The raven haired God of Mischief slumped lazily against the gilded walls of the Allfather's bedchambers, staring blankly out at the falling leaves of the pink blossom trees in the North Gardens. His crestfallen emerald gaze held for what seemed a lifetime before he slowly crossed the room to an ancient wooden desk, laden with heavily etched carvings of the fabled Fenrir Wolf. His eyes darted across the fine wood as he traced the engravings lightly with his fingers, a pained look in his eyes. His fingers slowly found their way to a small drawer hidden in the side of the escritoire. From there he proceeded to pull out a leather bound parchment journal and quill and took to writing furiously.
Father was right. Gods, we are not. We are born, we live and in time, we die. We search for purpose, for meaning in our lives, just as the Midgardians do. When we are in the depths of despair, we turn to those closest to us for comfort and for help; for a reason to keep struggling through those darkest hours that never seem to end, when we are so hopelessly in the thick of them. But what happens when those closest to us are no longer present?
As a child I was known within the halls of Asgard to be friendly, spry – even happy, despite the fact that in years to come I would be labeled as a monstrosity; feared by those who once claimed they cared for me. As time passed I realized of my own accord and not to my own surprise that I was indeed different and not at all like those around me. I wasn't even of the same blood as those I considered family. As I continued my search for truth I stood many days alone in the shadow of my witless brother Thor – referred to by many as the rightful heir to the throne of Asgard. Yet here I am, and where is he? On Midgard, with his mortal. All for a petty and juvenile woman's heart. He is truly the idiotic fool I always took him for.
Before mother died she came to visit me in my cell, informing me that one day, despite the wishes of Odin, despite the true wishes of myself, the throne would fall to me. She knew that Thor would take his place among the Midgardians to be with Jane and "he" would once again fall into the Odinsleep, perhaps indefinitely. By default, despite my treachery, I would come to rule Asgard.
When I had helped Thor to save Jane Foster in Svartalfheim from Malekith, I feigned my death to escape a life of imprisonment and to free my brother, among others, of the burden of my being. I had grown tired of fighting to show the realms a part of me that no one saw. No one believed there was good left in me, and what good would it do to try and prove them otherwise? They would never trust me. Mother was gone. I planned to live out the rest of my days disguised in Vanaheim, and leave the weight of the throne to my alleged kinfolk. Not long after, I was drawn back to home. I hadn't believed Frigga when she informed me of her prophecies, but unfortunately, they were correct. I have returned just in time for father to fall into the Odinsleep, and for Thor to abandon his responsibility to Asgard. I truly have never been one for perfect timing, though somehow I feel, this was not by accident.
The Allfather now sleeps soundly beneath the city in the crypts of the Valhalla. No one knows of his comatose state except for I, and perhaps Heimdall, though if aware, has yet to make that known. I have disguised myself as father for the time being until he either wakes or I figure out a way out of this misfortune. I fear he may never awaken and I may never discover the latter.
For now, I am alone. Alone as always, really. This time, it is different. I do not get company aside from the incessant idiotic babbling of the warriors three, and the occasional councilman. And… her...
A light knock came suddenly upon the door. Startled, his transfiguration was almost instantaneous. He stood, straightening himself and threw the journal into the open drawer of the desk, slamming it shut.
"Enter." He stifled.
She came in rather slowly, glancing around the door to spot him before her full entrance. Her long, tousled brunette locks gave the impression that she had been out riding, the bit in her right hand confirming it. Her iron bodice clung heavily to her chest as she breathlessly made her way across the room close to where he stood. No matter how many years had passed between them, the mere sight of her never failed to take his breath away.
"Forgive the intrusion, Allfather. I-," she said, as pink as the garden trees. Upon closer inspection, he noticed tears in her eyes. She had been crying and judging by the general state of her, it had been for quite some time.
"Sit down, Lady Sif. You are looking rather winded."
He pulled the chair hurriedly from the desk and choked back the rage in the direction of whatever had made her so upset. He had seen her like this less than a handful of times in the many years they had known each other and it never got any easier to witness.
"What seems to be troubling you, my lady?" He inquired, trying hard to steady his voice.
Her glance moved quickly from his eyes to the floor, startling him for a moment. It was as if, for a split second, he thought she might be able to see through his facade. It seemed like a lifetime before she finally answered, and even though it pained him, he suddenly realized why she was here.
"I- I'm sorry to come barging in here so unprecedented like this, but I cannot bear it any longer. I feel as though I am going mad Allfather, my heart, it has broken. I cannot speak to the others about this. I do not know if what I am saying or thinking is wrong anymore. I-I know, I know he is gone, but I cannot-," her cries turned into sobs. He stiffened. "I cannot think of it anymore."
After a few moments passed, he spoke, as kindly as possible. Even though the rage of jealousy seethed within him, easing her acute unhappiness and desolation was of far greater importance.
"Lady Sif, you are grieving for your loss. It is a natural part of existing, and we as Asgardians are not immune to the ailments of the heart."
She looked up at him with a slightly mortified and incredulous look on her face as though he had stirred up something even more deeply disturbing within her.
"You mean, you know?"
"My dear Sif, I have known for years your love for my son. I have watched you two grow together. I have seen the way you look at him, and him to you. I know you're longing for his company again, but my girl, you must know Thor is-"
"Thor?" she interjected rather quickly, her red, watery eyes squinting up at him. She searched his face frantically to find the words before responding, her mouth agape.
"Allfather I... I was referring to Loki."