as Loki shifted slightly and flinched under her fierce gaze. “It seemed appropriate,” she replied sarcastically, repeating his own earlier words, not sure of what other explanation to give. How could she tell him how important it was for her, to wear the dress of her mothers, thrust at her many years ago and hiding in the depths of her wardrobe ever since. Her mother would never see her in it now, never watch her on this grandest of days, but wearing it felt like a small comfort, a small consolation in these events that were so far beyond their control.
Her face must have saddened at these thoughts, her glare softened, for Loki looked at her mournfully now, his eyes wide with a deep sorrow that nearly broke her heart. “I am sorry, Sif.”
Sif nodded at him, swallowing the knot in her throat, for she knew Loki was apologising for much more than finding her dress. Instead she shook her head, trying to throw her doubts and silly regrets aside. For what did it really matter now, a grand ceremony in Asgard, when what she wanted was to be hers anyway? She wanted to tell him that, that all that really mattered was that she would marry him, the one she loved. The words caught on her tongue and she could only manage a weak smile, before she quickly turned away. Slinging her pack across her shoulders once more, she headed back towards the path and the thick, dark forest beyond.
“Hurry up, Loki. We have a wedding to get to, remember.” She never slowed her pace as she spoke, simply calling to him over her shoulder, sparing him nothing but a fleeting glance as she marched determinedly ahead. She felt Loki watch her for a few moments more, before he quickly reached her side.
It was Loki’s turn to surprise her this time though, suddenly taking her hand and guiding her a little closer. Sif looked up at him in shock, the small token of affection from Loki causing her heart to swell in her chest. This time, her smile did reach her eyes and she was rewarded by a happy, playful smirk from her future husband. “Of course, my Lady, I would not want to slow you down.”
Sif rolled her eyes at him playfully, before turning her gaze back towards the path and the muted, sickly light ahead. Now they were back in the forest, her previous unease came flooding back and she found herself gripping Loki’s hand that bit harder, her other moving to the sword at her waist. With each step they took, the magic was growing, until she could barely breathe in it and it forced her pace to slow. It seemed to solidify, like a physical barrier, as if walking through water. She could sense they were reaching the centre of the forest now, the destination of their journey.
She glanced anxiously across at Loki, but he was concentrating on the path ahead, the aura of green light around him, around her now too, growing in intensity as he sensed their way. Loki’s magic surrounding them was comforting, protecting, acting as a natural barrier against the full onslaught of the Elfin magic. It was thick, too thick now and Sif drew her sword and moved closer to Loki. Her battle senses screaming at her that a threat was now imminent.
“Such a kind welcome from the Æsir, but then, one could hardly expect little else.”
Sif whirled around, her sword moving upwards as it reached towards the tall elf who suddenly appeared behind them. Where he had come from, she did not know and she was angry that he had taken them by surprise. She instinctively stepped towards him, her sword held threateningly against his chest.
The elf raised his hands in surrender, but his face showed no signs of concern, his oddly mocking, taunting scowl very reminiscent of a certain trickster she knew.
“Who are you?” Sif narrowed her eyes and pushed her sword further towards him.
“Torcan, my Lady, a mere gatekeeper.” The elf bowed as he spoke, deliberately leaning further forwards, towards the tip of her sword.
Sif continued to glare at him, not trusting this proud elf in front of her for one moment. He had an air of self importance about him, of mischief and trickery, but a dangerous variety, not like that she had come to recognise from the second prince. She only lowered her sword when Loki came up beside her and gently lowered her hand. Reaching his other hand to her waist, he instinctively moved ahead of her, pushing her body gently back behind his. Usually such actions from anyone caused her blood to boil, for she had certainly proven her ability to fend for herself countless times, but this time was different. She felt strangely comforted by Loki’s instinct to protect her and they both knew this situation required Loki’s silvertongue, not her steel blade.
“Then you shall let us pass.”
The gatekeeper merely shrugged at Loki’s request. “And if I did, I would not be a very worthy gatekeeper. Allowing an Æsir and a Frost Giant through on my watch with no knowledge of their purpose.”
Loki tilted his head in consideration, weighing his words. His only noticeable sign that the gatekeeper’s remark had angered him was a tightening of his hand around her waist as he pushed her further back behind him. “It is of no business of yours to know our purpose. I am sure your leader will see us.”
“And is he expecting you, Loki Odinson, second prince of Asgard?”
Again, Loki hid his surprise and displeasure at the gatekeeper well, though Sif saw his body tense as he replied, calmly, “If he does indeed possess the power of foresight, as the rumours suggest, I would very much be surprised if he did not expect us.”
The guard nodded his acquiescence, conceding to Loki’s clever words, though his voice still dripped with sarcasm as he answered, “The way lies before you, Loki Odinson and Lady Sif.” He bowed mockingly once more, gesturing ahead of him, before stepping back and disappearing into the thick blackness of the forest.
They both turned around, facing the way they had been travelling, but no longer did they see the twisted, overgrown path. Instead a bright, radiant light filled its place, spilling across the undergrowth and washing the surrounding trees in a magical glow. As they stepped towards the opening, a coin appeared in Loki’s hands. He twirled it around in his fingers for several moments, before flicking it high up into the air behind them. They did not look back, but there was no sound of the coin falling onto the forest floor. Instead, all they heard was the gatekeeper’s sarcastic, mischievous voice calling after them, “My congratulations for your future marriage! That is, if you actually make it through the test,” before it decayed into cruel, sardonic laughter.
Chapter Text
Massive apologies for the long delay on updating this story. I definitely haven't abandoned it - in fact I've got a good few more chapters planned - but I've had bad writer's block for a while now. Anyway, I'm hoping that's behind me and I can update this story much quicker now.
Hope you still enjoy reading, despite the wait, and feel free to go back and re-read to refresh your memory :-)
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“What test?” Sif hissed angrily into Loki’s ear as they stepped nearer towards the golden gateway. She could tell from his lack of reaction this announcement was of no surprise to him. She wanted to ask why he had kept this test from her, but she knew there was little point, for Loki would hardly reveal the truth. She had her own suspicions anyway, believed it to be yet another ploy of Loki’s to set her off this track; that prior knowledge would prepare her, strengthen her resolve and determination. Learning of it now, with her mind already beset with worries and her senses jittering with anxiety from the dangerous magic around them, only set her confidence and nerves further on edge. She would be offended, if she did not understand Loki’s real motivation; that he thought he did it for her sake, not his own.
“It is nothing,” Loki replied automatically, though even if Sif had not known him so well, the way he kept his gaze focused ahead and his mouth in a tight, firm line would tell her otherwise.
“Are you so confident we will pass the test then, Loki?” Sif asked coldly, unable to contain her irritation.
Her question was met with silence and Loki’s resolute gaze ahead was all the answer she needed. She reached over to take his hand, but her actions were aggressive as she pulled him closer, her annoyance mounting as she hissed again, “It is obviously not nothing, Loki, now tell me what I am to face!”
At least this time Loki turned to answer her, but he was saved from speaking for the very next moment they reached the golden gateway of light splitting through the trees.
This close, the light was blinding and Sif had no choice but to close her eyes as she stepped forwards, forcing her pace to stay firm and strong. The light was hot, too hot, though it did not burn, and once more Sif felt the force of the magic shift around her, parting reluctantly. It was heavy and for a moment Sif could not breathe, could hardly walk through the thickness of the barrier. Then, suddenly, the magic fell away, the blinding light she could see behind her eyelids disappearing, the heat changing to a fresh, cool breeze and warm, radiant sunshine. She took in a few, deep breaths; feeling the fresh, exquisite air fill her starved lungs, feeling some of the tension and anxiety that had plagued her since setting foot in this realm ease from her shoulders. There was still magic here, but no more was it dark and oppressive and full of threats and danger. Instead it was light, warm and full of all the energy of a living, breathing community.
Sif opened her eyes on her final deep breath and looked out across the plain before her. Gone were the thick trees and rugged undergrowth. In their place were small fields of corn and wheat, the path leading through to the small village tucked just beyond. She whirled around behind her, almost surprised to see that the trees were still there, as dark and menacing as she remembered. The path they were standing on disappeared into the forest and the golden light marking the gateway was gone. There was no choice now but to continue forward.
Her feet were firm on the dusty ground of the path as she started walking onwards, her eyes quickly scanning the village they were approaching. One hand lay on her sword, the other gripped Loki’s; partly for comfort and partly to ensure he stayed steady at her side. She did not turn to look at him, but she felt his gaze upon her as she took in their surroundings, watching in amusement as her eyes grew wide with awe.
It was like no Elfin village Sif had ever seen before. Usually their trips to the communities of Alfheim were based on diplomacy, on fulfilling the missions of Odin the Allfather. Then they were part of the Royal Guard, accompanying the two Princes of the realm and welcomed into the very grandest of palaces. Here, there were no beautiful waterfalls cascading down the mountainside, there were no bridges made of crystal reflecting every colour of the Rainbow Bridge. There were no golden turrets and marble walls reaching up into the thick mists of the settlement. Instead, everything was simple, plain, built for purpose not grandeur. The houses she could see were small, made of wood and covered in thatch. It could almost be a farming village on the outskirts of Asgard, save for the people they saw as they approached. It was not the silent, inquisitive way the people watched them as they neared, stopping in their work and gawping at the strangers. That was not unusual to Sif, for often when she travelled with the mighty Princes of Asgard they received a similar welcome, even before Loki’s infamous return from Midgard. It was not really their appearance either, though the long, tied hair and curved, pointed ears of the Elves differed rather from the Æsir. Instead it was the magic in the air, surrounding them all in a strange, barely visible aura; the way they looked wary, almost afraid of the visitors; the worried glances cast between them and the children disappearing behind the stout legs of parents.
Subconsciously, Sif felt her grip on Loki’s hand tighten. They were not welcome here and were obviously seen as a great threat, though other than her sword and shield they carried no weapons. Loki had been right; these people did not like to be found and were obviously unused to visitors, especially the second prince of Asgard and a warrior maiden. The questioning, fearful stares followed them as they walked past, the silence becoming deafening as the twisting, widening path led them deeper into the village.
More and more houses could be seen now, the wood gradually replaced by stone and brick, the thatch by slate and tile. The buildings were larger now too, and growing sideways into the distance, fed by numerous small paths branching off from the main track they followed. A few horses and carts could be seen, several wells and a stable. Then a last, sharp twist to the track and they stood in the main square; a market cross standing proudly in the centre and the buildings surrounding much larger now, more ornate, the doorways and iron balconies overflowing with colourful flowering plants, the leaves and petals glowing in a way Sif had never seen before, even in all her adventures.
At the roads end stood their destination. A large stone hall towering above the square, its roof high and pitched, topped with a clock tower and the thick walls dotted with a few small, iron framed windows. Two thick, curving columns stood astride the arched doorway, their white, plain stonework a stark contrast to the intricate patterns etched into the thick wooden door. The stonework of the hall stretched nearly the length of the square, flanked on one side by a small, squat building, looking set to burst at the seams and Sif could tell instantly this was the village’s inn. On the other stood a much grander house, curving round the corner and built in the same white stone as the vast hall, overflowing with the same bright, colourful flowers that decorated the dusty square.
It was only after a few moments that Sif realised they had come to a stop in the middle of the square, taking in the strange scenery around them and the silent, watchful people who were starting to gather.
Sif glanced sideways at Loki, beginning to wonder precisely why he had brought them here, to this small, backwater community. Surely the magic these simple, farming folk wielded would not be sufficient to overcome the might of the Allfather and the King of Asgard himself.
Loki seemed to read her doubts, for his expression became somewhat coy, mischievous, though he squeezed her hand a little tighter comfortingly. Before he had chance to speak, the doors of the large house opened and a single figure came out, walking towards them. His dress was as plain as the other inhabitants; simple trousers and shirt, earthen coloured cottons and scuffed sturdy boots, yet Sif knew instantly this was the villager’s leader. His posture and presence reminded her distinctly of the Allfathers; full of power and authority and demanding attention and respect. It was more than that though, for Sif could feel the magic emanating from him, almost tangible as its distinct feel battered her senses. It was the same magic she had felt in the woods, though no longer dark and threatening, and Sif felt her present doubts knocked asunder. For this magic was strong, potent, harnessing an ancient power within. The magic would have been undetectable to most, for it was masked, buried, but Sif had grown to recognise the presence of magic and those who wielded it, not only from her close relationship with Loki, but from the many adventures where magic had been the enemy’s weapon. Sif’s glance across at Loki was uneasy now, for she knew that this was no ordinary village leader, and she started to understand why Loki had brought them here. She swallowed back her anxiety, keeping her head high as she watched the man approach, her feet apart and her gaze fierce.
“Welcome to Iarfhlaith, visitors,” the warm yet strong voice of the man called out, stopping a few feet in front of them. He held out his hands, half in welcome and half in peace, as if proving he wielded no weapons. “I am Conn Fearghus, the village leader. How may I assist you?”
Sif’s eyes narrowed further and her skin bristled at the condescension laced in the words and tone. It reminded her all too much of the mocking, proud gatekeeper they had recently met and, though Sif knew she ought to behave graciously towards this man they were petitioning for help, she felt her patience wearing thin. The day had already proved long and weary and her heart was weighted with apprehension at what awaited their journey’s end. There were threads of danger in the air too, leaving her battle senses raging and her hand itching to draw her sword, to act, to do something.
Loki sensed her disquiet and rested his hand lightly on her arm, stilling her fingers as he stepped in front of her, the only restraint to her wielding her weapon.
“You know why we are here.” It was not a question and Loki’s voice was strong and defiant as he held himself proud before this powerful leader. His tone was laced with his own annoyance at this man who was studying them in mild, patronising amusement.
“Indeed I do, for it has long been present in my visions.” The man smiled, though it was no less condescending as he looked between them. “You wish to be married by Elfin magic.”
There was a lightness to the man’s words, a mocking tone which left Sif with the unshakable impression that this man had already reached his decision, that it had been foreseen before she had even stepped foot on this realm. He seemed to be toying with them, playing the game of wit and theatricals Sif always held little patience for. She quickly pushed past Loki, approaching the leader and asking impertinently, “And will you aid us?”
Her hands began to reach automatically for her sword and shield and Loki quickly caught her arm, stopping her. She whipped her head around to face him and a silent battle raged between them. Loki, ever the diplomat, was silently willing her to step back and let him speak for them, to use his silvertongue to argue their case. Sif’s eyes were hard, narrowed. She did not want to battle with words, with politics and diplomacy, she wanted to know the answer now and not play this man’s game. For if this leader’s aim was to try and trick them with words, to see if they would stumble and fall around them, to test their dedication and fortitude, then his efforts would be futile. For one cannot fool an honest heart into telling lies, nor try and trick the trickster god himself. Yet Sif could not hide the faint stirrings of doubt within her mind about Loki, that his own reluctance for success may encourage him towards failure. The guilt these nagging doubts wielded overrode her impatience and, with a curt, reproachful nod, she stepped back, turning to face the man and allowing Loki to move slightly ahead of her. She kept close to him though, her hand once more slipping into his, a combination of comfort and warning in her grip.
After watching their exchange keenly, the man smiled once more, his voice warm with feigned friendliness, “Perhaps I can help. But pray tell, why does a Prince of Jotenheim and Asgard travel such a great distance to our small village, just to marry his Æsir warrior?”
“Our reasons are not your concern. Though I am surprised your visions have not explained all.”
The man was clearly offended by Loki’s answer and his voice was cold, irritated as he explained, “The visions only reveal that which is necessary. If you seek our aid, perhaps explaining yourselves may help garner our sympathy.”
“You will not be left unrewarded for your trouble.” A flick of Loki’s wrist and a large, leather drawstring bag suddenly appeared in the air between them, hanging easily by the invisible threads of magic despite its obvious weight.
“And what do we, a simple farming community on the outskirts of Alfheim, care for such Asgardian trinkets?” The leader looked at the bag with disdain, but when another appeared at its side, he reached out to touch both. A quick murmur of his lips and the bags disappeared into the ether behind him.
Loki eyed the man astutely, weighing up his words and the challenge in the man’s eyes before he spoke. “The Allfather wishes Lady Sif to marry Prince Thor of Asgard.”
“Your brother?” The leader’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, though a moment later understanding dawned and his expression was pushed once again into a mask of mild curiosity. “And so you require an Elfin marriage, one which even the great King of Asgard cannot tear asunder.”
The note of scorn that had crept into his voice as he spoke surprised Sif, for it seemed greater than the usual disdain many leaders across the realms held for the great, all conquering Odin Allfather. Sif felt her suspicions at this man and this strange, Elfin village momentarily piqued, though she held her tongue.
“And so you see our dilemma,” Loki answered, unconsciously stepping closer to Sif and tightening his grip on her hand ever so slightly.
The leader looked between them for a moment, his gaze once more questioning. His eyes fell on Sif, and she found herself fighting the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny, holding his gaze with her own defiant one as best she could. “And you, Lady Sif, do you not wish to be married to Thor Odinson? To become the future Queen of Asgard, of us all?”
“No.” Sif’s quick, determined answer surprised the man and his examining gaze grew in curiosity as he watched her.
“And do you wish to not marry Thor, or to avoid becoming Asgard’s Queen?”
Sif blinked in surprise, momentarily confused by the strange question. She soon gleamed his meaning and answered defiantly, “I would not fear becoming queen, if that was to be my destiny…”
“And is it not?” The man interrupted.
“No.” Sif’s answer was firm, cold and unwavering as stone. “My heart has created another destiny for me, one I have no choice but to follow.”
“There is always a choice.” The leader’s voice was firm, unrelenting, though Sif sensed a strange wistfulness underlying the words, a faint stirring of past emotions buried deep. It seemed to stop him from questioning her further and he looked between them once more, his eyes falling to their clasped hands, which Loki had pulled unconsciously tighter at her answer. “And is that why you have chosen us? Because we hold no allegiance with Asgard and her king?”
“Of course.” Loki obnoxious smirk, usually irritating to Sif, was welcome for once as he petitioned their case. “And we did hope your villager’s interesting… background, would help encourage you to aid us in our plight.”
A strange looked past over the man’s face then, surprise and what seemed like respect, perhaps even admiration for Loki’s knowledge. His expression became distant, pained, as if momentarily lost in past memories, but then his face hardened once more. “And so you would bring the wrath of the Allfather upon us?”
Sif longed to ask what Loki had meant, about the history of this place and its people, but Loki’s sudden, bitter laugh at the man’s words stilled Sif’s tongue in surprise. Judging from the reaction of the leader, and the crowd that had gathered around them to watch, it had not been the expected reaction. The leader eyed Loki contemptuously for several moments, clearly offended.
It was several more seconds before Loki contained his mirth and he answered the silent affront in the man’s eyes. “You think my father would care enough to send his wrath to your little village?” Loki’s voice was strained then, sneering as the words hissed between his teeth. “Even if my father cared enough to try and find your hidden little village, do you really think he would risk the embarrassment of announcing to the nine realms that his prodigal son has betrayed him again? That even the valiant Lady Sif has been dragged down into the trickster’s madness for fear of marrying his flesh born son?”
The bitter sarcasm in Loki’s tone worried Sif, for she recognised all too well the simmering anger and resentment within him, once more threatening to spill forth. She gripped his hand tighter, trying to weigh him back to ground and stepped closer, protectively, comfortingly. After several missing heartbeats, she was rewarded by Loki’s body relaxing slightly against hers, the heated tension leaving him slightly, though his eyes were still staring bitterly at the leader, all diplomacy and word games seemingly abandoned.
The anger in the leader’s eyes at Loki’s initial words was soon replaced by something akin to concern, sympathy, though his voice was still firm, continuing the theatricals as he answered, several moments after Loki’s outburst, “And why are we to trust you, Loki Laufeyson? Notorious mischief maker and trickster? Fallen prince of Asgard and the Destroyer of worlds?
If the leader expected Loki to show injury, perhaps guilt and shame at those insults, he would be disappointed, for the only indication that the slights had wounded Loki was the tightening of his grip on Sif’s hand and his body tensing slightly beside her. His voice was the opposite of a few moments ago, now calm, measured, full of sarcasm like his smirk, “Because you have nothing to lose if you are wrong.”
The eyes of the leader narrowed then, weighing up the words and the two Asgardians before him. He watched them both for several long moments and his magic, kept so well hidden, began to swell. It started pouring out and covering him in a faint gold light and there was no mistaking the ancient power within it, distinctly threatening. Sif both saw and felt Loki’s own power rise up in challenge, the luminescent green growing stronger as it thickened the air around them, drawing it in and making it hard for Sif to breathe. She wondered then, what would happen if the two wielders of magic were to fight, whose power would prove the greatest and what damage may be done in the crossfire. She held her breathe nervously, her muscles tense and coiling, waiting to spring. It was very rare for Loki to exhibit the strength of his power like this; usually it was seen in small measures, reserved for his tricks and his games. But this was no game and Sif felt a shiver of fear rush through her at the power her betrothed could summon at will.
The leader seemed to share her worries, for his own magic drew back after several, tense heartbeats, no longer trying to fight a foe he was unsure he could match. When only a few small traces of magic remained, he announced reluctantly, “Very well, I will marry the two of you under the laws of the Elves and Alfheim, but…” Here he paused for effect, eyeing them up in warning, “For the magic to bind you together, you will have to pass the test. If you fail, your marriage will not be unbreakable to the power of the Allfather.”
They both nodded, Sif’s stance still strong, though she felt a twisting in her gut at the leader’s words. She had quite forgotten about this formidable test and the knowledge that its success would be the only security for their marriage filled her with dread. As a warrior of Asgard, and as friend to the two princes of the realm, Sif had faced many trials, some at the pain of death for herself and, worse still, that of her comrades. Yet those tests had not filled her with such foreboding, such fear of failure as this one did.
“And know this, if you do pass the test, your marriage will remain unbreakable, with not even Hela, death herself, able to break the bond.
“Yes, of this we know.” Sif answered, her voice surprisingly firm considering the ripple of dread that consumed her at the man’s words. It was what she already knew, what Loki himself had shared and the very reason for his own apprehension, but hearing the words here, spoken by another, such a powerful magician, made it all feel so real, so frightening. But she was Lady Sif, the fierce, brave and strong warrior maiden of Asgard and she would not turn her back now, at this final hurdle. Besides, she had known all along there was no real alternative, for this was indeed the destiny her heart had chosen and she knew she should not fear following its path.
A smile lit the leader’s face at her words, the first genuine, warm smile they had seen from him. He announced, suddenly so strangely cheerful now, “Then let us begin to prepare for your wedding.”
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Hope you enjoyed reading it and more chapters are on their way - very soon I hope!
Big thanks to ceema for her help with the Elfin names.
Chapter Text
Once the chief of the village had uttered the words that she and Loki were to be wed, Sif felt a shiver of nervous excitement run through her. She could scarce believe it. Loki had actually succeeded in petitioning the Elves for help. He had not tried, this one last time, to scupper their endeavour and see their wedding never come to pass. And now, this was it. The moment would surely come. She was actually to be married to Loki, the second prince of Asgard. She was actually going to defy the future commands of the Allfather himself and marry the wrong prince. That was if they passed this test, of course, this mysterious test which she knew so little about, and even less what it was they were to face. And if they did fail this test, the Allfather would be able to break apart their marriage and would make her marry Thor…
Sif squeezed Loki’s hand tighter at this thought. He turned towards her and his eyes were gentle, reassuring, asking her to trust him. She searched them for signs of any mischief or lies, but they were devoid of any false sentiments. Perhaps he was right, maybe all she needed to do was to trust him, maybe he was not quite so determined to see them fail this test as she feared. After all, if the test was to prove that they were right for each other, that their love was strong enough to withstand anything and last throughout time, then surely they were certain to succeed. For Sif knew that, despite everything they had been through, her feelings for the second prince of Asgard had only grown stronger. And she knew that Loki even being here, about to marry her under such circumstances, were testament to his own love for her. For it would only be a love strong enough that Loki would sacrifice himself so, suffer the scorn of all of Asgard and risk his father’s anger when peace had only recently been achieved. And then suffer the weight on his shoulders of what their future might hold, and whether he may fall once again…
As the people gathered around started to approach them and Sif was gently pulled away by an older lady, she found herself gripping Loki’s hand tighter. She was not afraid to go with the lady, far from it, but she was anxious that now, if she was parted from Loki, something would happen to keep them apart. She was concerned that away from her sight, Loki may change his mind, that yet another obstacle would present itself and he would remain forever lost to her.
The gentle hand on her shoulder was persistent though, holding a strength unexpected in the lady’s small frame. Loki was also being pulled away and Sif had to hold on tight to keep her fingers entwined with Loki’s, their arms stretched. “It’s alright, Sif,” Loki said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. She swallowed, squeezed his hand back, then nodded, finally pulling her hand away from his and standing up straighter, holding her head proud once more. She was a warrior from Asgard, she could face any test and Loki would surely not dare desert her now.
Sif let the older woman pull her away and she forced her head to turn away from Loki and face the way she was now travelling. She was being taken across the market square to the tall, grand house by the main hall. As Sif approached, she realised it was a home, for she could see elegant household furniture through the large, ornate iron framed windows.
“It is alright, m’Lady,” the woman reassured her as she led her closer to the house. “We just need to prepare you for the wedding.” She had stopped pulling on Sif’s shoulder now, her hand resting gently on her arm, guiding her forwards. There was a weight, an ancient wisdom held within the ladies voice that gathered Sif’s attention. She turned towards the lady again and examined her more closely. She may be small of frame and dressed in the same simple earthen clothes as her neighbours, but there was a power, a presence within her that she had seen in the Leader of the village. Despite the telling lines of age etched into her pale skin, she was beautiful; her eyes a deep rich blue and her hair as black as night itself. Unlike the other elves Sif had seen, she wore it completely loose, so the faint breeze stirred the long strands across her face.
“I am Íonait Fearghus,” the lady answered Sif’s questioning gaze, confirming what Sif had come to realise. She was the chieftain’s wife and the head female of the village, though Sif wondered if she had come from another part of Alfheim entirely, so different was she from the other villagers. Her voice was kind, comforting and Sif felt the faint stirrings of magic sweeping along her skin. She looked again at this old woman and was surprised by the power she saw in the ladies eyes. It was akin to looking into her brother, Heimdall’s eyes. Eyes that had seen many lifetimes across the ages, battles raging and nations destroyed as regular as the ebb and flow of the tide. Lives lost and saved, death and rebirth, countless tales of love and heartache. Eyes that made Sif feel every one of her own, young years and feel so achingly small and insignificant, so young and ignorant. Yet the ladies eyes were kind, soothing and Sif felt the fears and anxieties that had been plaguing her all day start to dissipate. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the deep compassion she saw in the woman, but Sif immediately felt herself relax as they entered this strange, grand house. Her dependable battle instincts were quiet, her questioning, methodical mind at peace.
The house and its white marbled floors and columns were cool and comforting and it was only then that Sif realised how hot and bright it had been outside in the dusty market square. She felt dirty and sweaty from the day spent travelling and she was very grateful when Íonait offered her a chance to bathe. The lady led Sif up the wide marbled staircase, every other step overflowing with the same, glowing flowers she had seen on the balconies around the square, each vase filled with a different coloured bloom. The curved staircase was lined with a rich mahogany banister, twisted into ornate figurines which held Sif’s inquisitive gaze. They seemed to tell a story, perhaps that of the village itself, and Sif was determined to unlock its mysteries before she left. She was certainly not going to rely on her future husband to tell her the story. The thought of having to beseech Loki to tell all, and the smirk and teasing it would surely bring, made Sif smile. She had paused on a step, lost momentarily in her thoughts, and when she felt Íonait place a hand on her back and gently push her forwards, she suddenly realised she had been cradling one of the figurines. She looked down at it in surprise, seeing that it was of a man and a woman, the detail so minute she could see their elaborate dress, the bouquet held in the woman’s arms and a veil cascading down her shoulders.
Íonait saw her shocked expression and the way Sif quickly pulled her hand away, as if touching something sacred, and merely smiled kindly at her. She seemed to be a woman of few words and Sif was pleased she would not be called upon to try and make polite conversation with this stranger, for that had always been more Loki’s forte.
It was only when they entered the large, circular bathing room and Sif saw the extravagant bath, fancy enough to rival even Loki’s at the palace, that a curious thought struck her. For the bathing water was already prepared, the air full of steam and fragrance, fresh cotton towels laid neatly on the table. “The preparations, for the wedding, will they be ready in time?”
“Yes, my Lady,” the leader’s wife answered, “For your coming was foretold and preparations have been underway a long time.”
“Oh,” was all the reply Sif could manage, suddenly woefully out of her depth. Prophecy, fortune telling and visions of the future had never been something Sif had truly understood. She was the Goddess of War; she lived for the day, the moment, the breath that would either be her last or her enemies. She had little time to contemplate the prophecies of mages, for they could help little on the battlefield, so vague and full of riddles they were, so full of different pathways and numerous outcomes. Loki had been the one to understand all that, to piece it together and explain it, put it into their strategy and tactics when they travelled on a new adventure or had a war to fight. It was beyond Sif’s comprehension that these elves already knew they were coming, had already decided to help them and yet still thought to test them. It was even more wondrous that they had so predicted the exact day, for as Sif knelt down and traced her hand over the water lined with rose petals and orange blossom, she realised it was just the perfect temperature for bathing. Sif wondered if she should ask then, how they knew with such certainty her and Loki would come, that they would not stray off the path that would lead them here, but she was not sure if it would be polite, or whether she would even understand.
The woman must have seen Sif’s confused expression though, for she answered her unspoken question. “My husband, Conn, he is a very powerful prophet,” Íonait explained. “Yet so many of his visions are hazy, fragmented pieces not quite fitting together. Yet this day, the coming of the Jötunn Prince and the Æsir warrior, has long been clear to him. Long has he known the decision made here today will affect all of great Yggdrasil’s children, perhaps even altering the course of Ragnarök itself.”
Once more the ladies countenance filled with an ancient wisdom and understanding that made Sif all too aware of her own youth and inadequacies. The weight of her words sent a flicker of apprehension through Sif’s veins. All the Æsir knew of Ragnarök, the end of great Yggdrasil and time itself. When all that was known would die, only to be reborn once again, anew. Yet the deeper, detailed secrets and visions were known to only a select few, kept locked safely away by the Allfather and the powerful Norns themselves. That her marriage to Loki could affect such a powerful event as Ragnarök scared even Sif’s warrior hardened soul. For she could not understand what part her and Loki could play in the coming Twilight of the Gods and the end of all things.
Íonait must have seen the way Sif’s hand clenched around her sword, for the thrum of magic in the air increased, tickling along Sif’s skin and calming her instincts once more. She continued to explain, her voice also laced with the same comfort held within her magic. “He did not understand the reason behind your marriage, or whether we should aid you or not. The visions are rarely so detailed. Yet we knew we must prepare, regardless. That should you pass the initial test, we must waste no time in seeing you married. Now we understand the importance of haste, for your marriage will be forbidden by the Allfather, who has his own visions of the future, as do those he welcomes in his court.”
Sif nodded, things starting to fall into place. So it had been a test, their meeting with the leader, perhaps even the Gatekeeper, and at least this was one they had passed. “But if the details are imprecise, how could you know the day we were to arrive?”
“Because, my Lady, you come on a great day for our people, when we celebrate the anniversary of our village’s humble beginnings.” Íonait smiled again and motioned to the glowing flowers also adorning many of the spare spaces in the large bathing room. “The flowers you see before you, they only glow on this one day of the year. My husband saw them in his vision and so we knew we would see you this day, a day most blessed and joyful.”
“But your people, they seemed so surprised to see us?” Sif asked, remembering the wary faces of those in the fields, the children hiding as they approached the village and the disquiet murmurings as the crowd gathered within the square.
The wise woman’s voice was touched with a hint of bitterness as she answered, “There are many in the village who do not trust in prophecy or vision, who scorn at the use of magic, though it has for generations kept our village safe from harm and free from discovery.”
A pang of guilt shot through Sif at the woman’s words, for many a time in their youth had they mocked Loki’s magic, belittled his own skill as a sorcerer, for it was not one born of steel and strength.
“And of course,” Íonait continued, “the visions warned us of how important your coming would be and that secrecy was essential. Only those most necessary and trusted have been told." She paused, gesturing to the great bath and gently urging Sif forward. “Now, enough talk, you must begin to prepare for your wedding, my Lady.” She reached out to take Sif’s sword, shield and pack and Sif handed them over wearily, measuring the sword’s comforting weight for a few moments before she relinquished it.
“Please, call me Sif.” It was not right, that such a kind lady, so much her superior in wisdom and experience, should defer to a rank below her.
“As you wish, Lady Sif. Though you will soon be a Princess, of both Jotenheim and Asgard, and must get used to being referred to as such.”
“That is if we pass this test,” Sif muttered, more to herself than the woman, though her words were not lost on the lady.
“You must not fear the test, my dear, for fear itself can cloud your judgement and lessen your chances.” She gently reached forwards and squeezed Sif’s arm reassuringly. “If you truly love this man with a pure heart then the magic will find you worthy.”
Sif nodded, but the words did not comfort her like the lady intended. So much had already befallen her and Loki, so many doubts and questions and misgivings had always plagued them, so much worse since his fall... These things they would not be able to hide if the magic was as powerful as it seemed and Sif did not know whether it could be enough to destroy their chance of victory.
The lady seemed to read Sif’s dark thoughts, for she continued on, carefully. “Would it be so bad, Lady Sif, if you were to marry Thor and become Queen of Asgard?”
Sif felt a sigh escape her lips, for it was a question she had asked herself countless times since Loki had first informed her of the Allfather’s wishes. She was just as determined in her answer now as she was every time she asked it of herself. “It is not through fear that I do not wish to marry Thor, for I know he would make a kind husband. And whilst I do not seek the throne, I would accept a destiny as Queen if it was so written.” She paused for a moment, trying to think how best to phrase her words. “It is being separated from Loki that I fear, for I could not be untrue to Thor.”
The woman smiled at her, a rich, warm smile that filled her whole face. A knowing smile, though Sif noticed a touch of melancholy in her eyes. It reminded her of the same she had seen in the village leader’s gaze. “Then, my dear Lady Sif, you have nothing to fear.” She motioned to the bath again and bowed slightly, before she moved towards the door. Before leaving, she turned to Sif and said lightly, “Take your time, Lady Sif, for it is your wedding day and everyone must wait for the bride.” Her smile broadened and then she was gone.
For a moment Sif felt lost, left in this strange, cavernous room with its deep marbled bath filled with flower petals and fragrant water. She had been moving all day, ever unable to settle with the anxieties and worries plaguing her mind, her muscles tense and her veins filled with the thrum and anticipation of a coming battle. She slipped into the water, enchanted to maintain the perfect temperature, and breathed in the heady scent of the flowers and oils mixed within. But her mind and body would not calm. Her body was filled with the adrenaline and movement of the day and her mind was heavy with the prophecy the lady had spoken of. Her words echoed around Sif’s thoughts, the idea that her and Loki’s marriage could actually affect the coming of great Ragnarök itself. It had all seemed so simple at first, her marrying Loki rather than Thor. But then they had been forced to journey to this strange corner of Alfheim, to petition these outcast Elves for aid. And now it seemed even the fate of great Yggdrasil and the nine realms rested on the outcome of this day, on this test her and Loki must face. A test she still had no understanding or knowledge of.
Sif quickly bathed, anxious for action now to overtake her thoughts and unable to stay long in the enchanted water, as luxuriant as it was. She quickly dressed in the small robe laid out for her and slipped out of the door. A different lady was just leaving another room and Sif stopped suddenly, unsure of who this lady was or whether she may pose a threat. Her hand automatically went to her waist, but there was no sword there for her to hold, for Íonait had already taken her things. The woman seemed surprised to see Sif, but she bowed her head and smiled. “My Lady Sif, would you care to come this way, please?”
Sif paused a moment, sizing the lady up. She was short of frame and large of width, her arms did not look used to fighting and she did not seem to possess any magic. Sure that she would have no trouble overcoming her should this lady prove a foe, Sif nodded and began to follow. They returned to the room the lady had recently left and Sif found herself in a large sleeping chamber, as grand as either of the prince’s in Asgard’s golden palace walls. Íonait was waiting in the room and she seemed surprised to see Sif so soon, though she made no comment. There were two other ladies in the room, along with the lady she had followed inside, and they all smiled at her warmly, introducing themselves. They were of different weight and stature, but all had a calming presence about them, or at least seemed to, for Sif could still feel the faint thrum of magic vibrating through the air.
The ladies helped her dress, all but Íonait cooing and gushing over the brilliant ivory coloured silk and the intricate lace and beading decorating the wedding gown. Sif was glad of the help, for the lacing on the back was particularly difficult to fasten, though she did not care for the constant stream of compliments. Sif tried to brush them off, though even without any feminine interest in the particulars of fashion, Sif did agree her mother’s wedding dress was exquisite. She was only disappointed Loki had already seen the gown.
Once the dress had been fitted and adjusted, for Sif’s frame was more slender than her mother’s, Sif began walking towards the door, thinking the preparations were over. The ladies soon stopped her, talking about things like hair styles and facial make-up. Sif’s blank expression led to a number of knowing looks between the ladies. She was eager to leave now, to get the marriage and whatever this fearful test was over with, before any more obstacles presented themselves. Yet when they insisted it would not only take a moment, but was extremely important, Sif allowed the ladies to lead her to a pretty wooden chair next to a fine dressing table. And so Sif remained seated whilst the ladies fiddled with her hair, though her toes and fingers kept on tapping to a nervous rhythm. It had been many a year since Sif was last decorated up in this way, forced to by her mother in her youth. Then she would fidget so and only comply when her mother threatened to stop her from going to weapons training. For so many centuries now, Sif had always been able to get away with minimal decoration and simple gowns at the many banquets and festivals within the palace.
The compliments continued to grow thick and fast once more, this time the compliments were on how fine her hair was, how the dark colour matched her skin tone perfectly. Sif was half tempted to tell them that it had only been through a cruel trick of Loki’s in their youth that Sif’s hair was no longer the colour of spun gold. She couldn’t quite hide her smile at the memory though, how her anger had raged at the second prince for many a month and it had been even longer before Sif had finally acknowledged that the dark colour of her hair, now a perfect match for Loki’s, suited her far better. Something she had never had the courage to tell Loki himself, though he knew she had forgiven him. She was not sure she would be able to stand the smirks and the teasing from the trickster if he knew how much she admired their matching colour now.
Decorating her for the wedding took far longer than Sif’s patience wanted to bear, but when the ladies finally stepped backwards and Sif was allowed to stand to look in the ornate mirror, she realised it was worth it. Sif had never been one for vanity, for what did beautiful locks and pretty eyes help when covered in blood and mud and facing the enemy on the battlefield. But when she looked in the mirror then, she gasped at the vision before her. It was not just the beautiful wedding dress, or the intricate plaits within her hair the ladies had twisted into a striking bun. It was not the gentle curls which swung down and framed her face, or the pretty glowing flowers tucked within the knots. Nor was it the fancy colours painted around her shining eyes and smiling lips or the light powder dusting her cheeks. It was the combined effect of all, her radiant smile and each part of the ladies handiwork and the fitted dress accentuating all her proudest features, turning her into a goddess fit to rival Sol the sun goddess herself.
“A princess fit to marry her prince.” Íonait smiled at her as she fixed the flowing lace veil to her hair.
Sif did feel like a princess then, a beautiful maiden the ancient songs told many a tale about, their dreams coming true as they married their true loves. And today, Sif had become one of them, the heroine of her own fairytale and maybe one day even songs would be sung of her story, her marriage to her handsome prince of Asgard.
There were just a few final touches and Sif rooted deep within her pack. Loki had been so distracted by her dress, he had not noticed the few other items remaining and she fished them out eagerly. Firstly were a pair of ivory ballet pumps, covered in the same beautiful beading and lace work of her dress and as she slipped them on, they raised her height by several inches. The other item she drew from her pack was a necklace and she held it reverently in her fingers for a moment before allowing Íonait to fasten it around her neck.
Sif turned towards the expectant ladies and reached out to take the beautiful floral bouquet handed to her.
“My Lady Sif, are you ready for your wedding?” Ionait asked her kindly.
Sif felt herself clutch her bouquet tighter, her hands trembling though she answered honestly from the depths of her heart, “I do not think I have been more ready for anything in my life.”
As Íonait smiled and gently took her arm, leading her down the great stairs and towards the open doorway, Sif could only wish she was as confident about this test they must pass. And that she was not so afraid of what would befall them all should she fail.
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Hope you enjoyed the chapter and it wasn’t too long, my muse does run away with me sometimes!
If you’re not too clear on Norse mythology, then Ragnarök is basically the Norse version of the apocalypse, when a final battle will rage and many of the great gods will fall, only to be reborn anew. One side of the battle, against Odin and the Æsir, is said to be led by Loki, who commands the souls from Hel’s domain. His sons, the wolf Fenrir and the world serpent Jörmungandr by a Jötunn called Angrboða, is said to kill Odin and Thor respectively.
I really liked the idea that by Loki marrying Sif, it would alter his future and so alter Ragnarok itself, which is what the leader saw in his visions.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter. As ever, I’d love to know what you think and more is definitely on its way soon!
Chapter Text
A large crowd had gathered outside in the market square, the sounds of excited chatter and boisterous laughter bursting forth into the air. It seemed word of the Asgardian’s purpose had travelled far and fast and the entire community had gathered to witness the spectacle of the Æsir warrior marrying the Jötunn Prince. Blinking in the dazzling sunlight, Sif watched as their bright, exuberant faces turned towards her, an excited hush filling the crowd. Every face strained to see the shield maiden in all her finery and people pushed closer to the building, seeking a better view. Sif clutched her bouquet tighter in her fingers, wishing she held the firm and cold unyielding metal of her sword. She did not like to be so watched without her armour, without a battle to march towards or a duel to fight. The beautiful silk of her dress felt heavy upon her then, the satin of her ballet pumps too flimsy. She felt unprotected and vulnerable and the nerves that had been lingering within her thoughts began to creep through.
Sif had not realised her feet had stilled until she felt a gentle push on her back from Íonait. It propelled her forwards and her feet were quick to find their step. The bustling crowd cleared a path for her as she approached; the sides parting like water around a rock in a raging stream. She was pleased to feel the presence of Íonait close behind, her calming magic seeping through and helping to settle Sif’s nerves and the lively crowd. Sif released a deep breath she had not realised she held and sensed the strong, sweet smell of the roses and orange blossom within her exquisite bouquet. The scent further calmed her nerves, as she knew it had calmed countless brides before her, for orange blossom was as common to bridal bouquets as the white veil that danced around its owner. A smile creased her lips at that thought, for it seemed that marriage was the one tradition that changed little throughout the great realms scattered across great Yggdrasil’s branches.
The people around her were smiling; curious and eager, no longer the hostile faces first encountered when they entered this strange village. Whatever misgivings they may have had about these extraordinary travellers had dissipated in the excitement of the forthcoming nuptials. It gave Sif strength, feeding her confidence and it was not long before she was able to meet the eyes of the crowd, smiling in return. As she continued forwards though, her thoughts turned unwittingly to Asgard and she imagined the crowds lining the great corridors of the Golden Palace. Sif wondered how many of the faces there would be as unrecognisable as those present today, for all of Asgard would have gathered to see her wed their Prince. If that prince be Thor, Sif knew the faces would be excited, eager as they fought to catch a glance at their future Queen, the smiles wide and the bows low, anxious for her favour. But if that prince were allowed to be Loki, Sif wondered if the smiles and bows would be so forthcoming, if the excitement would be painted across the faces, stiff and taut, with distrust and disappointment flickering in their eyes. Would she see that same look in the eyes of her friends? Would the Warriors Three look at her in reproach, resentful that she had chosen the wrong prince? Would the face of her mother shine as proudly upon her if it was not Thor who was waiting at the end of this path? The thought was a sobering one and Sif felt a slight pain twist within her heart. Pain that those dear faces she would not look upon on this most important of days and a pain of what they will think when the truth becomes known...
Instinctively, Sif reached a hand to her necklace, her fingers twisting within the cool metal nervously. The necklace was made from the finest Dwarfish gold, filled with enchantments to bring peace and prosperity to its wearer. Three golden chains intertwined; plaited together to symbolise the combination of past, present and future. Dazzling along its length and twisted within the golden chains were seated a string of perfectly cut oval diamonds, each one the size and iridescence of a pearl. At the very centre of the necklace, where the chains converged and became one, forming the small head of a serpent, draped a diamond pendant. Its long, tear drop shape hung elegantly down Sif’s neck and seemed to draw all light to it, radiating it back in dazzling beauty. Yet though the stones gleamed and shone like the diamonds they were, their colour was as rich as the most vivid and magnificent of emeralds and looking into their hearts was like looking into the eyes of the giver itself. Though Sif had few occasions to wear something so elegant, long had Sif treasured this necklace, the first gift Loki had ever bestowed upon her. Even now, the familiar enchantments that sung and vibrated within the necklace were familiar and soothing, almost like a soft whisper, a gentle caress from the giver itself. It calmed Sif and she let her hand drop, once more fixing both hands around the beautiful bouquet.
It helped her to continue forwards and moving deeper within the crowd her eyes once more met those of the elves around her with warmth. For the faces of those present here, in this strange village in Alfheim, held no scorn or falsity and she felt the kindness of their blessings follow her. For what did it concern these simple elves who she married? And though her friends and family could not be here this day, the one who truly mattered was present and Sif held her head high as she thought of him. For it was indeed better to be married amongst joyful strangers than scornful neighbours and, better still, to know the face that would greet you on this day would be the one you happily sought upon waking each morning.
And so, by the time Sif reached the steps of the great stone hall, her smile was as bright and magnificent as the great cosmos itself and still a poor imitation of the warmth and delight in her heart. As she approached, the thick wooden doors of the hall opened before her with a loud creak. This close, Sif could make out the deep carvings etched into the wood; words, runes, intricate patterns that reminded Sif of the carved figurines on the banister. Indeed, she could make out the same two figures that had caught her attention in the house; the man and the woman, the latter holding her own bouquet of flowers as the veil cascaded around her shoulders.
The words and runes suddenly started to dance before her eyes, glowing with a faint light and spinning around the pictures, as if they were casting their own magical spell. She felt a strange shiver of unease, a sudden gust of wind and a foreboding sense that more than just her own life was about to be irrevocably changed. The importance of this moment suddenly became thick within Sif’s veins and she felt a great weight upon her shoulders, stilling her footsteps at the top of the podium. Sif turned towards Íonait, seeking her comfort. The wise lady was smiling, the joy filling her eyes as she stepped towards Sif and enveloped her in a warm, maternal embrace. The tears prickled in Sif’s eyes at the great kindness this wise lady was showing to Sif, this stranger from the distance realm of Asgard. Sif blinked them back quickly though, anxious they did not upset her make-up or become noticed by anyone else. For this may be her wedding day, but she was still a warrior of Asgard and she hid her sentimentality and this strange unease away. Turning back towards the doorway, she held her head up high once more and took the last few steps, stepping through into the dark shadows and cool air of the great stone hall beyond.
The doors shut with a loud thud behind Sif and the noisy, excited voices of the crowd were suddenly silenced. It took her a few moments to adjust to the dim shadows within the hall and then Sif was able to take in the breathtaking splendour all around. The outside appearance gave nothing away as to the colossal hall that Sif now found herself within. She did not know whether it was a trick of magic or architecture, for the roof seemed high enough to reach the clouds and its great weight was supported by thick, strong archways twisting down into spiral pillars casting shadows along the polished marbled floor. The lines of white stone pillars spread onwards as far as the eye could see and between them were long rows of wooden benches, as intricately carved as the great doors. Beside each bench were more of the glowing flowers, overflowing their baskets as each bloom shone with a different colour of the Rainbow Bridge, reflecting upon the marble in crisscrossing patterns and intricate shapes. They illuminated Sif’s path along the central aisle and she could not help but wonder if these beautiful flowers had been laid out especially for the wedding.
Upon each bench were seated many more elves, most likely the elders and dignitaries of the village and, just like those outside, they turned eagerly towards the doorway, standing and straining to catch a glimpse of her. For a moment her earlier anxieties threatened to creep back, but then the cavernous hall was filled with the most beautiful music Sif had ever heard. Its melody sung to a rhythm as old as time itself and it vibrated with the same magic from the forest, though this was pure, exquisite, seeping through her veins and filling her heart with peace and tenderness. She continued forwards, her footsteps slow and moving instinctively with the soft melody. Her eyes followed the pathway of light cast by the flowers and she saw her journeys end. Where two particularly large and heavily carved pillars met the floor and formed a great archway high above, stood a raised platform, made in the same black and white streaked marble as the floor. There were three steps to reach the platform and standing atop stood Conn Fearghus, the leader, dressed now in thick white ceremonial robes, decorated with bright colours and ancient symbols. His arms were held out in welcome, but it was not this man who had caught Sif's eye. Standing at the bottom of the three steps and on the right hand side was a man dressed in rich emerald robes and wearing a horned helmet, glistening in the bright sunlight that poured in through the many iron framed windows. Seeing Loki actually standing there, waiting patiently for her, his future wife, dissolved the last of her nerves and fear. Her lips once more turned into a genuine smile and she took the opportunity to look appreciatively at him. His back was turned towards her, his posture so still, standing rigid and defiant; every inch a prince of the great realm eternal.
As Sif walked nearer towards him, he turned around slowly to face her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his gaze caught hers. He truly looked magnificent. The radiant sunshine spilled around him, sparkling from his ceremonial armour and casting him in a resplendent aura of pure gold. The light flickered and shone within his bright green eyes, so vivid against his pale skin, the curved metal of his helmet framing his face and casting his high cheekbones into shadow. His hair shone in the golden light, the endings curling upwards to caress his neck as the warm glow shimmered across his rich emerald clothes. Yet it was his face that held Sif’s attention. His lips, usually curved into a mischievous grin or a playful smirk fell quickly, dropping low and leaving his mouth hanging open in astonishment. His eyes suddenly flew wide with surprise and admiration and they moved appreciatively down Sif’s frame. Sif had stepped into her own pathway of light as his eyes had found hers and she could imagine how the sunlight must shine across her own dark hair and the beautiful flowers decorating it. Or how the beams of light would dance across the lace and beading adorning her beautiful ivory dress. She felt a strong sense of happiness rush over her then, both at the wonder and affection she saw in Loki’s gaze and the way his jaw had dropped so spectacularly. It was not often one could astonish the God of Mischief and in that moment every second she had remained seated whilst the ladies fixed her hair and make-up were more than worth it. Her own lips quirked upwards into a knowing smirk and her eyes sparkled with her triumph and delight. His awestruck expression was etched within her memory and long would she use it to tease him.
Loki caught the mischief in her own grin and was quick to regain his composure. Once more his features were schooled into their usual mask of indifference and mild amusement, though his eyes still danced with admiration and he seemed unable to quite stop staring at her. His eyes held hers and pulled her towards him, her footsteps now moving quicker along the cool marbled floor. It was not long before she reached him and she tried to will her body into calmness, for a nervous excitement had overtaken her. Her heartbeat was growing rapid, her fingers gripping and releasing the bouquet within her hands, though she knew not where this reaction stemmed from. She was not nervous to be marrying Loki anymore and in the excitement the forthcoming test was but a faint shadow in her mind. It was similar to the stirrings of adrenaline she felt as she stepped into the training ground or donned her armour in preparation for battle. She likened it to the way her heart would soar when she managed to steal a moment alone with Loki or the contentment she felt with her friends gathered around the campfire, telling stories of their adventures deep into the night. It was all of these things and yet it was none of them, for perhaps, in all its simplicity, it was the anticipation that she would now be marrying her beloved and the knowledge that her life would no longer be the same. Her final few steps were slow and, without dropping her gaze from Loki’s, she tentatively took the final step and reached the base of dais.
Instinctively, they both moved closer to one another, their feet standing in an equal line and their hands reaching out towards the other. The feel of Loki’s fingers wrapping around hers grounded her, calmed her, and they both turned towards the dais, backs straight and their heads held high.
The leader looked down upon them for several moments, his gaze inquisitive, before breaking into a warm, genuine smile. He opened his arms wider and, as the hauntingly beautiful music suddenly stopped, he looked upon the many elves standing before him. “Friends, I am delighted you all could be present on this most splendid of days. That you could witness this special union of marriage between Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim and Sif Tyrdottr of Asgard.” And with another, warm smile at the two young lovers standing below him, and a wave of his arms for all to be seated except them, the ceremony began.
Most of the ritual was spoken in the Elfin tongue, the leader Conn only slipping into the language of the Æsir when important words or instructions were given. Sif’s understanding of the Elfin language was somewhat limited, but she could make out enough words to decipher the overall meaning of the long speeches, the traditional words that had been spoken at countless weddings before her, in many different tongues across all the nine realms. Loki, she knew, could understand every word and as she felt his hand grip hers tighter or caress her fingertips gently, she could grasp the significance of the ceremonial language.
Sif did not mind that she could not understand each word, for in that moment she trusted Loki implicitly. She knew that the trickster would check and examine every word and every sentence, every promise and every deed they were becoming bound to. But there were no tricks or lies in the Elfin’s words. Instead they spoke about the sanctity of marriage, the importance of love, patience and faithfulness. There were moments when Conn’s voice became solemn, darker and Sif knew this was when the words told of the binding of marriage with Elfin magic, how it would last into eternity, reborn in the great cycles of life and death, through Ragnarök itself. Here, the leader’s eyes fell significantly upon her and Loki, his gaze so heavy and intense it seemed to pierce through to her very soul. She felt a shiver of apprehension run through her then, the same as when she saw the carvings dance on the doorways, or when Íonait had spoken of the prophesy of her and Loki’s wedding, of how their marriage may affect great Ragnarök itself.
The unease did not last long, for a few moments later the leader beckoned to her and Loki and they moved forwards onto the first step, turning to face one another. It was the first time she had seen Loki’s face since the ceremony had begun and now even Loki’s carefully practiced mask of coolness and indifference was slipping, a joy and happiness mixed with disbelief and worry flickering across it, as Sif knew it was across her own features. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Conn flick his wrist in a way uncannily similar to Loki’s and then he held his hand out towards them. Sif could not contain her gasp as she saw the two identical rings lying across his palm. Each consisted of three golden bands, plaited together and twisting around a central ring of small, glittering diamonds, the colour of the deepest emeralds. Sif did not need to touch the rings to know they were not only made from the same Dwarfish gold as her necklace, but that they were enchanted with the same magic from both the Dwarves and from Loki.
He caught her gasp and the way her mouth widened in surprise and this time it was his turn to smirk in triumph and Sif’s to quickly school her expression into something more appropriate for a warrior of Asgard. Still, she could not stop her grin from spilling across her lips as Conn passed one of the rings to Loki.
Speaking once again in the tongue of the Æsir, the leader began, addressing all within the great hall, “And now, we come to the promises of marriage, the binding together of Loki Laufeyson and Sif Tyrdottr by the eternal law of the Elves.” Turning towards Loki, the leader continued, “Please, repeat after me; I, Loki Laufeyson, take thee, Sif Tyrdottr, to be my lawfully wedded wife.”
Loki’s intense, piercing gaze found hers and with a strong, firm voice, weighted down with the gravity of the moment, Loki repeated the words spoken by the Elfin leader. His eyes never left hers as the leader’s words continued, full of the promises of marriage, of remaining faithful and forever loving, cherishing one another until death should part them. All were repeated resolutely by Loki, his voice only cracking slightly on the promise of their marriage remaining strong in good times as well as ill. Then, taking her hand reverently, Loki slipped the ring upon the fourth finger of her left hand, a Migardian custom she knew, but perhaps also an Elfin one, for Conn’s smile became brighter at the gesture. As the ring slipped onto her finger, Sif felt the same magic within it as her necklace, felt it seep into her skin and thrum with the same harmony, the two pieces of jewellery joining together as one through the enchantments within
It was now her own turn to repeat the words which would make them husband and wife by Elfin law and her own voice was also confident, strong, filled with the certainty that this was the right path destiny had decreed for her. Her own eyes never left Loki’s, even as she took the matching ring and placed it upon the same finger on Loki’s hand. Taking hold of both their arms, Conn raised them high and then declared before the waiting guests, “And I now pronounce Loki Laufeyson and Sif Tyrdottr husband and wife, by the power of Elfin law.”
A warm rush of joy swept through Sif then, but it lasted momentarily, for the Elfin leader then continued solemnly, dropping their arms and turning them to face him once more. “You are now bound by the laws of the Elves, but you seek a deeper bond, a marriage by the strongest and most eternal of our magic.”
Conn looked at them expectantly for a moment and, with his eyes staring firmly ahead, Loki replied, “We do.”
When the leader’s eyes fell upon hers, Sif quickly repeated Loki’s reply, “We do.”
The leader smiled, motioning them both forwards and Sif and Loki took the second step. “And now, we come to the binding of their hearts, souls and minds by the deepest of our Elfin Magic.” The leader’s hands rested gently on their shoulders and he turned them to face each other once more. He then pressed down lightly, pushing them slowly to the floor so they were bent on their knees before him.
“An unbreakable bond that will not shatter even when death has struck her final blow.” As he spoke, he flicked his wrist again and a thick, golden rope appeared between his fingers. He leant towards them and took Sif’s right and Loki’s left hand in his and brought their arms together so that the insides of their wrists touched. Her fingers automatically sought out Loki’s and she gripped his hand tightly, pressing their wrists closer together.
“Do you, Loki Laufeyson, agree to be bound to Sif Tyrdottr by the eternal power of Elfin magic?” He asked Loki as he slowly began wrapping the rope around their joined wrists.
“I do,” was Loki’s firm reply, his eyes once again watching hers intently, his expression focused, determined.
“And do you, Loki Laufeyson, agree to remain forever bound and faithful to Sif Tyrdottr, even beyond death itself?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Loki Laufeyson, accept the punishment of the Elfin magic should you ever stray from Sif Tyrdottr or attempt to break this bond?”
“I do. In grace and mercy do I beseech the power of the Elfin magic to forever bind me to Sif Tyrdottr, in heart, soul and mind.”
Loki’s eyes had grown heavier as he spoke the final words, their rich emerald depths swirling with the intensity and significance of this moment. His fingers had clenched tightly around hers and his mouth had drawn into a hard, resolute line. The leader’s eyes then looked to her and for a sudden, fleeting moment, Sif wondered at the wisdom of this path, of calling upon such ancient and powerful magic to bind them together. Already she could feel the magic coalescing around them, vibrating through the air and seeping through her skin. It was suddenly too real, too soon and the gravity of the moment filled her heart with dread. But even as these doubts chased across her mind, she quickly pushed them away, for how could she turn her back on Loki now, when he was willing to sacrifice so much for her? How could she lose him and fail at this, their final hurdle? She clutched his hand tighter, met his eyes defiantly. She loved Loki and that was all that mattered in the end. So when the Elfin leader asked her the same questions as Loki, Sif’s voice was strong enough to fill the whole majestic hall with the certainty in her voice.
Once Sif had finished repeating the final sentence spoken by Loki earlier, his mouth silently speaking the words to help, the leader finished binding their arms together and stood up again before them. Once more he placed his hands upon their shoulders and this time, when he began to speak, it was in neither the tongue of the Elves or the Æsir. Instead it was an ancient language, a language of magic and power as old as time itself. It seemed to draw up the very elemental forces around them, joining and focusing them on the thick rope which bound their arms together. The twisted strands of rope began to glow with the fiery yellow of spun gold and a tingling heat began to prickle Sif’s skin where their arms were bound, a fierce heat that did not burn. The heat and the light continued to grow in intensity until it was so blinding Sif had to close her eyes. The ancient words began to spin around her mind, the deep magic thrumming through her body, pushing and pulling at her, though where she did not know. Her finger’s clutched Loki’s to the point of pain, desperately trying to hold on as the light continued to grow, so dazzling bright even behind her closed eyelids. The words, the heat, the magic, it spun her around until Sif felt as if she were falling into the brightness, falling into the nothingness and the magic and power of the words.
Then suddenly, everything stopped. All Sif could see around her was blackness, the air thick with its empty silence and as Sif moved her fingers, there was no matching touch from Loki. She was alone.
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I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. More is on it's way soon.
Oh and in case you were wondering, Orange Blossom, or Neroli, has traditionally been used in bridal bouquets in many cultures, for its scent is said to have soothing/calming properties.
And I chose to have Sif's surname as Tyrdottr, as I have seen it used across the fandom and, as Tyr in the myths is the God of war, it's very appropriate
Chapter Text
The darkness was thick, dense, all consuming. Not a single flicker of light could be seen. Sif blinked, rubbed her eyes, but still she could see nothing, not even the fingers she waved across her eyes.
“Loki?” She whispered, afraid to draw attention to herself in this strange world full of darkness. No answer, or none that Sif could hear. She could not even be sure the words had passed her lips, for the dense blackness seemed to swallow even the sound of her own breathing.
“Loki!” Louder this time, harsher, and at least the sound of her voice reached her ears. Yet again there was no answer, not even on her third cry. If Loki was indeed here, somewhere in this suffocating darkness with her, he was unable to speak or perhaps even hear her. Sif could not be sure if that was worse than being here entirely on her own.
If it was not for all her hard, battle trained instincts, Sif was sure she would be starting to panic by now. As it was, she could already feel her heart start to beat erratically in her chest and her breathing become shallow. Her palms were growing sweaty and her thoughts were starting to spin with worrying possibilities of where she was, and what had happened to Loki…
Reason dictated that this must be part of the test, for had she not just been in the sunlight, stone hall in the strange village of Alfheim? Had she not just repeated the words binding her to Loki for all eternity? She was kneeling now, and had she not been kneeling before? When the powerful village leader had chanted the magical words of the spell, words so old they surpassed even the ancient languages of the Elves and the Æsir? Yes, Sif remembered it now, the blinding light, the sense of falling and then finding herself here. Or at least she thought she could, the suffocating darkness made it hard to focus on anything any more. Was she even still on Alfheim? Had it all been a strange dream? Already, the memories were fading, the images fractionating and drifting away like leaves on a brisk autumn gale. Maybe this was all a dream…
Sif pinched herself, nails digging into the flesh of her arm. A childish impulse maybe, but the sharp pain that rushed through her nerves at least answered that question. She stood up slowly, cautiously, her muscles taut and ready for anything that might wait in the blackness with her. Nothing happened, not even as she turned around slowly on her feet, eyes alert. Nothing. Even the air remained undisturbed around her, the darkness just as chokingly dense in all directions.
What was she even doing here? It was becoming harder to think, her thoughts turning as heavy and empty as the blackness all around. It was seeping into her veins and clouding her judgment, stealing her courage and determination. It made her limbs heavy, weary and she felt a strong, overriding need for rest. How long had she been here anyway? With everything shrouded in darkness, there was nothing to even mark the passing of time. Perhaps she had been here hours, days... Maybe that was why she felt so bone achingly tired…
What would it matter anyway, if she just lay down and rested? There was no enemy to fight, no battle to win, no clear path, or indeed any path to follow. Just blackness, everywhere she turned. She was lost, alone and without any sense of purpose. And tired, so very, very tired. A short rest, that was all, then she would work out what to do.
Her legs were the first to give in, almost collapsing as she began to lie down. She curled them beneath her, closing her eyes as she brought her hands to her face, bringing them together to cradle her head.
An unexpected, sharp pain pierced Sif’s palm and she sat up quickly, suddenly alert. More carefully this time, she brought her fingers to her hair, feeling the soft locks falling against her face, following the twisted plaits to the intricate knots, finding a long stem, delicate petals…
“Ow!” Sif cried out, quickly pulling her fingers away and bringing them to her lips. She tasted blood. A thorn had pierced her finger. But why did she have flowers in her hair?
Realisation was slow to take hold, her thoughts still so disjointed and weary in the heavy blackness. She reached down to her throat, felt the cool gold metal against her skin, the rich green diamonds warm in contrast, soothing. She ran her fingers against their polished surface, feeling the magic within seeping beneath her skin. Loki’s magic. It helped to clear her thoughts, the warmth pushing away the cold, unfeeling blackness. Her fingers travelled further, feeling the rough edging of lace and beads, the soft, intricate patterns of embroidery, the smooth silky material beneath. Her mother’s wedding dress. The one she had always kept hidden away, ready for her own wedding day. But why was she wearing it now?
Sif felt the blackness trying to twist her thoughts again, to make her forget. But it was too late now. The magic from her enchanted necklace was growing stronger, as if the giver himself was wielding it. Loki. He had given it to her; she remembered it now, so long ago. And she was wearing it today, this special day when she wore her mother’s wedding dress, when the Elves had plaited flowers in her hair and decorated her face with pretty colours. When she had walked down the long aisle towards Loki, his gold armour glittering in the sunlight…
The test! Sif stood up quickly, the realisation like an electric shock running through her veins. This must all be part of the test!
“Loki!” Sif shouted, her voice filling the blackness, no longer afraid of it. She listened for an echo, a reply in the darkness, but there was none. Still, Sif knew Loki had to be here somewhere. Perhaps he had already given up, forgotten like Sif... Perhaps he had tried to find her, was lying hurt somewhere and unable to answer…
“Loki!” Sif shouted again, fear filling her voice and her thoughts. She had to find him; it was the only thing that mattered now. She spun around on her heels, once more searching the darkness for something, anything, to show her the way. The thick blackness faced her at every angle, revealing nothing to her but despair. This time, Sif did not let it in. She had a purpose now and it mixed with her fear for Loki, helping her to push the despair aside as she took a step forwards into the unknown darkness.
There was something unyielding beneath her foot. She could feel its sharpness through the thin, satin lining of her ballet pumps. Moving her foot, she reached down tentatively towards it, feeling cool metal beneath her fingertips. It was a blade of some sort, the edge sharp and, judging by its length, a dagger. She lifted it carefully and as she brought it to her eyes, she noticed it glowing slightly. A faint light shimmering off the blade. She could just make out carvings along its hilt and she tested the weight in her hands. It was well made, strong, perfectly balanced. She tightened her fingers around the hilt. It felt good to have a weapon once more in her grasp. Why she had been gifted with a dagger, Sif did not know and she did not let her thoughts linger upon it. It was a sign, something in this otherwise empty, unending blackness and that was all Sif needed.
This time she stepped forwards hesitantly, cautiously feeling the ground beneath with her foot before she settled her weight on it. It was slow, the pace trying her patience and the high heels of the pumps upsetting her balance. Yet she dared not walk quicker, for still she could see nothing in the thick blackness and she did know what obstacles might litter her path.
Sif did not know how long she had been walking for, or the distance she had travelled. Time was hard to gauge when surrounded by nothing but blackness. It kept on pushing at her, trying to darken her thoughts and erode her strength. Despite its bleak emptiness, it was like a physical barrier all around. Every step it seemed to thicken, solidifying like thick, cloying syrup she had to battle through, fighting against the aching tiredness that pulled at her limbs and slowed her footsteps in their strange, cautious dance. Sometimes it was too hard to continue on, to keep her painful muscles moving forwards against the unyielding blackness, the need for rest overpowering. She would still, her legs beginning to sway, her eyes flickering shut when she would feel it. A warm but insistent pressure around her neck, an echo of fingertips brushing her throat. The spun gold was cool beneath her touch, the diamonds warm and comforting. A reminder of her purpose, her determination to succeed and pass this strange, Elfin test. Perhaps even a message from the giver himself, his magic calling her through the darkness and giving her the strength she needed to carry on.
After an indescribable length of time, Sif finally saw something flickering ahead, a glimmer of light in the far distance. At first, she thought it a trick of her eyes, so accustomed where they now to the impenetrable darkness that they were imagining things, starved of vision like those haunted by mirages as they thirsted for water in the desert. Yet as she approached, the light grew stronger, a flame flickering in the darkness, unmoving and unrelenting in its brilliant, almost blinding light. It did not penetrate far into the blackness; its light was quickly swallowed by the thick void all around. Nor did it light her path, or give her any indication of what awaited her in the surrounding, empty blackness. Yet still it called her, guiding her feet forwards and Sif felt her pace quicken, her footsteps becoming less cautious as she hurried towards the beacon of light. The rational part of Sif knew it could well be a trap, another part of this strange test she had to pass. But what else was there for her? The light was the only thing that seemed to exist in this empty void and Sif knew it to be her best chance of finding Loki.
As Sif grew closer to the strange, flickering flame, sounds began to echo around her, like the whisper of the wind as it rustled through the forest. Despite its quiet softness, it seemed alarmingly loud to her starved ears, so long had she been deafened by the dense void surrounding her. The whispers pulled at her senses, her memories, achingly familiar yet she could not place it. It was fearful, anxious and it pierced through her chest, her heart throbbing with a guilt she could not yet understand.
It grew louder as Sif approached, growing with the same intensity as the flame that beckoned her forwards. She could make out the meaning of the whispers now, the one word they repeated. It was her name. Sif. With the recognition came the memory, flooding through her mind with startling clarity and instantly stilling her footsteps, freezing her in place. It was Loki’s voice, calling out to her through the blackness, trembling with fear and pain. Yet it was not the voice of the man she knew, but the boy he once was, on the day he had stolen her hair and cast his spells, turning it as black as the darkness surrounding her. Guilt soon accompanied the memory, tugging at her chest until her heart started to ache. It had been just a game, a harmless trick they had played; she and Thor had been mere children. It had not meant to be for long, leaving Loki alone in the woods. He was supposed to follow them, not become lost in the maze of trees. And how was she to know there was a storm coming, that the thunder would shake the earth and the lightning strike and splinter the trees. His revenge of taking her hair and tarnishing its spun gold had been too great, everyone had said so. Yet long had the memory, the sound of his voice calling her name in the dark woods haunted her, his voice flooded with panic, fear and abandonment. Even now, the sound, the memory, opened up the raw pain and regret in her heart, the guilt and fear overriding her reason.
Though the voice was of the little boy lost in the woods, it filled her soul with terror, the panic rushing through her veins and pushing her nearly to hysteria. All she could comprehend then was that Loki was hurt, in pain and calling out to her. Sif rushed forwards, forgetting her caution as she ran towards the cries, the sound of her footsteps still swallowed by the thick empty blackness. She should have realised it then, but her thoughts were too caught up with fear to notice how strange the echoes were when all other sound was consumed by the dark void.
“Loki!” She cried out, running now, almost falling over her feet in her blind, mindless hurry. She had to reach him, had to find him before it was too late. The memories battered her senses, images of that long ago day flooding her mind. No longer was she the strong, shield maiden of Asgard, but a little girl running through the forest, dodging the lightning and jumping at the thunder as she searched fruitlessly for the prince.
Sif stumbled several times, the ground uneven beneath her soft ballet pumps, the heels twisting her ankles as she lurched forwards. No longer was it the smooth, cool stone that her careful footsteps had found. Now her path was rough, tangled with what must be upturned roots and hard, rugged rocks. Her foot caught on one and she was thrown forwards, unable to catch her balance. The force of the impact reverberated through her arms, the rough stones digging into her palms. The jagged edge of a rock caught her shin, pain sparking through her. The sharp end of a root pierced the skin of her arm, drawing blood. She pulled herself up quickly, ignoring the pain as her ankle caved in around her heel on the uneven ground. She continued on, forcing herself to walk slower, cautiously stepping over the many gnarled roots and boulders littering her way. It was hard to keep slow, to hold herself back from rushing forwards. The whispered cries were wails now, shouts of pain echoing all around, filling her ears until she had to hold her palms against them, trying to drown out her name, endlessly repeated and reverberating through to her very soul.
A tangled root wrapped itself around her foot and again she staggered forwards, once more feeling the unyielding, stony ground stabbing through skin of her palms. She heard her wedding dress rip as her leg twisted around the root, the muscles strain and pull in an agonising wave of pain. Still she forced it away, pulling herself up warily to her feet, focusing once more on the bright flame ahead. It seemed brighter this time, closer, though its light was still unable to penetrate the darkness. As Sif peered through the black void, she could just make out the rough shape of a room, the flame flickering on a table, casting a shadow that fell no further than the rough stone of a doorway. Carefully, she moved closer, not daring to let her gaze fall from the scene unveiling itself before her.
It was a cell, not a room, Sif could see that now. She could make out the cold, rough stone of the walls and hay scattered across the hard granite floor. There were marks in the wall too, holes in the stone stained with rust, some still holding the chains in their grip. Tentatively, she stepped further forwards, afraid now that if she ran or tripped, the scene would shatter before her. Even now she could not be sure that what she was seeing was real, or yet another trick of the darkness, another part of this strange Elfin test.
Unbidden, her eyes followed the chains downwards, gasping as the flickering light now fell upon the corner of the cell. The black silhouette of a man crouched there, his shadow looming high across the bleak, stone walls. The chains reached around his wrists, the flickering light revealing shackles binding them tight. His legs were bare, red and bruised, wounds still fresh and bleeding. The shackles binding his feet were pulled to tight, ripping the skin and staining it red. His head was cast down, his back turned towards her, but Sif would recognise the figure anywhere. An ache filled her chest, nearly splitting her heart open. What had they done to him? They had come here peacefully, merely seeking their help. And this is what they had subjected him too?
“Loki!” She cried out, her voice barely audible against the cries still filling the blackness, each emanating from the eerily lit scene before her. She rushed forwards again, blindly jumping the rocks and roots trying to halt and trip her feet. The figure slowly turned towards her, the bound hands clenching tight at the pain the movement wrought.
“Loki!” She cried again, hoping her voice would travel through the void and reach him, let him know he was not alone, that she was here now. And perhaps he did hear her, for he continued to turn around, revealing the ripped fabric of his tunic and the battered, raw skin beneath. His head was still cast down, the matted black hair covering his face.
As the figure lifted his head, Sif felt her footsteps suddenly stop, the horror of what she saw freezing her in place. Even the cries around her suddenly stopped, the silence now deafening. The once pale skin was covered in rich, black bruises, the only colour the vivid red of seeping wounds and angry cuts, crisscrossing the plains of his beautiful face. His lips were dry, cracked and bleeding and Sif saw them move slowly, reading her name upon them. It was his eyes though, that struck terror into the depths of her soul. No longer were they the bright, glistening colour of emeralds, sparkling with life and mischief and magic. Instead they were clouded, dull, filled with pain and suffering.
“What have they done to you?” She whispered, her heart breaking as she stepped towards him and reached forwards, hoping to somehow cross the blackness that still separated them. Her hand collided against something with a dull thud, the force a sudden shock rippling up her arm. She tried again, carefully this time, feeling a smooth, cool surface beneath her touch. It felt like glass, a thick, impenetrable barrier stopping her from reaching Loki.
She pulled her arm back, before throwing it forwards with all her strength, banging her fist against the glass. It thrummed with the impact, but still it did not yield.
“Sif.” His voice reached her ears, weak and strained, a cruel mix of hope and pain.
She banged again on the glass, her fist smashing into it repeatedly, then her foot, her kicks strong enough to break bone yet still the glass remained. Her voice was angry as she shouted his name, trying again and again to break through. His eyes watched her, filled with the same cruel hope that she could save him as his voice, his lips twisting into the faint ghost of a smirk she remembered so well.
She remembered the dagger in her hand then, brought it forward and looked at it curiously for a moment, running her finger along the blade. The glow seemed brighter this time, the strange markings clearer. She gripped the hilt firmly, pulled her arm back and held it high above her. Swinging her arm around, it struck the glass with a cacophonous ring that split through the blackness, echoing around the void and resonating in her ears long after the noise had dissipated. The glass shook beneath the blade, straining and quivering from the blow, yet still it did not shatter. The face beyond watched on, a single tear now falling from a bloodshot eye. With a high pitch screech, she once more swung the knife towards the glass, throwing every ounce of strength she possessed into the blow.
Her body was thrown forwards, the blade striking cold, unrelenting stone seconds before her body hit the ground, hard. There were no rocks or roots beneath her fingers any more; they touched only smooth cold stone. Lifting her head, she once more saw nothing but blackness surrounding her, its suffocating silence flooding her senses. She stood up quickly, reaching her hands forward, not surprised when they grasped only empty, cool air. The glass barrier had gone, as had the image of Loki, lying broken and chained in his cell. Perhaps that was all it was, a cruel image, a trick of the Elfin magic, though testing what Sif did not know. The look in his eyes, the pain etched across his face had seemed so real, so vivid and it haunted her memory now. It strengthened her resolve and once more she focused on her purpose. She had to find Loki, whether he really be chained and broken or somewhere out in this darkness searching for her. She reached down, picking up the dagger that had fallen from her hands when she had struck the floor. It was glowing even brighter now, the colour no longer a faint, stark white, but a rich emerald green. Sif held it tight, clutching it close to her chest. It was all she had in this cold, empty blackness.
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Thanks for still reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Hopefully it wasn’t too gruelling a read, but I didn’t want to make the test too easy for Loki and Sif!
More chapters will definitely be on their way, so I hope you come back to read more and to find out what happens.
Chapter Text
Again, the passage of time became immeasurable. Sif did not know how long she stood there in the thick blackness, clutching the dagger tight. The darkness was still pulling at her thoughts, trying to twist and pervert them. Still it seeped into her veins and tired her limbs, making her entire being crave rest with an unrelenting ache they had never known before. But the diamonds were warm against her neck and she held the blade against her fingertips, pushing the sharp edge into her skin until it nearly pierced it. The painful sting was welcome, a way to focus her thoughts and help her remain resolute. She had to find Loki, she had to make sure he was safe and rescue him if needed. But where he was in all this strange, empty blackness, Sif did not know.
The darkness remained impenetrable in all directions and despite her determination, Sif could not decipher which path to take. The location of Loki’s cell and the course she had travelled had been lost to her when she had fallen. Yet again she could only step slowly around in a circle, searching the dark void for any sign of what she should do. There was nothing, nothing but the same suffocating blackness all around. Yet this time, Sif refused to let the despair creep into her thoughts and, after yet another turn proved fruitless, she took a deep breath and stepped cautiously forwards once more, her direction unknown.
The moment her foot struck the hard, smooth ground, a noise began to echo around the blackness. At first, it was so faint Sif thought she had imagined it, but slowly it grew in intensity, the sound gradually becoming discernable. It was laughter, but not like any Sif had ever heard before. It was cruel, scornful, dripping in malice as it pierced through the ominous blackness, chilling Sif to her very soul. She recognised its tone, the timbre of the voice and knew immediately it to be Loki’s. Yet unlike her memory of Loki’s own, teasing laughter, this held no humour in it, no triumph or playfulness. It was just cold, icy cold and edged with an evilness she had never heard from Loki before. Instinctively Sif raised the dagger high.
She began to spin around, slowly at first then quickening her turns as she tried to determine the direction of the sound. All around her was the same eerie blackness, the sound playing tricks as it reverberated around the otherwise empty void; one moment seeming to come from one direction, the next another. It reminded Sif of the games Loki would play on them as children, deceiving them with his clones and spells until they were dizzy from spinning around in confusion. But this was no game, the laughter was too disturbing for that and surely it could not really be Loki, could it?
As if brought forth by the notion, a light suddenly appeared in the blackness. Yet it was not the same, flickering bright light of a candle, but a sickly, putrid green, shimmering iridescently in the blackness. It was faint at first, the flickering patterns playing on her senses and puzzling her. Slowly it began to coalesce, forming a small ball of light hanging magically in the blackness. The cruel mocking laughter grew louder now, reaching a crescendo as it centred around the hideous light. Sif immediately stopped spinning and faced it, falling instinctively into her battle stance, her dagger held out protectively in front of her. There was something foreboding about the light, beside its strange appearance in this black, otherwise empty void. It seemed to cast out more than its fetid green glow, filling the air around with an acidic, malevolent chill. The blood in her veins began to run hot, her fingers twitching around her dagger and her feet itching to move. There was danger in the air; it was so palpable she could almost taste it on her tongue. It set her heart beating faster and her warrior instincts on high alert; instincts which had always served her well on the battlefield.
The sickly light started to thicken and grow, increasing in length and breadth until it formed the shape of a large doorway. Then, it stopped growing, only thickening and pulsating nauseatingly, the putrid green shimmering and flickering across the frame. The spiteful, malicious laughter suddenly stopped, the abrupt silence just as deafening and sinister as the laughter had been. Sif’s breath caught in her throat and the stones at her neck grew hot in warning. She kept her body perfectly still, her muscles pulled taut, preparing for an attack. She clutched the dagger tightly, raised it high above her head and waited.
A figure began to step slowly forwards, emerging out of the shimmering vile light. It hung like a thick smog, hugging their shape as it swirled around, obscuring the face from view. But Sif did not need to see the face to know who it would be, did not need to see the golden horns glistening in the sickly light or see the deep emerald of his eyes.
“Loki.” Sif breathed, her voice weak and strained as the grotesque light slowly cleared, revealing his face to her. He was still dressed in his regal robes, as pristine as they were this morning, though the rich green of his cloak looked pallid, the golden sheen of his armour tarnished in the repugnant green light.
Sif knew she should have been glad to see Loki again, to know that he was not lost to this empty blackness or lying chained and badly wounded in a cell. Yet she felt a deep sense of apprehension running through her veins and instinctively stood on her guard.
As soon as he stepped fully into view, the green light of the doorway vanished, though a strange eerie light still illuminated Loki. It was not that which set Sif's teeth on edge or sent a chill of fear down her spine, but the cruel, contemptuous glint in his eyes. Sif knew in an instant he had been the one who had uttered that unearthly sardonic laughter. She hid the dagger behind her back, but clutched the hilt tightly, ready to wield.
“My dear Sif, are you not pleased to see me?” His voice was mocking and filled with a false sincerity. It was not too different to the Loki Sif knew when he had some mischief in mind, but like his eyes there was a cruel, sardonic timbre to his voice. The last time Sif had heard such masked malice in the trickster had been just before his fall to Midgard after he had seized the throne. Sif felt the chill in her bones increase in intensity. She was not sure if this was another trick, yet another part of the test she had to pass or if something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
“What is going on Loki?” Sif asked, her voice as harsh as her battle stance. “Is this part of the test?”
“The test?” Loki repeated, his face creasing momentarily in confusion. “The test is over, Sif.”
“Over?” Sif echoed in confusion, trying to not let her growing panic flood into her voice. It could not be… over. That would mean… The chill in her veins turned icy with dread and she dropped the dagger to her side. It was a heavy, useless weight in her hand now.
“But of course, Sif.” Loki looked at her in feigned concern for a moment, tilting his head to one side and holding his hands out in sympathy.
“But it cannot be over, Loki!”
“But it is Sif.” He paused, considering her for a moment. “You did not think you would actually pass, did you Sif?”
She ignored the question, unable to answer, unable to accept the words Loki was speaking. The adrenaline that had been surging through her moments ago faded quickly, leaving her feeling weak, helpless. Her battle instincts that had been raging at her now fell silent, failing her. For what battle was there to win, what enemy was there to fight?
“So we have...” Sif's breath choked her throat a moment. She had to swallow quickly to dislodge the sudden lump. She forced her voice stronger, “Failed then, Loki?”
“I am sorry, Sif, but yes.”
“Oh.” It was a poor response, but Sif was unable to formulate anything more articulate. In that moment she felt as if a sword on the battlefield had dealt a deadly blow and pierced straight through to her heart. The sudden crushing pain was unbearable, but Sif forced it away. It could not be true, they could not have failed, that would mean... And that was unthinkable.
“Are you sure, Loki? We could not have really failed, could we?” Her voice was growing smaller, becoming almost childlike, pleading and Sif hated her vulnerability then. But she could not accept the truth, could not believe that any hope was already lost to them. It was all she had to cling to in this cold, unfeeling blackness. She wrapped her fingers around the cool blade of the dagger. The sharp physical pain helped centre her thoughts and pushed her mounting fear away.
“Yes, I am quite sure, my Lady.”
“But how?” Sif found herself asking, fearing the answer yet she had to know. What had she done wrong? What more could she have done?
“You were unable to save me, Sif. You left me in that cell…” Loki's voice was sombre now, sad and hurt and it flooded Sif with guilt.
“No...” The memory of Loki chained in the cell, covered in injuries came unbidden to her mind. “No…” Sif backed away from him slowly, not wanting to face the truth. She had done all she could, she had not been able to reach him… “There was nothing more I could do, Loki.” Her voice was shaking again, pleading, willing him to believe her. The hand clutching the dagger began to tremble, but a deep, barely discernable instinct made her keep hold of it.
Loki just shook his head sadly and Sif found herself having to resist the urge to go to him, to shake him until he understood, until he believed her. This could not be it.
“You waited too long, Sif. You forgot about me.” His voice was harsher now, almost bitter.
“No… No… I…” Sif's voice wavered, for what could she say to defend herself then? She had forgotten him, forgotten why she was here. But it had been the blackness, clouding her thoughts and making her forget. And she had remembered, surely it could not have been too late. She fingered her necklace unconsciously, its steady warmth still comforting and a stark contrast to the cold, hostile air around its giver. Her voice grew stronger as she continued, “I did all I could, Loki. Surely they could not fail me for that.”
“But they have, Sif. They do not consider it enough.” Loki's face hardened again. “Surely you are not surprised, Sif? You did not really think this was a battle you could win?”
“I...” Once more Sif lost her ability to speak, for what could she say? Lies did not fall as easily from her lips as they did Loki's. She could not deny how the idea of failure had plagued her, how her mind had been consumed with doubts since she first became aware of the test. She had doubted Loki and herself, but the surety of the news was too difficult for her to comprehend. She had never been good at admitting defeat, so how could she accept her own failure now? Sif backed away from him, away from the truth. “No. I do not believe you.”
Loki shook his head sadly at her scepticism, holding his arms out in pity. “I am sorry, Sif, but it is over.”
His voice had taken on a firm, patronising tone, as if he was talking to a petulant child. It irritated Sif and as he stepped towards her, she stepped back. Loki's callous attitude and her own fear of failure were wearing on her nerves, making her defensive and argumentative. “If it is over, Loki, what are you doing here?”
Loki sighed and stepped towards her again. It took Sif a lot of effort to stand her ground and not step away again. “I have simply come to give you the message, Sif.” His voice became sympathetic, his eyes sorrowful, “To help soften the blow.” Another step forward brought him directly in front of her. He held out his hand, “Just take my hand, Sif, and this will all be over.”
Sif looked down at the hand reaching for hers. She longed to reach out and take it, longed to feel his touch. Perhaps it would be for the best, ending this now. If she had already failed, why delay the inevitable any more? Maybe if she was lucky, no one would know of her failure. They could appeal to the Allfather in private, maybe he might understand and let them be without this magical marital bond... And if he did not... Sif swallowed thickly, her hand trembling around the dagger. She lost her grip and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. The dense blackness quickly swallowed the noise and Sif did not even bare it a glance. She was too focused on Loki's open hand held out towards her. It was calling to her, a mixture of her desire to feel his cool, comforting touch and to put an end to this foolhardy test. Instinctively she started to slowly reach towards Loki's outstretched fingers.
Maybe Loki was mistaken in his father's plans for her, or at least his determination to see them fulfilled. Maybe the Allfather might even allow her marriage to Loki to stand. They were still married by Elfin law and perhaps this may be enough to bring her and Loki together again. It may not be an ancient magic binding them together for all eternity, a bond even the great Allfather could not break, but maybe it would be alright. Maybe, despite failing this test, all hope was not lost for her and Loki. Maybe they still had a chance in Asgard, if she just took his hand…
Loki moved closer to her, reaching for her until their fingertips nearly touched. “Please Sif. It is already over, just take my hand and we can go home.”
His soothing, hypnotic voice was drawing her in, making her long to give up and take his hand. His words painted pleasant pictures in her mind of Asgard, green and warm, comforting and safe. Not like this awful, sickening void all around. And was it not what she wanted, to return home? To leave this foul, eerie blackness, leave her shame and failure behind and face whatever lay ahead with at least some pride and dignity? And what else was left for her in this strange empty darkness?
Her fingertips brushed against his, the touch cool and reassuring and Sif wondered if this may be her last chance to be close to Loki, to feel his touch upon her skin. For what if there was no chance for them in Asgard? What if she were taken the moment they reached its gates and made Thor’s bride? It would not be difficult for the Allfather to break her current marriage to Loki. What if this test really had been their only chance? This test they had both failed… Yet even as she thought the words, reservations started to creep into her thoughts. She still did not know Loki’s part in their failure, how much blame was laid at each door. Perhaps the failure had been all hers, perhaps Loki lay innocent and would be forced to suffer at her sole failure. Perhaps there was still a chance she could make amends and fix whatever damage she had done.
She paused in her movement, drew her hand a little back, away from the tempting, comforting touch of Loki’s skin.
“Sif…” Loki said again, stepping closer, “please take my hand.” His voice was pleading now, his eyes pulling on her guilt and making her thoughts twist and turn all the more. “I want to go home.”
Home. Asgard. The word brought comfort to Sif. But what chance was there in Asgard? Her only hope rested on the Allfather showing her mercy. But here, in this horrible, nauseating blackness, maybe there was still a chance. And if any chance existed at all, however small and remote, she had to seize it. She would not just give up now.
“No.”
“Sif…” His voice was pleading again, but she ignored it.
“No.” Her voice was stronger this time and she stepped away from him, away from the temptation. Maybe they had failed the test, maybe all was irreparably broken between them, but there were still too many questions plaguing her and Sif wondered if now would be the only time she would find the answers.
“Was it just me, Loki, or did you fail too?”
Loki looked at her in surprise a moment, before dropping the hand held out towards her. He seemed reluctant to answer, uncomfortable and confused as to how to reply. “Sif…”
His voice seemed evasive, wary and it intensified her own questions and doubts. She had to know what happened so she crossed her arms tightly and glared at him, her vulnerability making her defensive.
He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, avoiding her eyes. “Yes.” His voice was small, guilty, though he raised his eyes to her face as he continued, “I failed too, Sif.”
Sif nodded, unable to formulate a reply. Part of her was relieved that it had not just been she who had failed and lost everything they had strived for. But yet another, perhaps even stronger part of her felt incredibly sad and disappointed at the confession. It seemed strange, but Sif realised then how much hope she had placed in Loki to succeed, to put aside their troubles and his own insecurities and uncertainties. She felt betrayed, though she knew she must harbour her own share of the blame.
“How?” Sif asked, an almost morbid curiosity compelling her. “How did you fail?”
“I am not sure, Sif. I think...” Loki's apologetic voice grew stronger as he continued. “I think I gave up”
“Gave up...?” Sif echoed in confusion.
“Yes.” Loki regarded her then, his eyes starting to grow hard, calculating as he considered her. He paused for a moment as if unsure how to continue. His probing eyes and long pause made Sif uncomfortable and she shifted awkwardly for a moment, before she forced herself to stand up strong, meeting his questioning eyes.
Her defensive posture seemed to resolve Loki's perplexity. “I understand now. I would say I gave up, rather than failed.” His face took on an almost distasteful expression then, as if the very thought of failure was insulting.
Sif just looked at him in surprise. Gave up? It could not be! Loki would not just abandon their planned elopement so quickly. Despite her own doubts at Loki's certainty, she struggled to accept Loki's admission. Surely he must be hiding the truth from her, trying to protect her by pushing her away and pretending he did not care. “But your father... Thor...”
“It is unfortunate, Sif. We did have fun together, but all things must come to end.”
“No!” Sif shook her head in disbelief, backing away from him again. “You could not just give up on the test,” her breath caught a moment. “Give up on... On us, so easily, Loki.”
“But I have, Sif.” Loki's own posture was growing irritated now. “I am sorry Sif, but I changed my mind.” When Sif still watched him in disbelief, he released an exasperated sigh before continuing, “It was too great a commitment, being forever bound only to you.”
“No… You would not…” Sif stepped back further away from him, shaking her head, unable to properly find her words. She was too shocked, too hurt and confused to be able to think, her thoughts spinning around, centuries old doubts and memories pushing to the surface and darkening her mind. She did not want to believe him, but his face was hard, unrelenting, his voice empty and remorseless. His words played on all the fears and reservations that had haunted her across the centuries, the troubles that had always plagued their relationship. And the thick, cloying blackness was still there, all around, slithering along her skin and clouding her senses, still twisting her mind and making it hard to think straight.
“I am sorry, Sif.” He stepped towards her again, once more holding out his hand and Sif found herself stepping towards him before she realised. “Just take my hand, Sif. Then we can both go home.”
Go home, Sif thought, away from all this macabre blackness, away from this strange elfin village and the dark forest surrounding it. Away from the horror of this nonsensical test and Loki’s cruel betrayal.
He stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching a scared, wounded animal. She looked at his hand warily before lifting her eyes to his face. His expression was sad now, his eyes sympathetic and he gave her a weak smile. “I am sure father will be kind.”
Perhaps he was right, perhaps the Allfather would be lenient. All hope may be lost between her and Loki, for what hope did they have now after this difficult test they had both failed? No, she reminded herself, she had failed; Loki had simply given up…
But maybe the Allfather would grant her clemency, maybe he at least would not make her marry Thor. And perhaps marrying Thor would not be so bad. She doubted Thor would protest his Queen remaining a warrior and perhaps there would be ways to avoid the court and royal events. Of course, she would be separated from Loki, for she would not be untrue to her husband. But even if the Allfather granted them mercy, could they survive such a failure? In that moment Sif realised that all hope was already lost between her and Loki. They had failed the test, their love was not strong enough, their hearts not true enough. He had abandoned her, left her to the mercy of his father and a lifetime trapped in marriage to a man she could only ever love as a friend. He had betrayed her and his brother and now showed so little repentance. So why was she even still delaying her inevitable future?
He stepped closer, as if sensing her resolve slipping, closing the gap between them until only his outstretched hand separated them. “Please take my hand, Sif. Then this will all be over.”
Over. That was what she wanted, to go home and leave this strange world behind her. She could not hide in the dark forever, could not cower and delay her inevitable future any longer. She was a warrior of Asgard and she would bravely face her future, whatever may become of it.
Sif's hand closed the distance, her fingertips reaching for his, not noticing the sickly green light starting to seep out of the blackness, slithering towards her and reaching for her hand.
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So, massive apologies for the long wait for this chapter. I’m afraid real life and computer problems kept on getting in the way. I’m determined to update all my Sif/Loki stories more often now though!
I do hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you come back and read more.
Thanks so much for reading and I’d definitely love to know what you think – good or bad!
Chapter Text
Suddenly, a strange burning sensation raced through Sif's other hand. She was still fiddling with the plaited golden chain and the warmth from the diamonds suddenly became a scolding heat. She tore her hands away from the burnings stones and stepped backwards, moving further away from Loki, her fingertips leaving his. Her other hand still burned from the heat of the necklace and she brought it to her face to examine the damage. Sif was unable to see a single finger in the blackness and she looked at Loki in surprise. She could still see him clearly, his hand still reaching for hers, though no visible light was cast upon him. This mystery, together with the undeniable warning in the magic of her necklace and thick, cloying blackness all around confused her. Once more Sif could not be sure how much of this was real and how much was yet another trick of the test.
Her confusion soon turned to annoyance, at herself and Loki. She glared at him, stepping back, far away from him and whatever game he was playing now.
“No.” She folded her arms tightly, hiding her hands safely away from Loki’s. She did not understand this new game of his, but all her instincts were shouting at her to ignore his hand, that taking it now would only result in failure. “You would not give up so easily!”
Loki sighed, still holding his hand out, “Sif please, let us not make this any harder than it has to be.”
“No!” Her voice was louder now, glaring at him as her conviction grew.
Loki looked at her in confusion for a moment, but after his next few steps forwards were mirrored by her steps backwards, exasperation began to mark his features. “Come on Sif, you are being childish.”
“Childish!” Sif scoffed, fuelled by her growing irritation at Loki’s patronising attitude. “I am not the one claiming to have just given up!”
Loki sighed and it grated on Sif’s patience. “But I did give up, Sif. And now this foolhardy adventure is over.”
“No!” Sif all but shouted back. “I told you Loki, I do not believe you!” And Sif did not believe him, not then. She may have doubted Loki’s regard for her over the centuries; their relationship had always been a complicated one. She may have doubted his certainty in coming here and marrying her. But these doubts were nothing compared to the growing certainty within her that Loki was not speaking the truth. Perhaps had he claimed failure, she would be convinced, for he had come here; he had married her by Elfin law... Why would he give up now, when victory had been so close? No. He may be unpredictable, his own goals often a mystery and plagued by his own doubts and insecurities, but he would not so easily betray her and his brother.
“Please Sif, do not be a fool.”
“I am no fool, Loki! You are the one who lies!” She stepped further away from Loki, her expression determined and firm now.
Loki watched her, shaking his head in growing exasperation. But Sif was not perturbed; she refused to accept that Loki would just give up on her, on them, and see her left alone for a lifetime of suffering an arranged marriage. “You would not do that to me! To Thor!”
Loki glanced away momentarily, wincing slightly as a mixture of guilt and regret flickered across his features. Quickly, he schooled his expression back into mild irritation and faced her again, “I am sorry, Sif, but it was just too much of a commitment.”
Sif remained silent, continuing to glare at the trickster. He tilted his head to the side and regarded her for several moments before he spoke again. “Eternity is such a long time, Sif. Do you not think spending it with me would be such a bore?”
“No Loki! And you did not think so earlier, either!” Sif retorted.
“I told you, Sif. I changed my mind.” He sighed again and Sif fought down the urge to shout at him. “And it is not as if these past few centuries we have been without our… problems.”
She shook her head, but not in disbelief, for she could not deny the truth within his words. Their relationship had never been easy; Loki’s jealousy and lack of self worth had always plagued them, as had Sif’s impatience and tenacity. But always their love and need for each other had brought them together again. Never had he been so cold, so cruel and callous towards her. She continued to glare at the trickster, coldly meeting his eyes in challenge.
“What more do you want from me, Sif?” Loki asked, holding his hands out in apology. His voice grew firmer as he continued, annoyance creeping into his words. “I realised that I could not make the commitment to you. I could not agree to spending eternity with you and you alone.”
“And who else would you spend eternity with, Loki?” Sif retorted. In her anger at his cruel game, she aimed to wound the second prince, to play on his insecurities and make him explain what was happening.
It did not work; Loki simply smiled at her, the sardonic malicious smile that had twisted his face earlier. A few moments later, the laughter began; the chilling, humourless laughter that had filled the blackness before. It echoed around the empty void again now and Sif fought to keep her hands still, to resist holding them over her ears or showing any sign of how much the sound disturbed her.
Eventually the sound stopped, though his scornful grin remained. “Oh, I think you would find there are many who would come to the bed of a Prince of Asgard.”
Before Sif could even begin to formulate any response to that, the blackness around her suddenly changed, coalescing and warping, shaking and thrumming. The sickly green light around Loki grew brighter and two figures began to emerge out of the blackness around him. High stiletto heels and long shapely legs; short elegant dresses of the finest satin, shimmering a rich emerald green and hugging their curved figures tightly. And finally beautiful, made up faces with perfectly coiffed hair, their extravagant jewels sparkling in the blackness.
Even with the sickly, unnatural light surrounding them, Sif would have recognised them anywhere; Sigyn and Amora, the two most beautiful ladies in all of Asgard. Their appearance flooded her with painful memories of patronising smiles and mocking laughter, scornful comments and cruel jibes to her as a young girl. How they had made her feel so small and awkward as a teenager, when she has been struggling to find her place as a female warrior in a society so against the very notion. Sif had never let them see how insecure they made her feel and, as the years had passed and she had taken her place as a warrior of Asgard, she had cared less and less for their cruel ways. But seeing them now, at such as time as this, made her feel just like that awkward young girl, attending her first royal ball once more.
“Hello Sif,” they chorused, their voices a perfect harmony, sickly sweet and tauntingly friendly. They stepped towards Loki who had never wavered in his cruel gaze upon her face. He watched her expression as the ladies wrapped themselves around him, their arms circling his body and neck and their legs twisting against his. He finally turned towards them, letting each kiss his cheek in greeting.
“Hello Loki,” they trilled.
“Hello ladies,” Loki echoed back, his voice a low purr.
Sif did no know how to respond, the bile thick in her throat and her heart constricting in pain at the sight.
Loki turned back towards her, his expression spiteful and cruel now, any hint of a feigned smile gone. “You did not think I would settle only for you when I have such beautiful goddesses to choose from.”
“No!” Sif finally managed to croak out, backing away from him. She wanted to run then, run away from the victorious smiles on Sigyn and Amora’s faces and the cruel glint in Loki’s eyes. Even in all this blackness with nowhere to go, she had to fight to stop her feet from moving, to keep her posture strong, unflinching. Just like when she was a young maiden, Sif was determined to not let them see her fear and loathing. Her voice was much stronger and firmer when she continued. “I do not believe you, Loki!”
“Are you sure, my Lady?” Loki flashed her a condescending smile, “Many centuries we have been together, Sif, did you not ever fear I would stray?”
“No!” Sif replied venomously.
“Ah! Your faith in me does you justice. But did you never see my eyes straying across the banqueting table, Sif? Did you never see me laugh and flirt with the other maidens?” He stepped towards her, his arms out as if trying to embrace her. The figures followed him, moving behind and trailing their hands along his body, their limbs still tangled around him. Their heads were tipped into his shoulder, one on each side, kissing his neck and winding their fingers in his hair. The sight was twisting her stomach into sickening knots, her eyes following every caress with jealousy. It grew like hot flames in her blood, making her angry and nauseous until it was impossible to think rationally. And still the thick blackness seeped into her thoughts, trying to twist and distort them, playing tricks on her mind and clouding her judgement. She clenched her fists tightly, fighting down the urge to smash Sigyn and Amora’s faces, and Loki’s too.
On his next step towards her, she could not prevent herself from stepping backwards, away from her lover and the sickeningly beautiful goddesses behind him.
“No,” Sif whispered, her voice embarrassingly weak once more. It took all of Sif’s hard trained forbearance, but she forced the bile down, forced her head to stop spinning and her jealousy under control. “I trusted you Loki! I knew you would never betray me!” And she did trust him, she always had. Even though their relationship had never been official, had remained nameless and unspoken between them for centuries, Sif had never doubted his fidelity. His eyes had strayed at the banquets and balls, he had laughed and flirted with the ladies of the court, but Sif had always known his game. She had always felt his eyes watching her, testing and measuring her reaction. And against her better judgement, Sif had always felt the jealousy rise up within her, usually causing her to give in and seek him out. She never had any love for his games, but she knew they stemmed from his own jealousies and insecurities, his need to push people away so they never grew too close. And so, despite their many centuries of struggles, she had never believed Loki to be untrue to her. It had to be another game, another part of the test.
“My darling Sif, how very naive and you foolish you always were.” He started laughing again then, the same cruel, malicious laughter that ran through her veins like ice. And the figures behind him laughed too, their shrill, mocking voices like knives stabbing into her body. Her fingers were digging into her palms now, trying to stop herself raising her arms and sheltering her ears from their spiteful laughter.
“No!” Sif replied, shaking her head and shutting her eyes, trying to push away the image in front of her. Images of their cruel, gleeful faces, the hands caressing Loki. “I know you would not do that, Loki!” But her voice was lost to the laughter. It grew louder and louder, echoing around the blackness until she could not think upon anything else. She forced her voice louder and her eyes open. “No!”
She stepped backwards again, needing to get away from them. Her foot caught on something and she stumbled backwards, trying to ignore the way the laughter only increased at her clumsiness.
“Ladies look! How silly she be!” Loki mocked, turning to Sigyn and Amora and letting them kiss him on each cheek. “Look at her! Would such a woman really be enough for me?”
“No Loki,” they chirruped before laughing again.
Despite her fierce warrior’s pride, Sif could not stop herself from looking down, away from their scathing expressions and cruel smiles. She tried to distract herself by looking for the object she had tripped over and that was when she saw it. The faint emerald green light of the dagger she had dropped on the floor earlier. Hastily, she picked it up, felt the warmth in the metal and angrily waved it towards Loki. Their laughter was grating on her patience, overcoming her embarrassment and shame. She felt more confident now, more herself now she once more held a weapon. They laughed louder at her weak attempts to defend herself, but Sif did not care. They should all know better than to underestimate her now. She threw the dagger from hand to hand threateningly, her body already preparing for any attack and her glare fierce.
Finally the laughter ceased, first Loki then the two figures stopped immediately afterwards. He cocked his head to once side and eyed her patronisingly. “My dear Sif, always so ready to fight, always so afraid to face the truth.” He clicked his fingers and instantly Sigyn and Amora stepped away from him. “Surely you have realised by now this is one fight you cannot even hope to win.” He stepped towards her once more, holding out his hand. The figures remained still behind him, their expressions still patronising and cruel. “Just give me the dagger and take my hand, Sif. Then this will all be over.”
Sif shook her head and held the dagger tighter, raising it up protectively. This had to be part of the test, it had to be, for every instinct was screaming for her to ignore his hand, to keep fighting and face whatever would be thrown at her next in this cruel test. “No Loki, I will not give up so easily!”
“Then are you going to fight me Sif? Fight us?” He gestured to the figures behind him and immediately their faces turned hostile, their bodies standing straighter in alert.
“If I have to, Loki!”
He sighed in exasperation, “And are you going to kill me, Sif?” He paused then and his expression changed, turning from irritation to mischief, his eyes flashing with a new game to play, “The way I once tried to kill you?”
Sif blinked in surprise at his words, partly from the weight within them and partly for the light-hearted, almost playful way in which he said them. The words brought forth unbidden memories of that terrible time for them, for all of Asgard and great Yggdrasil herself.
Her horror must have shown on her face, for Loki only smirked at her further, “How easily it is forgiven and forgotten, my Lady.” He looked at her curiously, “How strange that even after I have tried to kill you, you are still so quick to defend me and believe me to be faithful.”
“But that was different,” Sif answered automatically.
“How so?” Loki echoed, his voice and expression filled with mild disdain and sarcasm now.
“You were not yourself then, Loki. You…” Her voice broke, unable to find the words to explain. It was still a wound between them, a deep cut with scars never truly healed. They had only talked about it briefly on Loki’s return and now any mention of it would set Loki’s face hard and he would withdraw from her, or else distract her with a silly magic trick or a kiss. His actions had cut him deeply, left him ashamed and suffering under the weight of his disgrace. Despite the penance he had paid in Asgard, despite his family and friends welcoming back their prodigal Prince with open arms, his guilt at all the death and destruction he had wrought had never faded. And the destroyer he had commanded to kill her would always be a knife between them, a festering cut that would never truly heal. Loki could not forgive himself and could not understand or accept that Sif forgiven him for her own misfortune. That Loki should mention this now, at such a time and in such a manner hurt Sif deeply, once more opening the wound and reminding her that her lover had indeed tried to kill her. But it had been different; Loki had not been himself. “You had fallen, Loki,” Sif eventually managed to continue. “You thought we had betrayed you. That we were a threat to you and Asgard itself.”
Loki started chuckling then, “Such excuses, Sif! How quick you are to defend me!” His voice, though, was not as cruel as it was before, his laughter weaker and the figures behind him remained quiet.
If Loki intended his laughter to weaken and undermine her, then it had the opposite effect. Instead it strengthened her resolve, her frustration helping to fuel her determination. “I do not defend you, Loki. I merely speak the truth. You were trying to save Asgard, to prevent a bloodthirsty war with Jotunheim.” Sif’s voice was growing firmer now, trying to convince Loki of what she had always been unable to before. “Everything that had happened to you, Loki; finding out about your heritage, your father falling into Odin sleep and you being forced to become King… It twisted your judgement, made you see enemies where there were none. Made you…” Sif paused, trying to search for the right word, “Made you not yourself, Loki.”
“And that is excuse enough for the damage I wrought on Asgard, on Midgard? For trying to destroy Jotunheim?” His voice was more curious this time, though still sarcastic, as if he was not sure whether he sought her forgiveness or her retribution.
“No Loki. It is not excuse enough, but it is the truth.” Sif sighed wearily then, oh how often she had willed him to believe it! “I doubt there are many men strong enough to fight such demons and resist the temptations of retaliation.”
“And do many of them try to kill their friends, their lover?” The sarcasm had fallen from his voice now, his expression pensive, thoughtful.
“Maybe not,” Sif answered, “but I do not truly believe your aim was to kill me, or Thor.” Loki looked at her in surprise then and Sif continued, “The destroyer’s aim was rather poor, Loki. And the blow I inflicted seemed to cause a much larger respite than necessary.”
Loki watched her inquisitively, weighing her words. His brow knitted in thought and Sif knew this was her chance to finally make him believe her, to see that she truly had forgiven him for the harm he had inflicted upon her in those dark days. “Please Loki.” She stepped towards him, the dagger hanging by her side, “Please believe me.”
“I do believe you, Sif.”
Sif whipped her head around, following the direction of the voice, for it had not come from the Loki before her. That was when she saw it, a brief glimmer in the distance; eyes a rich ruby red, skin a pale blue and a sad, compassionate smile. The green cloak was muddy and ripped, the gold plated armour tarnished and dented. Then, the image shimmered away, as if she was looking at a reflection upon still water and the surface had suddenly been disturbed. The figure disappeared into the empty blackness as quickly as it had appeared, but Sif knew she had not imagined it. She could still hear the echo of the voice, saying the words she had longed to hear for so long. A voice full sadness and grief, guilt and shame. But hope too, wonder and acceptance and, above all, love. She fingered the diamonds at her throat, the stones so much warmer now. But not burning; a comfort not a warning.
She turned to the Loki in front of her and saw him frowning, his eyes filled with displeasure and confusion. He must have sensed her watching him, for his expression suddenly became nonchalant, a fake mirth filling his eyes and pulling his lips into a smirk. “It matters not how you justify it, Sif. It is all over and you shall realise the truth soon enough.”
“No!” Sif stepped back away from him again, but not in fear this time, but anger. Seeing the strange fleeting image of another Loki had shaken her, left her reeling until she knew not what was real and what a trick anymore. The Loki before her seemed so real… Surely it could only be his words that were a trick, not the figure himself… Yet she could not forget the look in the other’s eyes, the emotions and memories weakly concealed within their ruby depths. She deepened her scowl, her perplexity annoying her and the calm, unfeeling man before her bringing forth her anger.
Loki sighed, “How many times do we have to go through this, Sif. It is getting quite embarrassing now.” He gestured to the figures behind him, their faces once more etched with scorn and derision. “Surely you can see now, Sif. It could never have worked between us. That it is over.”
“I told you before, Loki. I do not believe you!”
“But you should, Sif.” He paused, watching her, his eyes growing sorrowful, pleading. “Just take my hand, Sif. Let us put an end to this… unfortunate business and go home.” He held his hand out once more to her, but Sif paid it no heed this time.
“This is not real, Loki. It cannot be.” Her voice was faint at first, but slowly it grew in volume until it was firm and resolute, her conviction growing with every word. Loki may have played his games over the centuries, sometimes cruel tricks when his jealousy and insecurities overcame him, but they had never been so malicious, so painful and without provocation. Loki had never treated her so coldly, never looked at her in such contempt and derision. It was such a contrast to the warm, ruby red eyes she had seen before, flickering so briefly in the blackness. Those had been full of love, wonder... And guilt too, remorse for what he had done. Not like the Loki who stood before her now… Sif could not be sure if that image was any more genuine, but she knew now that this Loki did not tell the truth. He, at least, could not be real. It must all be a trick, another part of this test she had to pass.
She shook her head in defiance and continued to eye him coldly.
“But it is, Sif. Just accept it is over.” The figures behind him moved forwards then, once more moving closer to Loki, twisting their limbs around his frame and caressing him. It turned her stomach, but did not lessen her conviction.
“No! This is not real! It is a trick, part of the test!”
Loki sighed and stepped towards her, still holding out his hand. “It is no game, Sif. Do not be a fool. Just accept it is over and take me hand.”
But it was too late then, Sif’s certainty was absolute and with it came the ability to act, to fight. She acted without realising it, her instincts overcoming her senses. Her arm lifted the dagger high, pulled her hand back and then swung it forwards with all her strength. She was not even aware she had thrown the dagger until she saw it move, cutting through the air and finding its target. Her aim was near perfect, only ever beaten by her teacher and now this version of him was to feel the skill of her throw first hand. It pierced through Loki’s impenetrable armour, the dagger suddenly flashing a brilliant, emerald green light as it found purchase.
It sliced through the golden breastplate and sunk deep into Loki’s heart.
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Thanks for still reading! It definitely means a lot. I know this test is proving very difficult, but I didn’t want to make things too easy for Sif!
I plan to update this and my other Sif/Loki stories very soon, so I hope you come back and read more.
Chapter Text
The shrill, unearthly howl that echoed around the void was too much for Sif. She had to cover her ears and turn her face away from Loki’s face twisted in agony. His eyes were the most excruciating, full of hurt and pain and betrayal and they cut into Sif’s own heart as surely as if the dagger had pierced it.
“Sif, what have you done?” Loki gasped through the pain, his hands circling around the dagger and pulling it out.
What had she done? Sif did not know, she had acted on impulse, but what if her instincts were wrong? What if it truly was Loki sent to give her a message and she had just struck him with a deadly blow.
“Loki?” Sif asked, concerned. She started to step forward towards him but there was nothing she could do. Blood was pouring now from the open wound and he started to double over, his legs starting to give way and his head sagging down.
“Sif, please. Help me!” He held out his hand towards her, fingers dripping in blood, an almost sickly black colour in the foul green light. “It is not too late. You can save me. Please, just take my hand.”
Sif started to reach for his hand, wanting to hold it and try to hold him in this life for as long as she could. Maybe she even had the chance now to end this stupid test and save Loki. But as she reached towards his hand she suddenly noticed them, the figures of Sigyn and Amora, further away now, but still there, hanging onto Loki like a mystical shadow. Their faces were calm, seemingly unperturbed by Loki dying before them. But it was not that which made Sif pause. It was their very existence, here of all places. The rational part of Sif had always suspected that their image was fake. Logic itself dictated that they could not be here, for what were they doing here, in this strange backwater village in Alfheim? But like so many things in this strange, eerie blackness, they had seemed so real. The blackness twisting perception and thought and destroying any sense of logic and reason. Seeing them again now, so calm in the face of Loki’s destruction, reaffirmed Sif’s conviction and she stepped away from Loki.
“Sif please! Help me!” He was on his knees now, the blood still gushing forth, pouring over his armour and soaking into the clock, staining the brilliant green and gold a putrid black. It started to flood over the ground, pouring towards her in a sickly black wave.
“No!” Sif whispered, stepping away from the thick pool of blood. This was not Loki, it could not be! None of this could be real! She pushed the last of her doubts away, pushed away the pain and anguish she felt at seeing this Loki so close to death. It was not him, Sif knew that now, but the pain in her heart was just as real and acute as if it was.
“Please, Sif!” Loki begged, his voice weak now, but still full of agony and betrayal. He was nearly collapsed on the floor, one hand clutching at the pouring wound in his chest and the other still reaching towards her.
“No!” Sif said, louder this time. “You are not Loki!” She shouted the last words and they rang around the void, echoing and growing in volume with every repeat.
Loki’s face turned towards her then, his face contorted in anguish and pain. “Sif!” He whispered one more time, his hand desperately trying to reach hers. She stepped back quickly, folded her arms across her chest and shouted, “No!”
Suddenly, everything went black all around her, all sound ceasing with a deafening finality.
The world was completely devoid of anything for the space of a heartbeat. Then, the glittering green dagger suddenly fell to the floor with a loud clatter, the only sound left now in the empty blackness.
Loki and his friends had gone.
Once again, the blackness all around was absolute, the only light from the green dagger shimmering on the floor where Loki had been. Though Sif knew it had not been real, the image of Loki dying before her eyes would not fade from her mind and she quickly stepped forwards, trying to push it away with action. She reached for the dagger and noticed it seemed to glow even brighter now in the darkness, the strange symbols adorning the hilt clearer. It was perfectly clean and warm to her touch as her fingers circled around the hilt.
The moment she stood up, clutching the dagger, a light suddenly appeared in the distance. It flickered only faintly, but Sif recognised it instantly. It was the same flickering light of the candle she had seen before. She had forgotten, but now the memory of Loki trapped in the cell once more rushed into her mind. Sif raced towards the light, sparing no time to stop and think, to question why it should appear again now or to take in what it may mean. It must be another part of the test, that was all Sif needed to know. The sooner she reached it, the sooner she would find Loki again.
As she ran towards the light, the ground once more changed beneath her feet. The smooth stone gave way to jagged rocks and sharp pebbles, the gnarled tree roots and fallen branches once more trying to thwart her. Their presence remained hidden from her, for all she could see was the flickering flame in the far distance. The dagger, though still glowing its strange, emerald green light, was unable to penetrate through the thick, empty blackness and light her way. She could hear the voice again too, Loki’s voice calling her name, filled once more with pain and agony and that almost unbearable glimmer of hope. The voice, the light, it called her forward and she ran.
Many a time did she trip, twisting her ankle in the flimsy ballet pumps. She bashed her knees and ripped her dress, but still she kept on going, always jumping up quickly on her feet and racing ahead, trying to reach the light. One trip brought her down beside a jagged branch and a flicker of white in the otherwise empty blackness drew her attention. She reached for it and felt the soft satin beneath her fingertips, saw the beads glittering from an unknown light. It was part of her wedding dress, ripped when she had tripped here before. Sif realised then where she was and sure enough, when she stood up warily, the light was suddenly brighter again, once more illuminating the cold granite walls of Loki’s cell. She moved forwards cautiously now, holding her arm out as she felt for the glass barrier that had trapped him before. The cell grew brighter as she approached and once more she saw the huddled, chained figure, the wounds still as red and raw as they were before.
“Loki,” she whispered, drawing nearer and now feeling the cool, unbreakable glass beneath her fingertips.
“Sif?” He turned his head towards her and, even though she was prepared this time, still the sight of his damaged and broken face struck terror into her heart.
“Loki,” she whispered back, trying to draw her lips into a reassuring smile. Loki’s own face lit up into a smile in response, but with the angry red cuts and dark bruises, it looked almost grotesque.
This time, Sif was more patient and she refused to let her earlier panic overwhelm her. Carefully, she felt along the glass, following it up and down and across to both sides. It curled round in a large oval, away from Loki’s cell and Sif did not need to follow it for long before she realised that, just like this thick, cloying blackness, it would continue forevermore into this strange world. There would be no way around the thick, unbreakable glass.
Loki watched her as she moved, his eager eyes tracing the path her fingers took as she felt along the barrier. When Sif moved back in front of him, she saw the light and hope start to die in his emerald eyes as he realised she found no breach in the glass.
“I am sorry, Loki,” she whispered, kneeling down now and holding her hand out to the glass. Loki started to crawl towards her, though Sif could see there would be too little length in the chain.
He came as close as he could, holding his shackled hand out and reaching for hers, his eyes sad yet forgiving. “It is alright, Sif. I understand.” Loki’s voice was cracked, barely above a whisper, but she could make out every world.
“There is nothing I can do, Loki,” Sif replied. But even as she did so, a memory surfaced, of what must have been another part of this test. It seemed so long ago now, so easily forgotten in all this empty blackness swallowing her thoughts. But it was clear now. She had said those same words before, when the Loki she had seen then had said she had failed, that she had not done enough… Maybe this Loki kneeling in chains before her was as false as the other Loki had been, but there had to be something more she could do. She held the dagger out and turned it over slowly before her eyes, examining the hilt and the unreadable markings for any indications of what she should do. It had proved useless before, but now it shone with an even brighter light, the metal almost hot against her fingers. When she had last struck the dagger against the glass, Loki and his cell had disappeared and she had been left alone again in the horrible darkness. Yet it had also been the means of her defeating the other Loki…
This Loki was watching her now, a new hope in his eyes as he saw her twist the dagger around in her hands. She looked at him then, at the horrible gashes and bruises marring his beautiful porcelain face, at the shackles cutting into his ankles and wrists, staining them red. She could not leave him, even if she failed again and was left alone in this miserable darkness. She had to try, for what other choice did she have? She stood up and held the glowing dagger high above her head. With all the strength she could find, she threw it down towards the impenetrable glass. It struck the barrier with a shrill, piercing screech that reverberated through the blackness and into Sif’s very soul. It lasted barely a second, but the deafening sound still echoed around her ears and rung like ice through Sif’s veins
For a moment time itself seemed to stand still. Both Sif and Loki stared in suspense at the dagger, her heartbeat stopping and her breath catching in her throat. The carvings on the dagger suddenly grew scolding hot and she dropped her hand quickly, stepping back from the barrier. The dagger remained; the tip of its blade had pierced the glass and it held fast for a moment, growing dazzlingly bright. Then, a crack slowly started to appear in the glass. It glowed with the same emerald light of the dagger and started to spread out along the surface of the glass. Other cracks appeared then, spiralling out from the tip of the dagger like a spider’s web until the entire glass was covered in cracks. They circled around Sif and spread out as far as she could see, shining with a vivid green brilliance and resonating with a low thrumming beat.
Then, suddenly, the glass shattered. It exploded around her with a high-pitched, deafening scream and the light grew so blindingly bright it forced Sif to shut her eyes. She raised her hands over her head, protecting her face from the sharp shards of glass raining down around her. They pierced her skin, but their sharp sting was almost unnoticeable against the high pitched shrill of the breaking glass and the blinding light.
Suddenly, it stopped. Sif opened her eyes tentatively, but the light had gone. Only the glowing light of the dagger now remained, lying on the floor, undamaged. The glass barrier and the shards of glass had completely vanished.
She raised her eyes and once more saw the cell before her. It seemed closer now and Sif raced towards it, picking up the dagger as she ran. She paid no heed to the ground beneath her feet, her eyes only focused on Loki’s now hopeful face as she rushed towards him.
As Sif raced forwards, she felt her foot start to slip. The ground beneath her feet suddenly dipped down, disappearing into nothing but emptiness. She realised too late and her momentum carried her forwards, the small stones beneath her feet slipping towards the breach and preventing her from finding balance. Her body struck the ground hard and then continued to fall forwards, downwards, into the empty blackness below.
Sif swung her arms about, trying to find something to hang onto, but the ground just slipped away beneath her fingertips. Quickly, she twisted her body around, her instincts kicking in and she struck the dagger into the ground hard. It sunk in deep and her fingers tightened firmly around its hilt. The jolt on her arm was painful, but Sif kept her grip, her only anchor now as her feet found nothing but empty air below.
The ground above was soft and already she could feel the dagger start to loosen, her grip slipping. She acted quickly, her warrior instincts overriding her actions and she pulled fiercely on the dagger, raising herself up. Reaching out her other hand, she grabbed the loose ground above her. The reach proved futile, her hand just slipped away with the rocks above, causing them to cascade down and strike her. The fall backwards jolted her again, loosening her grip and putting more pressure on the dagger so it slipped ever closer to the edge.
Sif knew she had little time and she swiftly tried again, swinging on the dagger and raising herself higher, finding more stable ground to grasp. As she dug her hands into the ground, she bent her knees and raised her feet, finding the wall before them. More loose stones fell down, but her footing was sure now and she pushed herself upwards, collapsing on the ledge above. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet and drew back from the edge, the loose stones still slipping beneath her pumps and threatening her balance.
Her position stable, Sif turned once more to see Loki in his cell. His eyes had been watching her with panic and fear, but now they grew hopeful and he gave her a weak smile.
Sif stepped cautiously towards him, finding the edge carefully with her feet and looking down. She could see nothing; everything was still shrouded in blackness all around. Only the flickering light of the candle provided any significant light, but that did not penetrate past the walls of Loki’s cell. She held her dagger out, but its light still did not shine upon anything. How big the gap was, and how far Loki’s cell lay ahead, Sif could not tell. She stepped as far as she dared to the edge and reached her leg out, trying to find solid ground beyond the gap. There was none, just empty blackness stretching almost infinitely out beyond her.
“Please Sif,” Loki asked, holding his chained hands out towards her once more.
“I can’t, Loki,” Sif replied, stepping back from the edge as the loose stones began to slip precariously towards it. Her only option was to jump, but with the dense blackness all around, she could not know if it would be enough. It struck her then that she did not know what should happen to her beyond the test if she fell now. Falling would surely result in failure, but would any injuries remain when the test was over? Was she risking her life for only the image of the man she loved? She stepped further back, shaking her head. She could not jump into the unknown like that, not when she could not be sure how much of this was even real.
“Please Sif,” Loki begged. He looked about to continue, but then stopped, his head twisting to one side as if listening for something. He shrank back, cowering against the wall in fear. “I think they are coming, Sif.” He turned back towards her, his eyes panicked now, filled with terror.
Sif heard it a moment later; footsteps. They seemed to approach from all directions, the sound echoing around the empty blackness, yet from the way Loki’s eyes flickered towards the far corner, Sif knew they were approaching his cell.
“Sif please! They will take me and hurt me and…” His voice trailed off as he glance towards the corner in fear, drawing his body in on itself as he sunk deeper into the shadows, trying to hide.
Voices could be heard then, laughter and words she could not comprehend. The tongue sounded ancient, perhaps that of the Elves, the people they had come here to petition for help. She took a few steps forward, reaching the edge she knew was there but could not see. If she jumped now, maybe she could get to Loki, reach him before they did... Rescue him from the hell they had put him through and escape from this awful, harrowing test. But she could not see anything and if she fell short… They would get to him and hurt him even more. And what would happen to her if she did fall, would she ever find a way out of this wretched world of darkness?
A sudden creak whispered through the air. Sif quickly turned towards it. A door was opening, the footsteps and voices close now. She could see a bright light shining through around the doorway, growing brighter as it slowly opened.
“Sif please…” Loki whispered one last time, before turning his face away and hiding it behind his hands.
In that moment, Sif could not think, only act. Her only aim to help Loki in whatever way she could. She took a few steps backwards then ran forwards, pushing up with all her strength as she reached the edge. She propelled herself into the air and readied her feet for landing, the dagger clutched tightly in her hand. But no solid ground could be found, only empty blackness was beneath her and Sif felt herself falling. She swung her arms out, tried to find purchase, any ground to force the dagger into, but there was nothing around her except the empty void.
“Loki!” Sif shouted, as he began to fall from view, the flickering light of the candle visible now only from above.
“Sif!” She heard Loki cry out in answer, his panicked voice fading as she fell deeper into the darkness. Abruptly, his voice was cut off and then it was replaced by a shriek, his voice wailing in pain as his jailers reached him.
“Loki!” She cried again, her own voice fading as despair began to thread through her veins. She had failed him, again. Already his shrieks of pain were growing too distant for her to hear, though they echoed around her ears in painful memory.
The dagger she clutched tightly in her hands grew ever brighter, but still it did not illuminate her surroundings. Yet she held it fiercely as she continued to fall into the infinite void below her, praying to great Yggdrasil herself that she would show mercy enough to save her beloved Loki.
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Keenir on Chapter 1 Fri 15 Nov 2013 10:36PM UTC
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silverducks on Chapter 13 Mon 12 Nov 2012 11:34PM UTC
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