Give me hope in silence
It's easier, it's kinder
And tell me not of heartbreak
It plagues my soul
It plagues my soul
For many days after the two princes battled and the Bifrost was destroyed, Sif would sit on the shattered edge of the Rainbow Bridge with her brother Heimdall, staring off into the edge of the cosmos. They did not speak; she did not want to hear the words he would have to say, too afraid of the answers to the questions that haunted her thoughts. There were questions that burned her, questions that laced the tip of her tongue that she would not speak to her brother; for fear that he could not answer her. The silence was easier to take.
It was comforting, too, sitting with the only person who truly understood her heartbreak. For he who had seen all had surely seen them, hiding in corridors and shadows, grinning at their subterfuge. The brush of hands as they passed one another. Stolen kisses when they were the only ones left awake at the campfire. And now the memories left a hole within Sif's heart that was worse than any injury the Destroyer could have inflicted on her.
We will meet back on this road
Nothing gained, truth be told
But I'm not the enemy
It isn't me, the enemy
It was hard for Sif to believe that Loki had become the enemy of Asgard. Perhaps not officially, as the Allfather and his Queen mourned for their lost son, but the people of Asgard, who did not know his quick wit and the numerous times he had saved them all; they were quick to blame. To castigate. But she could not see him as the enemy. To see him as a Frost Giant. Because they were the enemy; she had learned this, believed this since childhood. But now, when his true heritage was revealed, she could not think of him that way. As a monster. It was easier to understand Loki's rage, his hate, when he had hidden the truth from all of them. How much did he hate all of them, they who played as children, always pretending to slay a great Frost Giant, and how much did it really hurt him now, when he remembered. And if…when Sif saw the prince again, what would have changed between the two of them? After he let go, it was as if he had given up on everything he had held dear in Asgard. And that meant her. The trust between them would likely be lost—what took centuries to forge would likely take centuries more to rebuild. Sif did not know if they would be the same.
If he returned.
But I came and I was nothing
Time will give us nothing
So why did you choose to lean on
A man you knew was falling?
It was a source of grief, the idea that Sif could have saved him, could have noticed Loki's depression and rage before it spiraled out of control. She should have seen it. Seen how he had felt worthless, so underappreciated compared to Thor. Should have seen his jealousy of the golden prince who could do no wrong in the Allfather's eyes.
It hurt.
It hurt to trust someone so deeply that was so reserved; so distrusting. But she hadn't known he was so close to simply letting go.
It hurt to place her trust in someone so much, only to have it shattered. But she hadn't known. And if she had, she doubted she would have changed anything. She didn't know what to change. Sif hated this; the second guessing, the wondering. The grieving and the silence. She longed for action, some battle to conquer to rescue her lost prince. She was not one for sitting and pondering, as Loki did. But there were no wars to fight, no battles to be one. Only the absence of a prince and the emptiness that it left behind.
Give me hope in silence
It's easier, it's kinder
And tell me not of heartbreak
It plagues my soul
It plagues my soul
She tried to remain hopeful as the many months passed by, as the days when she would sit with Heimdall dwindled, as it became less and less appropriate for her to openly grieve for the lost prince. She was expected to be a warrior, a Lady, and stand strong as the kingdom looked to her for strength, even when she had none. The heartbreak did not fade, though, not really. It changed, became a part of her, more expected. Instead of waking up to slim fingers and green silk sheets Sif woke to a hole in her chest, a gaping kind of wound that never healed, and burned at her as she lay in her bed, trying to gather herself together to get up. To move. To stop thinking of him. But it became routine, the pain. She would grow to be accustomed to the constant ache, like an old war wound that never really healed and never went away. After a while, it became a part of her.
And bury me beside you
I have no hope in solitude
And the world will follow
To the earth down below
There was no grave for Loki, no funeral pyre, and no body. Sif knew not where his soul lay; awaiting judgment from Lady Hel, or among the worthy in Valhalla. She had taken one of his daggers, the ones he would leave haphazardly around her room, and buried it at the base of one of the trees that guarded their secret space in the woods, near the lake they would play at as children. It was not much—no, it was nothing. But it gave her a place to mourn in silence, without bothering Heimdall and giving the watchful eyes of the people of Asgard another reason to judge her. She would lie in the grass, letting the memories of the two of them sneaking to the lake together overtake her, and it let her forget for a moment that she was there, and he was not. Not anymore. The one constant presence was now gone from her life; the loneliness was a burden that was nearly impossible to shoulder.
Sif longed for the day when the Bifrost would be fixed. For then she could travel to Midgard with Thor and they might be able to right themselves. Thor, because of his woman Jane. For Sif, it was because Midgard held only a few memories for her. All of Asgard was a memory, a reminder of him. She would journey through Midgard, hoping to forget. Desperate for a place that did not arouse images of him kissing her near that room, or dancing with him in that hall, or the two of them sparring in that field. She needed a place of solitude, a realm that did not hold all that they had and all that was lost.
But I came and I was nothing
Time will give us nothing
So why did you choose to lean on
A man you knew was falling?
She did not expect time to be kind to her. In battle, no favors were given, and in heartbreak there would be no respite either.
She did not want to forget him, to forget everything, but knew that it would happen eventually. While there were hundreds of years of memories between the two of them, Sif had hundreds, thousands of years to forget. She did not want to wake one day and realize that she had forgotten the joy she had once felt at feeling his arms wrapped around her waist as she slumbered. The way he would mutter in ancient tongues in his sleep, or call her elska as she trailed her fingers down his bare chest. But for now, when the wound was still too raw to begin healing, Sif would simply bury herself deeper within the furs upon her bed, desperate to find the faint aroma of magic and leather that still clung faintly there; desperate to hold onto one last piece of her fallen prince that had yet to fade away.
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'Elska' is Old Norse for love
Lyrics from 'The Enemy' by Mumford & Sons