There were countless rumors about him. Loki, the "God of Mischief." He was a traitor, that was for sure. Everyone knew about his short reign as king, and his attack on Jötunheim using the Bifröst. He was the reason the massive rainbow gateway had to be destroyed.
Everyone also knew he was dead. Sucked in, of his own accord, by the hole in the fabric of space, created by the Bifröst's destruction.
What was unknown, however, was what rumors about him were true. It was said that the traitorous prince of Asgard had, in truth, been adopted by Odin Allfather. Other rumors claimed he was a frost giant of the realm Jötunheim. Some even said he was the son of Laufey, king of the Jötuns, making him the rightful ruler of Jötunheim.
Of course, many of these rumors were regarded as false and even ridiculous. Those who spoke of them were met with harsh words for their ill speech towards the late prince of Asgard. Thor Odinson, however, knew better than most about the truth of the gossip.
Thor had known his brother was a frost giant from the moment he had seen the electricity frozen in the Bifröst. Loki had always been a very skilled sorcerer, but only a Jötun could have frozen the Bifröst like that.
He had never imagined that his adoptive brother had been the frost giant prince. Upon his return to the castle, his father Odin, the king of Asgard, had told him everything about the situation. He truly was Laufey's son, though he was cast out and left to die because of his size. The frost giants took pride in their massive stature, and the prince of Jötunheim could never have been as small as Loki was. He was one of the smallest of the Jötun species.
Thor always considered Loki to be his brother, despite not being blood related, or even of the same race. They had grown up together, fought many battles together, and had formed a strong bond.
At least, that was what Thor had thought, until his brother's betrayal.
Thor was standing at the end of the crystalline bridge that had led to the Bifröst. He looked down at the jagged edge where the Bifröst had been broken off by Mjölnir.
You had to do it, he reminded himself, to save Jötunheim.
Despite this, he remembered the mortal, Jane Foster. With the Bifröst gone, he could no longer journey to Midgard and visit her. He had promised he would return soon for her, but it seemed like there was no hope for him to keep his promise.
He wished Heimdall was there, but the Gatekeeper was consulting with Odin about the reconstruction of the Bifröst. The ancient guardian was a very good friend of the royal family, and always knew how to cheer Thor up. Heimdall could see what happened on Midgard, and could tell Thor if Jane was doing alright. If she was, it always reassured him.
Thor looked down at the empty space below the bridge. He could remember his brother's death every time he looked down. He had been hit hard by Loki's death, harder than many other people, except for his mother. They had fights, as many siblings often did, but he had never realized that Loki had truly been angry with him. His brother had been very envious, as they had always known that Thor, being the eldest sibling, would become the king.
Thinking back, Thor was angry at himself for being so oblivious. Loki's jealousy was so painfully obvious now. If he had realized it then, he could have talked things out with his adoptive brother. In some ways, Thor blamed himself for everything Loki had done in his betrayal, and even his death.
Lady Sif had never liked Loki, even when they were young. She did not mourn him as the others did, though she was still upset because Thor was upset. She was not rude about it, and knew that while she and him had never been close, Loki was a good friend to the Warriors Three, particularly Fandral. They had played many tricks together, though Loki's had taken a dark turn from harmless to malevolent as he grew up.
As she disrobed into her bedclothes, she remembered the biggest trick he had played on her. Many years ago, when she had been sleeping, the God of Mischief had cut off her long golden hair and replaced it with coarse dark tresses woven by dwarves. They had been kids, and it had been a very long time ago, but her beautiful golden locks had never grown back. She had hated him for that ever since.
She scowled, thankful that no one could hear her thoughts. She would be scorned for thinking ill of the dead, especially the dead prince.
She slipped into bed and fell asleep quickly.
She twisted and turned and mumbled in her sleep. Her dreams consisted of indistinct flashes of gold, black, and green. She knew those colors well, but she was dreaming, and could not make sense of it.
Dark red blood joined the other colors, and though she had seen many battles and large amounts of blood, it terrified her.
She woke up, screaming and in a cold sweat. She could not remember why she screamed.
Someone started pounding on her door. They were shouting a familiar name through the door, but she couldn't quite place who the name belonged to. She recognized the voice as well.
"Lady Sif! What is the matter?" a deep voice boomed, though it was slightly muffled by the doors. Sif thought about it for a few moments.
She finally remembered. That was her name, and Volstagg was the one who was yelling. She got out of bed, and walked shakily to the door. She still couldn't remember why she was scared.
She opened the large doors, and Volstagg was standing in the doorway, looking like he had been attacked by a rampaging bilge snipe. He was very worried, and Sif internally smiled at how much he cared.
"I heard you screaming! What happened? Were you attacked? I'll kill them myself!" he said frantically. He was waving a small throwing axe around as he spoke.
"Calm down, Volstagg, I'm fine. It was simply a nightmare." Sif couldn't remember what the dream had been about, or why she had been so scared, but she figured it must have been a terrible dream for her to be shaking this badly.
Volstagg breathed a sigh of relief. He nodded to Sif.
"I am glad all is well, my lady. I will let you return to your slumber." He gave a small bow and left, heading sleepily for his chambers. Sif quietly closed her doors.
Sif's mind whirled as she tried to remember what the dream was about. She could vaguely recall faint images, but nothing more. She didn't know why it mattered so much, but she felt a sense of importance.
She felt too nervous to go back to sleep, so she pulled a chair to the window and sat down. She stared out the window, still shaking, and watched the dark Asgardian skies for hours, until eventually the stars gave way to the sun. She seemed to be in a sort of trance, watching the stars fade away, and in her daze the beauty of the sunrise was lost to her.