II.
As years passed, Sif became a natural and warmly welcomed member of Odin's close circle, as well as of Asgard's best warriors – the Warriors Three. Respected as a warrior and friend in the eyes of Thor, her membership was easily accepted, but no one could deny that Sif's importance had grown due to spending time in Loki's company, too. Loki, after all, was a prince of Asgard as well.
She now sparred with Thor every day, while Loki watched, silently observing Thor's thunderous blows and Sif's stealthy elegance. Loki was not averse to sparring anymore. He had grown as a warrior, but even more so did his magic and although Odin forbade him to use it against the warriors of Asgard, his spirit was always itching to do the opposite. If he made a man trip by putting an invisible obstacle between his feet, no one could prove he was to blame, for he was very good at hiding things and being inconspicuous, but many of them simply knew and resented him. Loki did not mind. He now loved to fight them, even if only out of spite. The only one he preferred to avoid was Thor. His older brother had remained a sore spot. On the outside, they were as brotherly as brothers could be. But Loki knew well that one should never believe in appearances. The brothers were as different in spirit as they were in physical terms. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.
Every fight between the black-haired maiden and the warrior of thunder resembled a brutal dance in which both parties enjoyed. When he was still but a child, the familiarity between Thor and Sif might have bothered Loki. Now it annoyed him, for he could not help but feel that he and Thor passed her between them like a cup of wine. Sif was not to be conquered, and her attention could only be borrowed, never had. Sif was a seemingly impenetrable fortress, but Loki enjoyed a challenge and discovering hidden cracks that everyone harboured. Perhaps that was a reason why he often found an excuse to be close to the lady warrior. Loki's infatuation of a boy was long gone, but Sif remained strongly present in his existence. Sif had persisted under his skin, embedded in it like a tissue. The strange sensation inspired him with jealousy at having to actually share the free-spirited maiden's attention. He did not care whom she kept in her company; he only minded when the company she chose was Thor's.
Loki suffered from a jealousy that tended to tear at his interior like acid, but he never showed it, for there was some comfort to be found in the words that Sif once said to him in her open, matter-of-fact way. She never intended to marry, wanting to be a warrior above all else. It made Loki glad, for it meant that, for once, even the mighty Thor would have to remain empty-handed.
Loki could see in Sif's eyes that she admired Thor and sometimes, when she was not paying enough attention to conceal her feelings, he could even see something that resembled love whenever her gaze descended upon Thor's face. If it had been anyone else, Loki might have ignored it, for he had gotten used to the annoying fact that a number of women had looked at Thor lovingly over the years, but the truth was different and would not be ignored.
Yet Sif never tried to flirt with Thor, as other women did, and if anything, she always kept her distance outside the training grounds. Loki was even pleased by that, as whenever she was alone, he could always join her and fill her solitude with his presence. She would ask him questions about the new things he'd read, and about his magic. She was prone to teasing him, and for one reason or another, he managed to anger her at least four times a week, which resulted in Sif's enumeration of all of his past deeds of mischief and her lovely form storming away, joining Thor and the Warrior's Three in the great hall. Loki loved to anger the fiery sword maiden. It made him laugh. She was beautiful when fury consumed her. She became an open book that was easy to read, and Loki did love to read.
It had been six years since the night he darkened her appearance. The peculiar friendship between Loki and Sif was strained and awkward, Loki admitted, but it existed and it was filled with moments that Loki cherished in secret. They were rare, but Loki found that he was looking forward to every single one of them, and although he could not erase the truth that Sif's heart might lie elsewhere, he was comforted by the knowledge that she never shared intimate moments with Thor, and that she would never be anyone's wife. He had experienced with Sif that which even Thor would never have, although the God of Thunder had her undivided loyalty. Yes, not even Thor, beloved by women, respected by men, and admired and loved by Odin and Frigga.
Loki hated his brother just as much as he loved him. He did wish to feel otherwise and not exist in antagonism to his own brother, but in harmony, yet fate was against him. Thor was reckless and foolish, yet his faults had always been forgiven. And then, there was her. Loki did not quite understand why her in particular; why of all the women, he felt the need to single out Sif and keep everyone from her. The fact that he almost depended upon someone's smiles chagrined him – for he had become used to not attaching himself to anyone long ago, for fear of rejection and humiliation – so he tried to play with her even more than with anyone else, planting tricks down her path of life, making her trip over them regularly and verbally abuse him. He truly could not fathom why he wanted to anger her so much, yet it seemed that only in anger did Sif dedicate herself to him so openly and so entirely. She opened her core to him like a flower in such moments and he was free to peer into it, discover the real woman.
And whenever she was being brutally honest, Loki almost wanted to be honest with her in return – to show her, more than anything, that he saw her, and that he hoped that one day, somehow, she could see him, too.
xxx
Loki liked to read. Loki liked to know things. He liked the feeling of being one step ahead of most Asgardians when it came to the vastest of all realms: knowledge. In this respect, he felt closest to his father, although he could never dream of aspiring to becoming the magnificent creature that Odin was. There was, and only ever would be, one Odin.
In knowledge, there was also comfort. When he was reading, discovering new, astonishing subjects, as well as new ways of excelling his ever-growing ability to do magic, no one demanded anything of him. He always felt welcomed; at home. The only downfall of reading was that it was mostly done in solitude.
Loki enjoyed solitude, too, but he enjoyed it even more when Sif tore it apart with her presence. She had a talent she was not even aware of; she had an invigorating effect on those around her.
He was reading in one of the gardens, contemplating on one of his new accomplishments.
He had managed to close his mind earlier in the day, freeze his body in time and peel his spirit away from the hinges of the physical flesh. He travelled outside of his body in spirit, opened his mind again and allowed his energy to formulate itself around his core once more in the form of his body. He felt shaken when the molecules of his physical body re-assembled, especially when he saw his reflection, his own self, standing on the other side of the library, as still and lifeless as a statue, albeit slightly translucent. That was not the real him, only a spiritless projection, yet it looked frighteningly real; deceptively real. He lifted his arm and called the projection to him with his mind. It dissipated before his eyes like fog, pouring into his skin through his fingers. He was absolutely complete again.
In the garden, he still marvelled at the memory of what he had been able to achieve. He knew that he had performed strong magic and he felt immensely proud; empowered; almost invincible. It was a new and very useful talent. He imagined what a great tool it might prove to be in battle. The enemy would try to stab him, but imagine his sword falling through nothing and then the enemy getting stabbed from behind by the fog's true form! Loki smiled to himself. What a glorious thought.
He read that in Midgard, the talent was known as astral projection, but humans, as were called the inhabitants of the World of the Maðr, did not possess the energy and the capacity to truly manifest it. In Midgard, the gift was a wish and a rumour. In Asgard, Loki was on his way to mastering it.
He heard footsteps and turned around. He frowned, for she never came to the gardens; but then again, he himself preferred the library, so he could not really know. He remained silent, observing Sif's winding procession amongst the bright-red bushes. She was clad in her usual warrior's attire, but she was missing her sword and her elbow was bleeding. She should have gone to the healing room, yet instead, she was roaming the secretive haunts of the gardens. As she approached his spot, he noticed that her face was pale and her eyes shining like glass. Sif was not feeling well and he recognised the pain in her eyes as sorrow.
He did not make his presence known. He waited until she noticed him, and when she did, she gave a start, not expecting to find him there. He sighed in expectation of what was to come: her anger at being discovered when she had shown her innermost feelings so freely; her demands to know what he had been doing again, lurking about; her final surrender and then, one of those brilliant smiles that lit up any room. But Sif did not speak. Instead, she walked over to Loki and collapsed to her knees on the grass right next to him, looking at the page he had been perusing.
"Learning again?" she spoke, but her tone was not teasing, as it should have been; as it usually was.
Loki nodded and closed the book, setting it behind his back. He stretched out his long, thin legs and leaned on his elbows, closing his eyes, pretending that he was soaking in the sun's rays dripping down on them like warm honey. He felt her presence with every fibre of his body, but he never let that show. Sif fascinated him and he preferred to keep the fascination to himself.
"Loki?" she spoke again. Her voice sounded worn and morose.
He opened his eyes, regarding her curiously. He knew that Sif had weaknesses, but he had never actually seen her weak and it was both a disconcerting and peculiar sight. Sif's fragility was a great surprise and he could hardly believe he was there to witness it. He had always known her as fierce, although over the years, her fierceness had found balance and matured. But to see Sif weak was a novelty.
Who hurt you, Sif?
"Have you... have you ever kissed a woman, Loki?" she asked as directly as only Sif could, but coyly returning his gaze.
The question punched Loki in the chest and he had to suppress a gasp. He could not comprehend why she would want to know such a thing, why she would even ask him that and how he should respond. He did not feel particularly versed in addressing such intimate matters. Moreover, he did not want to tell her. Surely she would only laugh. He had been focusing on more pressing matters, not on kisses. Not that there ever had been an opportunity. Why would anyone choose Loki when there was Thor?
"Why do you wish to know?" he replied instead, avoiding an answer. "Should you be asking me this, Sif?"
In a blink of an eye, fury washed over Sif's ivory face. She gulped it down, but she inserted its sharp sting into her voice.
"I knew you were going to be difficult. I was a fool to approach you."
She looked away from him and punched the grass between them. He could feel the chagrin vibrating off her skin. He heaved a deep sigh, fearing where this might lead. He did not want to hear that she had offered her lips to anyone. He did not want to hear that she had offered them to... to –
"Then why did you ask me if you knew I was going to be difficult?" He pushed himself into a sitting position and tore a few strands of grass from the ground, meshing them between his fingers feverishly, frustration stirring inside him. The fresh scent of grass hit his nostrils and his fingers were smeared green; his favourite colour; the colour of envy.
"I don't know," she retorted angrily, honestly. Then, even more honestly, she added, avoiding his eyes stubbornly, "You're the only one I can tell these things. How sad I must appear to you now!" She scoffed and rested her chin on top of her knees that she had drawn close to her chest.
Loki leaned back on his elbows again. "Sif, I do not know whether I should take your words as a compliment or an insult. You do tend to freely combine the two."
"You decide," she mumbled against her knees, her fingers playing with the grass. The fingertips had become green, much like his. Suddenly, she gave out a loud sigh and told him, very matter-of-factly, as if it did not matter when he knew that to her, it did, "I saw a lady kiss Thor. He returned the gesture and as she was leaving, he gave her a smile and a wink."
As she spoke the words, she tore a large tuft of grass from the ground, choking it inside the fist she formed with her fingers. She squeezed the ball of soil and grass so hard that her knuckles gleamed white.
All was clear to Loki. Sif was jealous. Not only that. Sif was genuinely hurt by what she had seen. Did she expect his sympathy? He could not give it, not when he himself felt strangely pierced by her confession.
"Sif," he began, not really knowing what he should say. He would not comfort her. It was not in his habit to comfort anyone. Yet she had confided in him, quite possibly expecting just that – comfort. He sniffed and sat up, resting his arms on his knees.
"Thor has always had admirers. You cannot pretend otherwise."
She nodded curtly, releasing the abused tuft of grass from her fist. "It surprised me to... to see him... that way."
He feared that she might start crying, but Sif's eyes remained dry. She had never been one to wear masks, but she was doing well just now, curbing her emotions so deftly. Sif knew how to explode, but now she was containing herself. Loki founds himself wanting her to explode; it would have been more natural than seeing her moping because of Thor's amorous indiscretion.
"It was only a kiss," he offered, smiling lightly.
She looked at him sternly. "Can a kiss on the lips truly be only a kiss?"
Her voice trembled and her eyes sought out his lips with burning determination. "If I kissed you, would it be only a kiss? Would it mean nothing?"
She leaned forward, her direct, stern gaze boring into his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, his mind swirling at the meaning of her words; at the closeness of her. He knew that it was her hurt speaking, but that she should suggest such a thing, even if only to make a futile point to herself, threw him and he hurried to regain his inner balance. Curiously, he considered how her lips would feel against his. And then, he imagined how she would regret the product of her curiosity, hurt and anger. She would never wish to see him again and Loki was not willing to push her that far away.
"It would be an innocent peck," he replied, his voice composed and smooth, "but let us not put it to the test. Neither of us wants to, Sif. Is that not so?"
She shook her head and looked away.
Yet he did allow himself to wonder whether she had actually been serious for a second. That would have been peculiar and very intriguing. It made his eyes sparkle. He was tempted to tease.
She huffed in frustration. "If you ever speak of this to anyone, Loki – "
He chuckled with a low, amused voice, for now he did feel very much amused. Oh, how easy it was to stoke Sif's fire.
"I shall never tell a soul. But I must admit that I feel quite flattered that you took me into consideration, dear Sif."
Her glare shot daggers at him and he saw that she was about to stand up and storm off again after gifting him with a few more angry words, but he stopped her, wanting them to part calmly for a change.
He quickly cupped the tuft of grass that had fallen prey to her fury and in front of her eyes, he transformed it into a snow-white lily with a wave of his hand, her favourite flower blooming under his command. He felt strangely satisfied as he was watching her observe the transformation with wonder replacing the sorrow in her eyes as the grass widened and became soft, silken petals; as the colour green evaporated and became snow. With a simple trick, he made her forget about Thor for a moment. With a simple trick, he supplanted his older brother in Sif's mind.
"Do not dwell on it," he said casually and presented her with the flower.
She smirked as she accepted the flower. "You are tolerable and quite pleasant when you're not being difficult, you know."
He could live with that.
xxx
In her chambers, Sif was regarding the lily in her hands with mixed feelings.
Loki was a great source of frustration for her. He continuously baffled her and she could never fully comprehend him. When they were children, she could understand him most times, but he had changed greatly, growing ever more secretive and vague with each year. He began to wear masks, never revealing his true emotions anymore. As a champion of honesty, Sif hated such deception. She hated lies. Most of all, she hated Loki's lies, those perfect masks that covered his pale features, rendering them unreadable because he wore them so naturally. And yet, she knew she could trust Loki to keep a secret, precisely because he himself harboured so many and not a soul knew what they were.
She remembered the words she said to him and felt painfully mortified. She so much as suggested that they kiss. And for what? To prove that a kiss might really not mean a thing? To prove that Thor might have only been indulging a fanning lady admirer? Yet the reality was that Sif almost asked Loki for a kiss, and for that she wished for the gates of Hel to open and swallow her in punishment.
In her shame-inspired fury, she almost snapped the flower in two, but she stopped. Loki created the flower for her to calm her and reassure her. Of that, Sif was certain. He prevented a disaster from happening, saving her dignity, and she knew that the keeper of secrets would remain silent.
It was the knowledge that he knew which frightened her and made her feel vulnerable.
Soon, they would reach the pinnacle of their physical maturity and would stop aging at the speed that the inhabitants of Midgard, the race that resembled Asgardians in appearance the most, did. Their aging would slow considerably, they would never fall ill and they would live for many centuries to come. If they did not allow themselves to die in battle, they might reach a millennia, or far more, as Odin had done.
For centuries to come, Loki would know that one day, Sif asked him for a kiss.
With a weary sigh, Sif left the lily on her vanity table and went to bed, dreading what her dreams might show her.
xxx
The day his own father sent him to prison was confirmation enough for Loki that he truly did not belong in Asgard, as much as he wanted to, for if he loved anything, Loki loved Asgard.
Frigga could tell him every day that he was her dear, sweet son, but he was still an outsider, no matter the fact that his mother fully accepted him. Odin could persist that he loved him, that he was punishing him for his own good, to teach him a valuable lesson, but Loki knew he would never be the son Odin wanted. He would never be Thor; the perfect Thor, who was everything Loki should have been, too. A strong, brawny warrior; a leader; a prince who would be king. Loki had always felt different; an outsider. It was because he mastered magic instead of the sword; because he read instead of fought; because he was not widely admired; because people looked at him differently; because he even looked different.
He had shown his merit in battle, most recently in Nornheim, where a group of corrupted dwarves, lured by the frost giants to join their battle against Asgard, terrorised Karnilla, the Goddess of Destiny and a powerful sorceress. Learning of her weakness from an unworthy servant of the goddess, they visited Nornkeep, Karnilla's palatial fortress, and brought with them the wealth of their lands – gold. Karnilla, never suspecting the ill intentions of the otherwise-benevolent race of dwarves, bid them to enter and as they did, she became instantly powerless, for gold was the only substance that took away her powers and her will. The dwarves intended to use Karnilla to change destiny, but Asgardians interfered in time. Loki used his magic, but after the battle, the warriors congratulated Thor, not Loki, who had played a significant role in the outcome of the battle. The warriors of Asgard respected the power of the sword, not of magic.
Loki had always needed reassurance, a voucher that he was one of them, but on that tragic day when Odin punished him, Loki knew there would never be such a thing. There would always be only that abyss that separated him from everyone else, the abyss that screamed of his difference.
It was the ultimate shame.
He had been watching warriors spar in the training grounds, not because he was particularly interested in the art of sword-fighting – and he'd much rather be elsewhere, practicing his newly discovered talents of astral projection and teleporting – but because Sif was there. He had become used to being the lurker. The status suited him best. As a lurker, he could observe more than others; he saw much more. He saw the truth.
Sif was downed five times, but she had four wins to counter that number and she was happy, although she had not managed to fell Thor on that day. Not yet, she kept repeating, not yet.
Her happiness was contagious and Loki felt that nothing could spoil that day, not when she was smiling so gaily and from the heart, celebrating each of her triumphs the way only Sif could.
"Oh, Sif, you have become a skilled warrior, but I'm afraid you're no match for the mighty Thor," Thor teased her as she wiped her brow, and then he proceeded to roar with laughter, which was Thor's way of celebrating victory.
Sif raised an eyebrow and pointed her sword at Thor with a smile. "You speak with such certainty, but I intend to prove you wrong."
Thor smirked. "And how will you do that, my lady?" He bowed mockingly, yet with affection. Loki rolled his eyes surreptitiously, tired of his brother's constant bravado.
Sif lowered her sword and replied calmly, "Sometimes, strength comes in numbers and there is no shame in it. After all, in real battles, one never fights alone, Thor."
When she looked at Loki, Loki flinched inwardly, for she rarely acknowledged his presence in the training grounds, so focused was she on her precise art of sword-fighting. Since their childhood days, Loki had not sparred with Sif, or with Thor. He preferred to spar with his sword masters. Consequently, that alienated him from other warriors and by now, no one paid attention to him at the training grounds. Until now, it seemed.
"Surely Loki will help me in proving Thor wrong. He can be conquered, can he not, Loki?" she asked and sought out Loki's face, hidden behind a hedge.
Taken by surprise, Loki stepped out of his hiding place, crossing his arms over his chest swiftly as if in defence. He tried to maintain his composure, for he hated to be seen in as anything but calm in public. He regarded Sif curiously, yet he could not help but feel as if she was confronting him, taunting him yet again, and he felt slightly inspired with anger. Why would she do that? Why was her favourite way of approaching him to attack him? Now, she wanted him to join her and fight with her against Thor, but he did not trust her. Surely, at one point, she would abandon him and re-join Thor. It was the way it had always been between them. Loki was certain Sif had forgotten about her sorrow over Thor's stolen kiss.
Loki did not trust Sif, just as she did not trust him. The sentiment was a protective shield for them both, but he wished to know more than anything what lurked behind hers. And so, instead of denying her her curious request, he decided to join her game and test her, hoping most ardently that she would not betray him. There was only so much a man could take.
"Come, Loki," she asked again, smiling, and he nodded, not offering a smile of his own. He liked to smile, but only when he was alone, or when she was near.
Without needing to ask for a weapon, one of the warriors lent him his sword. The instrument did not feel right in Loki's hands, for it was not forged for him, but it would have to do. When he entered the training grounds, Sif squeezed his shoulder briefly in a gesture of camaraderie and he allowed a tremble to pass down his spine. He ignored the sensation.
Thor shattered the tender moment with his boisterous voice. "Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you two, I promise you that!"
And so am I, Loki suddenly mused, a mischievous smile stretching across his lips. He had not fought with Thor in a long time. Now that he was witness to Thor's arrogance once more and now that Sif chose him, Loki, to fight the mighty warrior of Asgard, Loki decided to showcase his own strengths. He felt the sudden, urgent need to show them that he was a good warrior; he merely resorted to different methods that were more sophisticated. He wanted to surprise them and shock them, each and everyone one of them. He intended to impress them.
Loki had not forgotten how they ignored his efforts in Nornheim.
The fight began. Sif was the first one to attack, taking a few long, elegant strides and jumping into the air in a beautiful arc, her sword poised to strike at Thor. Thor blocked her blow with his sword with great might that propelled Sif backwards, but she did not fall, landing gracefully in a crouch.
"Lovely, Sif," Thor commented and her gaze darkened.
"Lovely, you say?" she repeated. "Lovely?"
She struck again and this time, Thor felled her with brutal force. Sif landed on her back and the air was crushed out of her lungs with a loud humpf. Whenever Loki watched Sif and Thor spar, he knew the fighting was real, but it had never seemed more real than it did now.
Feeling chagrined, he snarled at his brother. "Do you plan to kill her?"
Thor chuckled. "Oh, brother, that was nothing. You really should not be underestimating the Lady Sif."
Saying that, Thor lounged at his brother and Loki reacted instantly. His spirit watched, already reassembling its physical form, as Thor flew through the reflection, a look of shock and utter confusion painted on his face.
"You missed," Loki whispered behind Thor's back and as Thor turned around with a growl, Loki swung one leg and swept his brother off his feet. It felt like revenge; it felt like victory; it felt good.
"You tricked me," Thor accused angrily. "You are cheating!"
Odin had often emphasised that Thor should never use the hammer against his own warriors, only against his foes. It was why Thor never brought the mighty hammer to the training grounds. The same was said for Loki's magic, but Loki was not one to miss a good opportunity to show his brother his own worth.
Loki raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh, I beg to differ, brother. You are simply going to have to learn how to lose."
That stirred Thor's passion and the warrior jumped on his feet. "Never," he promised with a grin and punched Loki in the chest, making him fly across the training grounds and land on his back with a painful thud. Before he could recover and lift himself up, Thor and Sif were already engaged in battle. Their swords were clashing with cruel force, creating sparks. He saw Sif punch Thor in the face with the hilt of her sword and then, he saw her fly through the sky, landing on the ground close to him, joining him in defeat. His victory had been painfully short-lived.
"Surrender," Thor commanded with glee, walking over to Sif and pointing the tip of his sword at her.
"You know my answer," she panted and tripped the warrior.
Thor's reaction was swift, for he grabbed her arm, keeping her down with him and straddling her chest, holding her against the ground. Sif was wriggling beneath his heavy form, trying to find a weakness that would help her free herself, but she could find none.
"Loki!" she screamed. "Don't just lie there, join the fight!" she ordered, panting, her angry eyes focused on Thor's cheerful face.
Thor afforded his younger brother an amused glance. "Come, Loki, surely I did not frighten you with my ability of being unable to lose."
That was Loki's undoing. Thor's ceaseless bragging, the arrogance in his bearing and voice, the way he kept Sif under him to dominate over her, the way he teased Loki – Loki had had enough of such gaming. He did not have to think twice. He stood up sternly, threw the sword against the ground, making the blade bounce, and extended his right arm, stretching his palm upright.
"You did not frighten me," he said and smiled.
He released his energy, creating a ball of ice-blue fire that oozed slowly from his palm, so that Thor could appreciate what was about to hit him. He then shoved the ball of energy right at his brother's chest, the energy throwing Thor off Sif. Both Thor and Sif looked at Loki in shock, their mouths agape and unable to say anything. Thor began to stand up, but Loki was not done yet. This time, he used both hands and chuckling loudly, he attacked Thor once more, throwing his brother into the air with one hand and sending him flying across the entirety of the training grounds once more.
"Loki, stop!" Sif screamed and scrambled to her feet, shielding her face with one hand, clutching her sword uncertainly with the other.
"He needs to be taught a lesson, Sif," Loki snapped back and hit Thor with the force of his energy once more, throwing him against a group of bedazzled warriors observing the strange battle.
"Loki!" Sif screamed again, her voice raw with a passionate emotion, and she threw herself at him, forcing him to the ground before he could attack Thor again.
"Don't defend him!" Loki growled and threw Sif off him with the same force that had hit Thor before.
It shocked him that he hurt Sif because of Thor. It shocked him that she shrieked and cradled her arm as she landed on the ground with a loud thud. It shocked him when she screamed that he broke her arm, the fool, the idiot. He began to get up to help her, to tell her he was sorry he involved her, but he never had the chance.
"Enough!" a voice thundered from behind him, vibrating in his head with its loud force, and Loki turned around carefully, looking at the majestic form of his father, Odin.
He swallowed hard, knowing he was in trouble. "Father," he began, thinking of a clever way to word his apology. He was not sorry to have hurt Thor, to have showcased his magic. He was sorry that Sif was hurt because of him and even sorrier that once again, she took Thor's side.
"Quiet, Loki," Odin commanded and Loki stood up meekly, knowing that there was no use in trying to explain himself. He was feeling enraged, so terribly defeated, but there was no other way in Odin's presence. Odin had to be obeyed.
"You breached my express orders, Loki," Odin continued, his face an expressionless mask. "I remember promising to my sons that I would punish them as I would punish anyone else who went against my wishes."
Loki looked into Odin's eye, realisation dawning on him. Surely father never actually meant what he said about the punishment. He couldn't mean it. Loki was his son. He deserved to be treated as such. He could not be punished like a commoner.
"Father, you can't," Loki uttered in disbelief, his feet taking a step forward.
"I never say that which I do not mean," was Odin's simple answer and he nodded to the warriors gathering behind Loki, their swords at the ready.
Loki felt tears of anger gathering in his eyes and he could not stop them, although they were embarassing. Would Odin truly betray him like this, cast him aside? His own flesh and blood?
"I am your son!" he exclaimed, gritting his teeth after the last word.
"And you need to be taught a lesson for your own good!" Odin roared back. "Seize him and take him to his prison cell. The prince shall stay there for three days. He shall be given bread and water, and no other comforts. He is to be treated as a prisoner, for that is what one becomes when one disrespects the laws of Asgard."
No other word was spoken, or expected to be spoken. Odin had said what he had meant to say.
Loki said nothing in return. His feelings were beyond words. He allowed the warriors to seize him and take him away in disgrace. His lips set into a thin line as he looked back over his shoulder, watching as Thor and Sif were scrambling to their feet, watching as Odin walked away without another glance at his second-born child. Loki felt his interior collapse, even as his face showed nothing. Odin's command, his careless demeanour towards his own son, were tearing Loki apart.
It was the ultimate shame. The ultimate action of his king and father shunning him. He had believed Asgard to be his home for years, but now he knew it had never been his, and never would be. He did not belong. After today, no one would respect him, no one would accept him, no one would acknowledge him.
Loki had never felt more alone.
It was also the first time that Loki felt hatred for his father. And he did not feel guilty for it; not one single bit.
xxx
He had not spoken to anyone for three days. His company had been the darkness of the small prison cell and its echoing silence. His only contact had been a guard who brought him bread and water three times a day and the guard was commanded not to address the prisoner. Loki did not feel the need to speak to the man, in any event. He loathed the way the guard seemed to tiptoe around the cell when he brought the meals, trying to show pity and sympathy. That served Loki no good. It did not wash away the shame, the betrayal, the burning anger. It amplified them.
Every moment he spent as a prisoner, he imagined his father's disappointment. How easily he sent his son to prison. How he never spared him a second look.
You were both born to be kings. The words swirled in his head, a mockery. He did not stand a chance, not after this day. He did not truly wish to be king, not as much, at least, as he wanted to be an equal of Odin and Thor. He was a prince of Asgard, its king's secondborn. Yet after today, it was clear he was not even that. He was the outsider; the son who would never be king; the man who would never truly belong, for how could he when his own father did not try for him to do so. Quite the opposite, in fact. Odin may have been teaching Loki a lesson, but in truth he was creating Loki's new image. How easy it would be for others to look down their noses on him now.
A prince of Asgard in prison. It had been an unthinkable notion, until the day Odin made it perfectly probable. And he had not changed the views of Asgard by making Thor an example. Once again, it was Loki who was the scapegoat.
Lying on the hard pallet and staring at the grey ceiling, Loki turned the water in the copper pitcher into strong wine and downed it, hoping it would drown his mind in temporary forgetfulness.
"It is not good to drink wine on an empty stomach."
Loki started at the unexpected voice and sat up, looking through the bars, trying to determine who the owner of the voice was.
"You know," the voice continued, "I am angry at you. Very angry, I should add."
Sif's face husked out of the darkness and her presence surprised Loki so much that he allowed himself to part his lips in wonder and widen his gaze.
"What are you doing here? Have you come to gloat?" he replied stiffly and stood up, walking over to the bars.
Sif shook her head. Her hand, the one he broke, was attached to her chest with a white bandage, healing. A twinge of guilt pinched him, but he suppressed it. He was wrong to ever feel sorry for anyone, even for her. She was one of them.
"I have come to tell you that I am angry with you, for you acted like a terrible fool at the training grounds." She sighed. "You even broke my arm. And most importantly, you should never have disobeyed All-Father."
Sif's firm words resounded in the hollow space.
Loki smirked and showed his back to Sif. "Goodbye, Sif."
"I am not finished," Sif snapped and he turned around, curious.
"I also came to tell you that, although I mean no disrespect to All-Father, Odin was wrong to punish you this way." Sif looked down, suddenly interested in her feet. He knew the words were an effort for her, yet still she felt obliged to continue her confession. "A sound lecture would have been better. You acted recklessly and like a great idiot, but you do not deserve this. You are a prince, and Odin's son."
Loki lifted an eyebrow, wondering what had gotten into Sif's head to speak thus; to speak against those who had her perpetual loyaltly and step on his side.
"What?" he asked, a smile spreading across his lips, both disbelief and amusement glowing in his eyes.
Sif rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Loki," she said firmly and left as swiftly and as silently as she had come.
Loki stared into the void she left behind, contemplating on her honest confession. She did not have to come. It was probably not wise that she visited him, for Odin made it clear no one was to come and see Loki. Yet she came, defying All-Father himself. The loyal Sif who would give her very life for Odin and Thor.
He could not help but continue to smile.
He was not entirely out of place, after all. He was not entirely alone.
He had company.
When he had been released, she would treat him the way she usually did, poking and teasing, he knew. She would try to avenge her injury. But Sif had actually come to offer her support.
He chuckled.
Odin broke something significant in Loki and Loki would never be able to feel the same.
But now, Loki at least had Sif and the wound on his spirit somehow seemed less raw.
Thank you all, ever so much, for reading my story and for your wonderful reviews!
Explanations:
Odin sends Loki to prison in the comic books to teach him a lesson.
Loki mentions the battle in Nornheim in the movie Thor, in a deleted scene, in which he is mocked for using magic in battle. Nornheim and Karnilla are mentioned in the comic books. I invented everything else about the battle and about Karnilla.