There was a certain sort of silence that fell over the palace which was both soothing and unsettling. The loud echoes of Sif's boots on highly polished stone reverberated off the walls with a steady rhythm as she strode through the halls. A mix of emotions buried inside of her, there was only cool confidence upon her face as she demanded admittance to the throne room.
Frigga sat upon the Hlidskjalf, gazing out upon eternity and the realms with an expression of concern and clarity that reminded Sif distantly of her brother. The knots of fate the queen saw however, would likely remain her own, separating her further from Heimdall.
Sif hesitated, a reaction causing conflict in herself when a millennia of training told her to charge forward but the wounds of the heart cautioned her against. Unused to heeding caution, she approached, making a concerted effort to keep her steps silent, not wanting to disturb Frigga from her reflections.
The loss struck them all, no matter how deep the knife nor how hard the twist of blade, and Sif was in no hurry to disrupt the queen's quiet. Sif had lost childhood playmates and dear friends; Frigga had lost both her sons, in a way. Even if he still stayed in touch with his mother, Thor's absence was felt as keenly as any blade against flesh.
Frigga's eyes came back from where they were to settle upon her. "Sif." The smile she wore was guarded but warm as she gestured for her to approach.
Sif stepped towards her, years of familiarity keeping her eyes on the queen's as she stopped just short of her.
"My queen… I am so sorry for your loss."
Frigga's eyes swam with unfathomable sadness, even as a glimmer of a smile touched her lips. She reached out one elegantly lofted hand, brushing fingers over the length of Sif's hair before cupping her cheek in a motherly gesture. "Such lovely hair," she murmured softly as if to no one. "Look at how you've grown up. Like my own children."
Sif lowered her eyes, at a loss for words. They'd all been children once, all played together the rough sort of games that young Asgard children were prone to. Once, they had all been close. Once, they had been almost as siblings. There were things that friendship and love could not forgive, and as Sif turned her head into the touch of the queen her hand ghosted momentarily over the dagger kept at her hip; a wistful gesture.
She glanced up, eyes flitting over Frigga's face, trying to read her expression. "Will my lord Thor return, do you think?"
Withdrawing her hand, Frigga rose and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sadness ebbing over the fine lines of her face, claiming each piece of her expression. She merely shook her head no.
"I see." Sif followed unbidden, standing to her side. Her own mien hardened as she kept her eyes forward.
"His responsibilities keep him on Midgard." It was a flimsy explanation, even to Sif's ears. What Frigga saw was not Sif's to know, but her excuses did little to abate the tide of anger that washed over her, barely restrained in the presence of the queen.
"He has responsibilities here," she insisted. The timbre of her voice threw back to the days of arguing logic with Loki and watching as he danced circles around her with words until she would laugh at his teasing.
Frigga only nodded again, her back straight and tall as she let her eyes drift off again.
Sif hardened her face more. "Then I will go to Midgard and bring him home."
The long sigh Frigga let out, pregnant with meaning untold, brought her back to the room as she turned her face to Sif again. "He will not be moved. Go to Midgard if you must, but go as his friend." Blue eyes met Sif's own. "He misses you."
Puzzlement shifted across Sif's face, the silence between them holding her otherwise still. "And I him. I have pledged an oath to him. If he has troubles on Midgard, then my course is clear."
A phantom of a smile turned up Frigga's mouth, age creasing her eyes. "Then go to him. He needs you."
Sif set her jaw again, posture tensing. "He needs to remember his duties."
"He could use his friend."
Something stirred within Sif, memories of children wrestling and knocking one another into mud. Memories of jealousy and fighting and solving things with force rather than words.
Darker memories followed on the tails of those, memories that even the pangs of death could not wear away.
"I will bring him back," she said with finality few would use so brazenly with the queen. "Remind him of home, and that he is needed here."
Frigga turned Sif's chin up to her, the sadness there again, which was to be expected in a period of mourning. There also glowed a spark of something Sif couldn't identify. "Go to Midgard with my blessing."
"Thank you, my queen." Sif bowed in obeisance. "I will return without delay." She turned on the heel of her boot and strode from the room, hair swinging in pace with her step and armour catching the late-day sun.
Frigga's eyes followed her until she was gone and merely shook her head. "You may try."