Wow! Look at me, posting in a somewhat timely manner! :-) We're almost done with this fic, guys. I can't believe it. This has been one long son-of-a-gun, so if you've stuck with it this long, thank you. It means the world to me that people are reading what I write. There are still one or two sections to go before the true fin, but we're really close to the end.
Side note: I was thinking of publishing an additional chapter at the end of this fic of some of my outtakes from this story. Would anybody be interested in that? If not, I won't do it (there's a reason I cut the sections out, after all). But, if you think it would be cool, let me know!
Other side note: Once this fic is fully completed, I'm planning on publishing a companion fic that is more a series of oneshots with a stronger LokixSif vibe. Be on the lookout for that once this one is finished!
The trip through Yggdrasil rejuvenated him in ways that a full day of sleep couldn't have done; it was as though the Mother herself was championing his recovery. So, when he and Sif coasted into Asgard, he felt immensely better—if still a touch tired.
They didn't land on the Rainbow Bridge; Loki made certain of that. The parting between he and the Gatekeeper had been less than cordial, and Sif could understand a mutual desire to avoid one another for the time being. When they stepped back into the world from seemingly nowhere, riding one of Yggdrasil's branches in lithely, they found themselves on the fringes of a small village.
"I know this place," Sif said, looking around at the cottages lining the street, interspersed with small strings of vendor's carts that, on a bustling market day, would have been opened and boasting colorful wares.
"Do you?" he asked, voice low despite the hush that laid over everything like a fog.
"Yes," she replied. "I used to pass through this village every day on my way to the palace. When I was a girl, before I began my training, I still loved to watch the warriors spar. And, when you and Thor were old enough to start learning, I watched you too."
"Ah." He was looking everywhere distractedly, scanning the street and the houses with a furtive eye, as if something was amiss. His fingers twitched toward one of the several knives that he had habitually tucked into some not-so-hidden places before leaving Midgard. The entire look of him was straight off of a battlefield.
She felt herself tensing at the sight of it, her instincts playing off of his. "What do you see?"
"Nothing," he said. "It's perfectly still. Too still. And far too quiet."
Sif pulled her glaive from her back, but she didn't extend the blades. Not yet. Still, they both knew from mutual experience that sometimes, overwhelming quiet was much, much worse than an ear-splitting battle cry. Without thinking, they turned back-to-back, both of them falling into natural, defensive stances.
A door creaked at her left, and Sif's head whipped toward it, reflexes tight and fast. Her thumb moved to sweep over the concealed lever that would release her weapon's blades.
"Sif," Loki said, reaching back to stay her hand. Something in his tone pulled her attention away from her glaive. The door groaned again, and this time, Sif saw a tiny body slipping out of a cottage. A mess of long, blonde curls hung loose down her back, and her wide eyes shone the color of the sea. Shyly, the little girl picked her way into the street, approaching Sif. In the doorway stood her family, nervously watching her go.
Why don't they follow her? Sif wondered. As she glanced around, she could see other faces peering at windows, crouching in shadows between buildings, hiding in any way they could as the bold child made her way into the dusty street. The whole affair struck Sif as odd.
"Hello Princess Sif," she greeted in a meek voice, dipping into an ungainly curtsey.
Sif smiled in as becoming a manner as she could, bending down to be closer to the child's eye level. "I'm not a princess, little one," she said. "Just a warrior. What is your name?"
The girl blushed a bit, scuffing a foot nervously in the dust. "Kata," she mumbled.
"Hello Kata," Sif replied, granting the little girl a nod.
Kata beamed at the sound of her own name, though she still hovered a safe distance away timidly. After a second, she looked up at Sif and took a cautious step toward her. "Is that Prince Loki?" she asked.
Sif laughed softly. "Yes it is, child," she told her with a small glance over her shoulder at the tall form waiting there, sensing the tension that rode on the air and watching her back against it. She knew he kept one ear on the conversation, though, by the way his eyes occasionally flickered back at her; she could feel them on her, waiting for her to signal something – anything.
Kata leaned to the side, looking around Sif to see Loki – who was careful not to make eye contact with the girl. "Is that really him?" Kata asked, folding her arms critically.
"Of course it is," Sif said.
"Are you sure?"
Sif raised her eyebrows at this, glancing behind her at Loki, who shot her a matching gaze. "Absolutely. Why do you ask?"
With a quick look back at the house from which she had come, Kata explained, "My mother and father did not want me to get too close. They told me that somebody dangerous was pretending to be Prince Loki."
"The Scrimorus," Loki whispered, and Sif heard.
"No, Kata," Sif said kindly. "The pretender is gone now."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise."
For a moment, Kata just stared at her, uncertain. Then, the brave child stepped around her to face the man at her back. Sif turned to watch her make her clumsy, childish curtsey again, smiling to herself as Loki sunk to one knee. "Lady Kata, I presume?" he said softly.
The girl nodded, a grin already splitting her face at the formal title he had bestowed upon her. "Hello, Prince Loki."
"Hello," he greeted in kind, bowing his head to her cordially. "I heard you talking to the Lady Sif a moment ago; tell me, what do you think of her?"
Kata giggled girlishly before saying, "I think she's the most beautiful woman in all the realm. I want to be like her when I grow up!"
"Well you can, you know," he said. "I see in you much courage that would serve you well as a warrior."
It was like someone had ignited a torch behind Kata's eyes for how brightly they shone at his encouragement. "I would train hard," she pressed, taking an eager step closer to him. "I would practice every day"
"Oh, I don't doubt it."
"One time," she enthused, "I saw you and Sif fighting in the training ring on the palace grounds. You were both really good! I hope I'll be as good as you someday." Her whole face lit up with an idea. "Maybe you could teach me!"
"Perhaps we could," he replied, asking Sif's permission with a glance. "That is, if I don't have . . . things to do for my father." He wasn't yet a free man, after all.
She pursed her tiny lips, shaking her blonde hair back – a miniature version of Sif. "If you tell your father you're training me, he'll surely give you the time." When he didn't respond right away, all assumptions faded. "Won't he?"
Loki drew a breath, brow creased. "I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," he told Kata, every word measured and careful.
She was silent for a moment, just eyeing him with the sort of candid innocence that only a child of her years could possess. "Prince Loki," she said after a moment, "you've been gone a long time. Every time I asked about you, they just told me you were unwell." She tilted her head, genuine and curious. "But you seem fine to me. Are you better now?"
The easy smile had fallen from Loki's face, and, even as Sif stood behind him, willing him strength, his mouth still opened and closed, devoid of words. A shadow of something heavy clouded his eyes, making Sif ache on his behalf. "How often did you inquire after me?" he finally asked.
"Every day since I saw you train"
"And," he pursued hollowly, "how long ago was that?"
Kata's face scrunched up a bit as she thought. After a moment, she said, "The day before Thor's coronation." She took another small, hesitant step forward. "I was afraid that you would be sick forever."
He didn't speak at first, though Sif was certain that she heard him exhale the words, "sick forever." A few shaking breaths passed through his parted lips, and he blinked at Kata. "I might have been," he told the little girl, any words beyond that catching in his throat.
"You found good healers, then?"
He nodded, closing his eyes against the glistening that Sif saw forming there. "The very best."
"So . . ." Kata rocked back and forth on her feet once. "You're better now?"
He held out a hand to Kata, and, when she took it, he pressed a kiss to her tiny knuckles. Sif saw the first of the tears slip from his eyes when he raised his face to the girl once more. "I'm better now," he told her, his voice thicker, and, when more tears followed the first, Kata wound her little arms around his neck, hugging herself to his chest. He returned the gesture, eyes closing as the small girl rose onto her tiptoes to give him a better hug.
He looked up at Sif through tear-slick eyes, a sight that had always been reserved for her and her alone.
She had seen him cry before. It had become an unspoken, sacred thing between them, as secretly cherished as her shaking fingers pulling golden twine through his lacerated lips or his gilded blade sawing through the strands of her hair.
He recalled many a midnight conversation, hidden away in the recesses of the palace's library – not because they had chosen the place, but because she had learned where to find him when she wanted to talk to someone with a more colorful vocabulary. Some of their best conversations had sprung forth in those darkened corridors, though sometimes only once their tongues had been loosened with mead. It had been during one of those not-quite-sober conferences that he had first told her that she was beautiful. She had given a drawling, inebriated laugh, which he had echoed, though he knew not why; he had only ever been honest about a precious few things in his lifetime, and that – that had been the rawest form of truth.
The word hadn't passed between them since, but now, he could see it in her face as she looked at him. Just that single word: beautiful.
Slowly, the people who had kept to seclusion throughout began to trickle into the streets, one by one coming toward him. He closed his eyes and let himself feel. A hundred hands touched his shoulders, gestures of sympathy and care that had for so long been withheld from him. Kata drew back, and he let her go; she promptly smiled at him before scampering over to Sif and taking her hand in her little ones. Loki couldn't bring himself to stand, but that was alright, because the people – his people – were bending to meet him where he knelt.
He lost track of how many offered him an embrace; he only knew that every single one of them was genuine. Sometimes, people would murmur things into his ear while they were near enough to do so; things like, "Welcome home," and "Thank the Norns you're back," graced his ears like a gentle yarn that seemed to knit him back into the Asgardian tapestry.
A pair of hands landed on his shoulders, and he looked up.
Immediately, he bowed his head again, placing a fist before his heart in a salute of fealty. "My king," he said quietly, trying to keep his heart out of his throat. This makes running away feel like an attractive idea, he thought, the weight of his father's hands pressing all the way into his very mind and strangling any competent thought that had been formulating there.
"Rise," Odin bid, not an ounce of emotion in his tone. Loki obeyed immediately, though his eyes never left the ground. When Loki didn't say anything, Odin did. "Speak now; we all know you have the words."
Loki drew a breath before starting. "Allfather," he began humbly, "I know I do not deserve anything but malice from you. I should have been named your enemy by now, if not from the time of my birth. You have . . . every reason in the world to cast me out and never lay eyes on me again." He swallowed thickly, the muscles in his throat working too hard for the simple motion. He was choosing each word carefully, minding his tongue more closely than ever before. "Yet, you have given me this chance to come before you and entreat you for your mercy. It is an audacious request, and I am not worthy, I understand; but, if there is any way that you can forgive me –"
"Enough," Odin interrupted, and Loki fell silent. Inside, he felt like a child again – a child who was about to be reprimanded. He felt small and insignificant, his pride completely crushed; what a stark difference from the acceptance he had been receiving from the villagers. Truth be told, it hurt.
The villagers around them began to whisper, each person's statements riding the tails of the one before it until every word had blurred together into one long, hushed breeze. Odin quieted them instantly when he touched Loki's face in a paternal gesture. "My son," he said softly, voice breaking, "has come home."
A wave of pure confusion passed over Loki's face before he finally looked up. "Father?" he tried, cautious.
"You are forgiven, my son," Odin told him, pulling Loki into his arms as only a father could; after a moment of pure shock, Loki returned the embrace. His entire body complained that it wanted to cry again, but there were simply no more tears. Instead, Loki just breathed, watching some of the red stains lift from the pages of his ledger.
When Odin let him go, he didn't quite know what to do. Everything in him wanted to laugh, to cry, to crumple into a heap, and a thousand other things. He willed speech to his lips, and, after a moment of coaxing the words forth, he said, "Father, I don't know how I could repay you for –"
"Stop," Odin told him. "There is no debt. No conditions. No more proving your worth." Loki stared at him, dumbstruck. "You are my son, and it is good to have you home." Odin's eye had glossed over with stagnant tears as he had surveyed his prodigal. Now, a single tear slid down his cheek. "I am proud of all you have done to make things right."
"I –" Loki stammered uncharacteristically. "I don't know what to – Thank you, Father."
Odin turned and addressed the villagers. "Tonight, we celebrate my son's return!" he declared. "There shall be feasting and festivities at the palace this eve in his honor. Spread the word among the villages; all are welcome!"
The crowd erupted in a cheer, and, in the midst of the excitement, Kata ran up to Loki and grabbed his hand. "Am I invited?" she asked.
"Absolutely," he answered, brushing a rogue curl out of her eyes. "Go and find your prettiest dress. I shall look for you tonight."
With a smile that radiated joy, Kata hurried off – only to turn back at her mother's indication and offer her unbalanced curtsey once more.
Odin didn't lead them through the main doors to the palace; instead, he directed them around the side opposite the training grounds. A long stretch of stone wall laid before them, and Loki, without being prompted, walked up to the heavy door embedded in it. A thick chain laced across it, reaching from iron ring to iron ring, a massive padlock in the middle.
Loki glanced back at his father, who nodded encouragingly. Then, with a simple touch of magic from his hand, the daunting chains melted away, leaving a wooden door. He took a breath and pushed it open, leaving Odin and Sif behind outside.
The door thudded closed behind him, and he barely had a chance to look around at the exotic, meticulous garden before his eyes found her.
Frigga dropped her shears, hand drifting up to cover her mouth. Her golden hair blended with her golden dress, and both seemed to glow at the sight of her son. She extended a hand, beckoning him to her; he obliged without speaking, though a certain warmth touched him somewhere inside, and he hoped it showed in his face.
She reached out and touched his cheek, tears already pooling in her eyes. Her hand drifted down to his shoulder, trembling as she ensured that he wasn't effervescent, like one of her visions. Both of her hands ran down his arms, finally gripping his hands and lifting them to her lips, kissing them. A tear dropped from her eye to his knuckle, and neither of them bothered to wipe it away. "You've come home," she said, as if she had only just realized the truth of it.
He just nodded, letting her embrace him. She sniffed as she rested her chin on his shoulder. "You're so tall." He smiled at that; it had been many centuries since he had sought comfort in his mother's arms, and he had never truly noticed just how small she was by comparison.
When she pulled back, she held him at arm's length, surveying him. Tears dampened her cheeks, and she didn't even bother wiping at them. "You're skinny," she said. "What have they been doing to you?"
"Nothing that I didn't bring onto myself," he told her. Then, he leaned down just a touch – just enough to look into her eyes more directly. "I'm back now, mother."
She took him in her arms again, kissing his cheek. "Do not ever frighten us like that again." She heaved out a sigh that tickled the back of his neck. "I've missed you," she whispered – a secret spoken delicately from mother to son.
He could feel the weight of her words; where Thor and Odin had always had a bond, he and Frigga had been just as close. Many an afternoon of his childhood had been spent with her in this very garden, both of them dirtying their hands in the service of beauty. The hours had always passed like fleeting smoke when they had been together, until the sun had set and Frigga had made him come inside with her so that he could go to bed. She had always understood when he had later complained about training, entreating him to persevere in spite of it. When he had eventually discovered his magical talents, she had been the one to offer the most support, encouraging him every step of the way and sitting through numerous demonstrations that he wouldn't have even considered showing to anybody else. She had always been the guardian of every tender thing in his life. So, when he said, "I've missed you too," he meant every syllable.
She held him a moment longer, whispering, "My son," into the dark, uneven edges of his hair. Letting him go again, she looked at him. "It's good to see you, child."
He laughed a little at that; his mother had always had a way of making those around her feel like children, thereby earning herself the right to address them as such. "You talk as though you hadn't expected to see me again," he said.
She shook her head. "I always had hope," she told him, taking his hands in her own once more. "I always had hope."
A/N: Don't forget to let me know if you'd be interested in seeing some outtakes! If the demand isn't that high, I won't post them. I'll keep them secret forever and ever. So be sure to tell me if you'd like to see them! Thanks, ladies and gents!