A New King

Disclaimer: Marvel owns Thor and all of the characters here.

"You may go."

The guardsmen bowed to their king and marched from the ancient audience chamber without another look behind them. Loki sat on the throne: his bony backside angled into the unimaginably uncomfortable metal seat with one leg hooked over one carved armrest while the other languished on the floor. Across his lap lay the scepter of the king, the pincer like tip a testament to all of the power of his position. Loki closed his eyes slowly and breathed in. After a few measured inhales and exhales, his ears picked up the sound of determined footsteps headed towards him.

Without opening his eyes, Loki smiled.

"Lady Sif, I had wondered when I would be seeing you again."

The footsteps stopped and Loki opened his eyes, sitting up in one fluid motion. Sif watched him wearily as his eyes settled on her.

"Did the All-Father really succumb to the Odinsleep? Is there anything you would not do to get that crown upon your head?" She asked, her voice ringing through the emptiness between them like a bell struck, then snuffed out.

"Stop. Do not say anymore." Loki warned.

"I say only what is in my heart." Sif said, staring in to his eyes. When she continued, the next phrase she uttered was done so in a somewhat mocking tone, "My Lord."

Loki stood and calmly descended the steps so that he was level with her. He tall, lean form allowed for him to be able to look down into her eyes without effort. Sif stared up, into the cold blue of Loki's eyes—so dark they were almost the color of the very bottom of the ocean where virtually no light could reach—and felt a twinge of feeling begin inside of her chest…but what was it, pity, anger, fear? Perhaps a mixture of all three. His words were eerily emotionless and his composure never dropped as he spoke to her.

"The fact does nothing to remove the venomous sting of treason from your words," Loki said. "Be careful what you say here, for here, as in everywhere else, I am the king. Do not expect our close affinity to protect you."

"I do not need anyone to protect me, least of all you." Sif spat.

"So you've been intent upon proving to everyone since you came to live here," Loki continued slowly circling the warrior woman, never once taking his eyes from hers. "But you forget who it was whom first found you among the natives of the dark and mountainous land of Vanaheimr, a mere child in the hands of barbarians. You forget, Lady Sif, that had it not been for me you would never have been received into the All-Father's good graces in the first place. My own dear mother took you in and raised you alongside Thor, Freya, and I as a daughter. Does that not at least warrant some meager thanks from you or have you grown too proud?"

Sif remained silent, only her eyes followed Loki as he came to a stop in front of her, smiling in the same infuriating way he always did when he knew he was right.

"At least," she spoke up finally, "My own mother was an Asgardian. The same cannot be said of you, my king."

Loki's smile immediately melted into a thin line. It had never occurred to him that anyone other than his own parents and himself would have known of his true heritage and it threw a wrench in his plans.

"Why," he began in his smooth even voice, "whatever do you mean, my lady? I am the second son of Odin and Frigga. It is common knowledge, ask my own mother. Ask Thor, if he were here, he would defend me until his death."

Sif's dark eyes narrowed, "but your brother isn't here and as he is the one who could most defend, your highness's reputation, why not invite him back from exile?"

Loki raised his chin and tilted his head, smile disappearing again.

"My reputation needs no defending. My reputation is solid. I am the true king of Asgard until such time as the All-Father awakens. You would do well, Sif, to remember that," Loki whispered stepping closer. "And as far as my brother is concerned, I cannot return him to his proper place as you know for it was not I who exiled him. As I have already said, I will not undo my father's last command. When he awakes, it will be for him to decide if Thor has learned his lesson or not."

In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Sif turned her back on Loki and crossed her arms over her chest. Fear gripped her, fear that Thor would not come back. Fear that the All-Father would never wake up. Fear that Loki would never resign the power he had been given. As an outcast herself, Sif could always somewhat understand how Loki felt as though he didn't quite fit into his own family. A tall, lithe, and dark prince whom had never held any real clout as a warrior wasn't popular among the Asgardian people. As a child, it was widely thought that Loki would outgrow his weakness as a man, but when he didn't, the people's belief in their younger prince waned. How could Odin—the strongest warrior king Asgard had ever known—have produced a son so unfit for a world of battle and war?

Odin had always ignored the common gossip that Frigga had bedded one of his nobles and given birth to a bastard whom he only raised out of his great generosity and wisdom alongside his own son. He had publically rebuked the lies on many occasions that Loki wasn't his son and privately consoled the broken prince that his own talents were just as important in a king as brute strength and the ability to win battles. However, a father's consolations couldn't fill the void inside of Loki. He knew he was different and he felt that his difference eternally separated him from everyone around him.

Odin, in a fit of desperation, had asked his brother Vili to train the boy in hope that his own particular brand of wisdom and cunning would help the boy find himself. Vili then trained the boy in everything he knew: strategy, science, art, fighting, and sorcery. It was the last of these that Loki proved to have a real talent and passion for. Loki's skill exceeded that of any known conjurer in any of the nine realms. He was able to do things with ease that took many a lifetime to learn. So it was, that the second prince of Asgard had grown into a man with his own special niche within the royal family. Thor had his fighting prowess, Freya had her beauty, and Loki had his tricks.

Everything had appeared to work out by the time Loki reached his majority and the public was warming to the royal children. However, Thor was still the golden son and Loki was still just as jealous as ever. Nothing Loki could conjure would win him half the admiration that Thor could just raising his hammer and summoning a little lightning. Old wounds remained unhealed and grew with age into a rift that divided Loki from his people and family forever. But none of that should matter now. Their kingdom was in crisis. A prince had been exiled for the first time in Asgardian history, a second born son had become king before his time, and the All-Father had been drawn into a deep sleep that no one knew if he would wake from.

Now wasn't the time for Loki to be licking his wounds and sulking beneath his spurned pride. Now was the time to call back the chosen son. Now was the time to put old grudges by the wayside and come together.

Sif turned around, only to be confronted with thin air. Loki was walking himself back up the steps to his throne. Once he reached it, he sat down and set a hand beneath his chin. The discussion was over between them.

"I have made my decision," Loki said. "You would do well to forget about Thor for now and leave his fate in my care. I love Thor more than any of you. And more than any of you, I want him to come home. However, that is the All-Father's decision, not mine."

Sif looked back over her shoulder at the sound of his voice and nearly shuddered at the coldness of it. Loki was a trickster, he was a sorcerer and a trouble maker, but he was also the king and that was what angered Sif the most because she knew the throne of Asgard had never been his to have. Without acknowledging him, Sif marched off in the direction of the doors that would take her out of the great hall and away from the cold blue eyes of the new king.

The End