Prologue:

Midgard's single moon was low, and the sky was just starting to lighten with the coming dawn as a tall figure ran unhindered by the large load they carried, leaping over rooftops of buildings, their inhuman long gait unfaltering. As the figure paused to scale a wall, the sound of weapons the planet was not ready for echoed off of bricks and glass and the figure dived, slamming into the roof they had just vacated moments before.

Lady Sif, Goddess of War and current fugitive of Asgard swore soundly and thoroughly in a few languages. Quickly dragging her precious cargo behind a ventilation shaft for cover and removed two knives as more shots were fired, missing her by inches. Her sword and glaive she did not reach for. "Fat lot of help you are. This is definitely more your skill set." She whispered to the pile of limbs she had been carrying on her back for months. There was no reply, and she hadn't expected one, only it had been a lonely mission and she was hardly going to chat her pursuers, who were emerging out of the dark, seeking her and her charge out. In one move, she swiftly deposited her knives into the two shadows, and pulled out a gun of her own, swiftly ridding herself of her pursuit. Holstering her weapon, she stalked out and retrieved her knives. "Come, my Prince," she murmured as she gently shouldered the tall figure, thunder cracking not so far away, "We're nearly there and I badly need a drink."

Ch 1

Seven months earlier:

Sif allowed herself a sigh as she moved from the training grounds towards her small and tidy quarters. Her muscles ached and she was very much looking forward to washing the sweat and dust from her battered body. Thor had given her a beating this evening – or, if she was honest with herself, she had been very successful in seeking one out. His eyebrows had risen at her furious vigour, her taunts bridging on cruel, her eyes, she knew, a little feral, daring a reaction out of him when he would rather not. She knew they both had had trouble sleeping lately, and so she pushed him to fight long, longer than was usual or wise, but she hoped that as a result they would both fall into dreamless unworried sleep this night.

Her fingers found the first buckles on her training armour as she rounded the last corner but paused, instead seeking hidden weapons as she noticed her door ajar. She crept forward, sore muscles immediately readying as she stepped lightly forwards and opened the door with her foot. The knife she was carrying landed in the far wall as her visitor deftly stepped out of its way. A chuckle rang out through her room and she narrowed her eyes, but relaxed, closing the door. "Good evening Lady Helen, I hope you haven't been waiting too long...?"

Her intimidatingly exquisite visitor was examining her knife. "My greetings Lady Sif, I'm sorry if I startled you but you know me, I can't help causing trouble."

"I always thought of you more as the one who finishes it my Lady." Sif's hands itched to take back her weapon. She instead held them behind her back to keep herself from fidgeting. Helen's mouth pursed in a wry smile, making Sif's gut twist. "Gods, you look so much like him when you smile like that."

Helen's expression softened while she still twirled the dagger between both hands. "Yes, quite. I admit I keep the grey in my hair as a safety precaution. I'm so proud to be my father's daughter you know but he made so many enemies in has female form and I quite like to keep the distinction."

The smile was back. Sif answered it with a chuckle. "I'm sure you do." She took in the oddly beautiful lady in front of her. She was tall, almost as tall as Sif, and carried an air of danger and mystery that the warrior could only dream of. Of course, her own potent mix of strength and intimidation worked well enough so she wasn't complaining. Instead of the armour that the goddess so proudly wore however, the Lady wore and ensemble of black silk skirts and corsetry, reminding one of Midgardian costume from the Victorian era. All that fabric, of course held all manner of deadly weapons from a variety of realms. Her hair, marking her so separate from her father, and in fact everyone else was coiffed elegantly, and was very distinctive with one side of silky tresses ebony and the other silver as moonlight. Sif had often wondered what it felt like in the hand and as usual she forced herself to cut off thoughts as dangerous as those. While a hero in Asgard and known for her honour and pride Sif had a bad habit of longing for things she ought not to and the woman in front of her, as she had admitted herself was definitely trouble. Her disobedient hand twitched to touch despite her cancelled thoughts.

"And that leads me to the reason for this meeting; in fact I had a short visit from my father recently." Sif failed in stifling a gasp. "- before the Norns pulled him once again from my grasp. Not a kindness I can assure you." The dangerous woman's oddly coloured eyes showed sadness for a split second before it was gone. She turned a stern gaze to Sif and her breath caught, her armour suddenly too tight. "Now I know there are a few souls who will rejoice at the fact that he lives but I cannot say the same. There is danger at every turn for him. Now I'm going to tell you some things Sif, and I hope by the end of it you will agree to go on a quest. It will be a lot to ask and stretch even your bravery and fierce cunning but I have trust in your honour and skill. I believe, my dear that we will need more than one stiff drink before we are done." She pulled a bottle and two glasses out of thin air. "Let us sit."

Sif's hand was braced on her desk and her brows were furrowed as she tried to take in the information being alluded to. She looked hard at the woman before her, both ancient and young, with spies much more able to seek out information than Asgard's own. "Excuse me Lady Helen, I just need a moment. You- Loki is alive, and you want me to find him?"

Helen looked up at her, eyes solemn. "I would go myself my Lady but it will be very involved and I'm afraid I can't leave my post for as long as will be necessary. But there is much at stake. You must find Loki; the fate of the realms depends on it."

Anger caught like fire within her. "Why me? You ask this of War? If it was in me to kill a son of Odin I would like to plunge my sword into his cowardly belly myself! How can you ask this of me?"

"Oh Sif," Helen placed the knife she had been playing with on the desk by her hand. "It's been centuries since you have shared his bed but you still keep this by your heart." Helen rolled her eyes at Sif's automatic stiffening at her words and held up her hand. "I'm not saying you still carry some flame for him, like some naive maiden, you haven't felt that way for centuries, I know. But you have known him and loved him as friend for a thousand years. All I'm saying is that I know in your heart that, while you are furious and feel betrayed, a part of you that wants to know that it was all part of some bigger plan. And I'm here to tell you that it was."

Sif looked at the ceiling, collecting her thoughts for a moment before picking up her beloved blade and sheathing it in its place home of centuries, right under her left breast. She sat. "Alright, tell your tales."