Part II

"Thor is dead," she dropped the words between them. "Thor is dead, and his murderer still walks free."

Sif had never understood why so many referred to his face as a mask; closed off and unfeeling, sculpted from ice and stone rather than flesh and feeling. She watched him now - watched as his eyes flickered, the green within taking on an unholy glow of power. She watched his breath turn quick, his hands make fists, before -

Beneath her feet, the ground trembled, shaking the snow from the massive boughs of the trees above them. The river rushed and the great fall roared, the sleepy current beneath the frozen surface rising to slosh angrily against its confines. She tensed, expecting the wild magic about him to snap like a band pulled tight. The land itself answered to his rage and pain, and Sif waited, expectant . . .

Yet, Loki simply exhaled, and called his power back to himself when next he breathed. His eyes cleared, leaving only rage behind – familiar and poignant to her. If he felt pain at her news, he hid it well. She watched, but the fist of his left hand did not tremble.

"Perhaps," Loki bit the one word out with a forced civility, "we should continue this conversation indoors."

"I thank you," Sif replied just as stiffly.

She did not wait for him to lead. Instead, she picked her own path through the trees. A heartbeat passed, and slowly, he followed. Her shield pulsed in warning for her back being so exposed to him, but she refused to turn around. She could not yet hold his eyes again.

That familiar feeling of awareness she normally had for his watching her was not there, so she assumed that he was absorbed in his own thoughts. That suited her just well, she told herself, and held her glaive more firmly in hand.

The cabin, when they entered, was a simple thing. There was only one square room within - with a wood burning stove in the furthest corner and a large table that Loki used as a desk in the corner closest to the door. There were no shelves, only a chest or two, with books and scrolls piled and thrown haphazardly atop their broad surfaces. She glanced to the left to see a bed made and untouched – not out of some sense of tidiness, she knew, but from lack of use. She thought again of the dark circles beneath his eyes and forced herself not to feel at the thought. His welfare was no longer her concern - it had not been for quite some time. She told herself that she only worried for his lack of sleep effecting his control over his seiðr in the days to come.

She glanced again at the room, this time seeing not the humble size and shape of her settings, but rather, the glimpses of wealth and comfort that she could always attribute to Loki. Thick, exotic furs were draped over the bed, and over the left wall hung a tapestry as the room's only decoration. She looked curiously at the story the weaving told, seeing no tale that she knew. Yet, she knew an elvish hand when she saw one, and she picked out six massive figures feeding six massive bowls of water to the roots of a great tree . . . and she wondered at it. There were long, elegant daggers imbedded in the wall through the tapestry – thrown from the desk, she espied the trajectory, no doubt from Loki when he needed to clear his mind of the pages he poured through. The room's one chair and table were wood from Vanaheimr's great Red Forest, carved to depict longships tossing and turning upon a turbulent sea, a serpent rising from the depths of the waves with glittering eyes of emerald to face the hapless sailors. Gold and bronze inlaid the few chests there were, and the books were all bound in leather and painstakingly written by a scholar's caring hand. In those few she could see there was a historian's treasure trove of knowledge and rare words.

The desk, as ever, was a mess of controlled chaos when she approached it. There were empty inkwells alongside those full, and clippings from quills dotted the wood like crumbs. There were various artifacts and trinkets whose use she knew not - some glittering with precious materials, while others were dull and deceivingly unassuming. He had maps and a compass out, and she could see everywhere from the Nine Realms to the far off places of the universe mapped – stretching from the Kree Empire to the Shi'ar Imperium. Queer markings were made all about, and she spared a moment for wondering before filing the information away for later.

There was one particularly large book out on the desk, and she espied his familiar, spidering script set cramped and crooked into the margins of the pages. She could not even guess the language the book was written in, and so (after refusing to remember long days sharpening her knives while he sat in the library, pouring over tomes even older than they) she turned away. Next to the book was a small chest, locked and warded, and even she – with her veins dead to seiðr – could feel the enchantments that pulsed from it. She knew better than to touch it, and after a moment's wondering, she gave it no more thought.

Sif did not ask to be invited to sit before taking a seat in the chair next to the desk – the only chair, for he never had guests – with an ease and grace she did not feel. She propped her boots up on the table, and watched with some black amusement as Loki waved a hand to clean up the melting snow and mud from the soles before it could soak into his maps. The thoughtless use of his seiðr tickled against her skin, and she again wondered over the ease of it.

She next took off her helm – an unspoken truce between them – and placed it onto the open book with a careless motion. The steel was heavy, and the sound it made against the pages was dull. She watched as a muscle high in Loki's cheek twitched in annoyance – once, she thought with a pang, that annoyance would have turned to playfulness. He would have snapped his fingers and her helm would have levitated to dance just beyond her reach as she tried to reclaim it, until . . .

. . . yet, that was another thought she pushed away, having no use for it. She was silent for a long moment, regarding him as he stood tall and ill at ease in a space that was so clearly his own. She raised a brow, and waited for him to speak.

"You have news on . . ." his throat worked. He stopped. She could read the word brother in his eyes, even if he could not force it from his mouth. "You have news regarding Thor."

"Thor is dead . . . Or," she amended her words, softening them to lessen their blow, "he will be."

Loki's eyes were furious and dark on her. She watched where a vein throbbed in his neck, where he had to work his throat in order to swallow. Yet, he waited for her to speak. He did not interrupt her.

"A wraith was summoned against him," she continued, speaking slowly so as to ensure his complete attention. "The specter was a soul-stealer, drawn from the shadowed mists of Niflheimr."

"That is impossible," Loki interrupted with a wave of his hand. "The last of the wraiths were hunted to extinction by Buri First-father – long before even Odin was born."

Sif shrugged. "One must have slipped through the cracks," she turned a measuring eye on him. "It is not such an unheard of thing." Her words were pointed.

"Perhaps," Loki muttered. Something flickered in his eyes, and she wondered at his thoughts before continuing on. "Who is the unfortunately stupid being who sought to control such a force?"

"The services of this wraith were summoned by the brothers Gangr and Iði, sons of Ölvaldi, the Jötunn lord of old. I assume that you remember them?" In the end, his lack of reaction gave his knowing away more so than any flare of feeling. She tapped her fingers against the carved surface of the table, suddenly restless."We know that they sought to redress the punishment of their brother Þjazi, whose spirit even now rests in the Star-keeper's prison."

Long ago, when they were little more than children – youths, not yet into the century of their majority – Þjazi had formed a plot to kidnap Iðunn, an Aesir woman whose grove of apples was said to grant immortality to those partaking of them. Loki owed Þjazi a life-debt at the time – from another one of Thor's youthful escapades gone wrong, though that part of the tale was rarely remembered – and he had paid his debt by aiding the Jötunn lord in abducting Iðunn from Asgard. And yet, as soon as the parameters of his agreement were fulfilled, Loki then turned on Þjazi and brought Iðunn back home safely through his own efforts – efforts that also led to the capture of Þjazi and his sentencing to a lifetime imprisonment amongst the stars.

Loki did not speak, and so, she continued: "The brothers were too late to seek recompense with Odin, who originally sentenced their brother. Even Thor knows little of his father's wanderings, and Odin could not be reached."

His mouth turned tight at her words. His eyes darkened – yet, there was only satisfaction in his gaze. He had paid an eye for an eye with his dealings with his once-father, and he would not seek apologies for that crime - not when he did not believe himself to be in the wrong. She sucked in a sharp breath of retort, and continued, "With Odin unavailable, they settled for his next of blood. Thor aimed to fight the brothers, but they turned the wraith on his family in reply – knowing that they stood little chance crossing the Thunderer in arms."

Sif swallowed, remembering the horrible, greedy cry of the creature that was more shadow than shape, alongside the wide, terrified eyes of the boys who held up their small arms to a foe that no steel could face. A sharp taste filled her mouth, and she swallowed away her want to war.

"The twins are just learning to bear arms, and the Allmother is expecting a daughter by the time the snow thaws," Sif said tightly. "Thor would not risk them, and he offered his own soul freely if they would accept it and leave his family be . . . Gangr and Iði agreed to his terms, and made the trade."

She let out a deep breath, thinking of Móði's bright blue eyes – like storm light in the sky, and Magni's easy way of laughing at the slightest coaxing. She thought of Jane's grip – tight enough to bruise, no matter the human shape of her bones – around her arm before she left. Jane's eyes had been pleading, even when her words were cool and calm as she asked her to bring her husband home. Sif exhaled, feeling her purpose settle about her anew, as strong as the steel of her armor.

A ripple of feeling touched Loki's brow before it smoothed away. He did not know his brother's family, she thought. What should have been his right and dearest privilege was now nothing but a few names and shadowy rumors. He had not been there to watch Jane dig in her heels and hold her head up high to keep that which was hers. In the end, the woman who had reordered the stars themselves was not one to trifle with - as Asgard's court had soon learned, to the ill of many and the gain of a privileged few. Loki had not been there to watch Thor settle into the role of king and husband and father . . . he had not been there to see his brother rule with wisdom and a tender heart, nor was he there to stand as a shield to those who viewed the tender years of his reign as a weakness, rather than a hunger to rise equal to the names of those who came before him. Loki had not been there to calm Thor as he paced the corridor beyond the birthing chamber the day his sons were born. Loki was not the second one to welcome the boys into the world them after Thor released his awe-struck, wondering hold on the twins to share them with those who were eager to love them. Instead, Sif had in Loki's place, and now she watched the flicker of regret in his eyes, but felt little of the satisfaction she first thought she would. Instead, she felt only weariness.

"Whatever the brothers are using to control the wraith makes them impossible to track," Sif admitted, pushing aside her thoughts of family and kin – no matter the ties of blood. "Not even Heimdall can see them. And yet, we know their final destination. They must take Thor's soul to the Star-keeper in order to trade it for the soul of their brother. That prison is -"

" - no," Loki said before she could complete her words. His voice was harsh and raw – and final. "You know not what you ask."

"I need your help to access the byway," she pushed on, uncaring of the way his eyes shadowed – with that which she would call dread if she did not know him better. "The bifröst cannot reach this place, and yet -"

"No," he said again, the single word like a spark thrown from a blade. "No, I cannot."

"You can not, or you will not?" Sif challenged. She took her feet down from the desk, and leaned forward in her seat, intent on holding his gaze.

"Perhaps I quite simply care not," he retorted. "Perhaps it is as simple as I do not feel like helping." For all of his childish words, his teeth were bared and his eyes were fierce slits of green. The surprisingly warm air of the cabin was charged. Beyond, she imagined, it had started to snow.

"You do not lie well," she pushed back at him after a long moment. "It does not suit you."

"To the contrary," he all but sneered his words, "I have made quite a name of it, or do you not remember?"

"Never to me," she proclaimed boldly. "Even then, a part of me knew."

He had stared down from the throne with Odin's eyes, and even without completely understanding her own mind, a part of her had known and stayed her mourning of his 'death'. Even when 'Odin's' eyes continued to watch her – so much so that the court started to whisper of Odin taking a new wife and fathering a new heir after the disappointments both his sons had proven to be . . . She swallowed, forcing herself not to think of the days she had spent with her king sending her to nearly every corner of the galaxy – dealing with too many unsavory creatures to mention – searching . . . seeking . . .

"Then, you played your mask better than I played mine," Loki raised a brow. He did not believe her - and the irony of that was not lost on her.

Sif gave a sharp snort of breath in reply, but found that her throat was curiously dry when she went to speak. This wound was still more raw than first she had thought. She swallowed, and found her breath.

Yet, Loki did not take her silence as anything more than her anger. He ignored her, and made a sweeping gesture about the cabin. "As much as I have enjoyed our little chat, you can see that I am very busy - "

" - indeed, you must not have a moment to spare," she drawled - before something about his words prickled at her. She raised a brow, suddenly wondering . . . "What are you working on?" she asked. For it would not be characteristic of Loki to sit here for decades and twiddle his thumbs with nothing but contemplation and peace as his idle companions. No, he had assigned himself a task, and -

Sif looked down at the table again, and felt a flare of power bite against her senses from the small little chest. Even as blind to seiðr as she was, centuries of recognizing his magicks made warning whisper about her skin, as unsettling as the wind that picked up beyond the cabin's walls. She reached out a hand, wondering what he had hidden away when he reached out, viper fast, to grab her wrist and stay her movements. She felt his grip tighten about the leather and steel of her vambrace, and her blood quickened in that way that left her unsure if she wanted to pull him close or inflict a blow. But, it had always been that way between them, even when his name was clear and his mind only suffered underneath a fraction of the shadow that now burdened it.

"I would not touch that," Loki warned darkly. She had not been this close to him since the day his enchantments had fallen - leaving just Loki in Odin's place, Loki upon Odin's throne . . . She was close enough to see the purple around the sockets of his eyes, the way the long lines of his throat worked when he swallowed, and he too stared . . .

"My lady," Loki said with a sigh. This time, he sounded only weary, and she saw her chance. She was close.

"Do not," she hissed. "Do not speak unless it is the right thing you wish to say. You owe him this!" she exclaimed, wrenching her wrist away from his grip. "You owe him, and -"

" - I owe not a thing. Not to Thor, and not to Asgard," his voice was harsh in reply. "And the cancellation of my debt is the very reason that I refuse to visit the Star-keeper's prison, or do you forget who else lies within her hold? What remains of Thanos is bound away there, and that is reason enough for Huld's keep to be erased from the bifröst's sight."

"So you would leave Thor to an eternity of that torment?" her words were hot, showing more feeling than she cared to reveal. "If you feel yourself so absolved, then why are you here? Why are you here, alone, when you could . . ." Sif faltered. She could not force her words out when they included those like family and comrades and loved ones. She could not speak when each word was both true and false at the same time. So, she swallowed them all away. "You are here when everyone else is - " she amended her sentence, but too late.

" - and who cares for my absence?" Loki returned, his voice steeped with derision and disbelief. He stalked across the small room like a caged beast, his step restless and brimming with a dangerous tension as he paced. "Who looks to my place and feels regret for my shadow?"

"Your brother did!" Sif exclaimed, rising to her feet in a single, agitated motion. "You're brother has ever mourned your every misstep, while others felt only betrayal and rage." She swallowed away her own feeling, struggling to cut away her own ties to the situation at hand – and such a severance was one that surprised her with how hard it was to complete. She steeled herself, and continued, "Ever have Thor's eyes been on the shadows, hoping for the day that you would return. He understood, as he always has."

Loki snorted, shaking his head in a motion that was more denial than disbelief. "And what I do now, I do also for Thor. He would do the same if asked – for Thanos sleeps amongst the stars, for the betterment of all, and I would not hasten his return any sooner than I may."

She stared at him, amazed. "So you are here . . . preparing for this far off day?" she raised a brow dubiously.

"Obviously," Loki sneered. "Forgive me for not expecting you to understand. But I have a great deal to accomplish before then, and you are ruining what was at first a very productive day."

She felt rage lick at her bones like fire. "Then your debt is still not paid if you feel it necessary to make such preparations!" she returned. "You turned Thanos' attention to Midgard in the first place. To Asgard and all Nine of the Realms -"

"Thanos' eye was set on the universe," Loki snorted. "I only steered his path quicker than he would have first set it."

Even still, she could see the way he swallowed. His throat was dry. Even to mankind, their tales detailed those who were stronger than the gods - and titans like Thanos ruled over all, no matter the story. She had never specifically asked him what he saw during his fall – what he saw when Thanos caught him from the nothingness of the cosmos, and he worked his tongue to spin silver words in order to . . .

But no. She still would not ask.

"I fix my mistakes," Loki said in a low voice, lost in his own thoughts. In many ways, she imagined that they aligned closely with her own. "Or have the stories forgotten that?"

"That is why I am here," she said in a low voice. "I never forgot that. Thor never forgot that -"

"I do not want to hear any more -" his voice was an angry, wounded sound from his throat. For a moment, she did not recognize it.

"Why? Because the truth hurts?" she pressed on, advancing on him as he backed away from her. She used the truth as her weapon, blunt and battering as she struck again and again.

"Sif . . ." her name was a low, dangerous syllable from his mouth. "I need for you to be silent."

And yet, she continued. She held her head up high, as if she faced him with steel rather than words. "It is true, no matter how much you would deny it. The truth is that some things you cannot run from -"

"Sif."

" - some things you cannot forget -"

"Sif."

" - and pretend that they once meant nothing, when -"

"Sif."

Her throat stopped working. She opened her mouth, yet no sound came forth when she tried to speak. Her hand flew to her throat, but she could feel no wound, only -

She looked and saw where Loki held up a hand. His look was narrowed and troubled, but his eyes were bright with seiðr, and for a moment she felt white hot anger flare up from deep inside of her. He would not dare . . .

"I said silence," he hissed on a furious whisper.

The wards about her throat shimmered. He released her words.

She sucked in a sharp breath, and found her vocal cords raw from her fighting against the hold of his magic. "The next time you cast such an enchantment, I will cut out your tongue," her voice was strained as she made her promise. "So make sure your spells are strong."

He held up his hand again, ignoring the war in her voice as few could. "You were followed," he rolled his eyes as he gave his explanation, as if irked that he had to take a moment to do so.

Sif blinked, taken aback. "How is that possible?" her voice was low so as to let him work without her interruption. She watched as his eyes narrowed – feeling around the edges of his wards and shields with a deliberate, cold concentration. "Only the Allmother and Heimdell knew of my task, and - "

"Obviously, your brother's sight grows dim with the passing of the years. And Jane is still – or was – human," Loki said with a sneer. "These wards are bound by blood . . . whoever this is must be powerful indeed to follow on your trail."

Suddenly, understanding hit her like a blade sinking deep between rib-bones. She sucked in a breath as Loki waved a hand, opening a path through his spells to grant whatever foolish soul trying to reach him a way to follow. Purple mist and green magic swirled, opening a portal as the light danced angry and potent against the back wall of the cabin.

"It does not matter," Loki said in a voice low with promise. She surged forward, fear rising in her throat as a sour, horrible taste in reply to the violence that was suddenly tangible on the air.

"Loki! Stay your hand!" she reached out to hold him back, even as a familiar figure stepped through the path Loki had opened. She looked, seeing where a pair of hazel eyes and a mop of messy black hair appeared, and -

"Mother?" those familiar eyes widened with surprise as Loki's wards released the youth with a flare of green magic and startled power.

Yet, the surprise in Ullr's eyes was nothing as compared to the wide, stunned look Loki turned on her – a look that was as a blow itself as he looked from the boy to her and repeated: "Mother?" in a voice fraught with questions.

" . . . mother," Loki stated once more in a low, dead voice.

In reply, Sif took in a deep breath, and steeled herself as if for battle.