Loki woke violently with an overwhelming feeling of vertigo, a fist on the collar of his tunic that pulled until he was hanging in the air, struggling to draw a breath. He grasped at the hands on his collar, trying desperately to pull them away. Looking up suddenly, Loki was shocked to see the furiousface of the Gatekeeper staring back at him, his milky eyes more penetrative than one would think for being opaque.
What was even more terrifying was the implications of the Gatekeeper leaving his post. Loki spluttered as Heimdall threw him to the floor.
"For long have I watched you weave your lies and play your pranks, Loki Liesmith, and have held my tongue against you, for they were mostly harmless, or not ill-intentioned." His glare was chilling, even to one so hard-hearted as Loki.
"But now your treachery has hurt my sister. And you will face recompense for your deeds." Heimdall treads forward heavily, reaching down to once again Loki by the neck. Stunned, Loki does not respond. Sister?
And then his eyes widen in shock, as he recalls a very important detail from Sif's past. "Sif?" he stutters out in a panic.
Then they are being pulled, violently, from the room, their forms speeding through space to slam back into the observatory on the Rainbow Bridge, and if not for Heimdall's hold on his tunic, Loki would have fallen. The angry Gatekeeper released him, pushing him away as if to distance himself from such evil. "You will fix the wrong you have done to her, Loki Silvertongue, or I shall deliver you to Odin himself." The threat was a chilling one.
Loki scrambled to his feet, glancing back at the angry Gatekeeper before rushing down the Rainbow Bridge, off to the one person who had loved him.
Fuck, not Sif.
Never Sif.
He ran, the terror and anger feeding his footsteps until he remembered that he was still quite capable of magick; running was pointless. Transporting himself to the entrance of Sif's quarters in a flash, he threw open the doors, only to find them deserted. Striding in, he took in the state of the room; it looked as though she hadn't been there since the last morning. The bed was not yet turned down for her to sleep, and there was no sign of her anywhere.
Heimdall had been so enraged; something awful must have happened.
The panic was setting in, and Loki turned hastily back to the hallway, where he ran to Eir's hall of healing, fearing the worst. While Sif had rarely been kept there, the stubborn woman she was, he had a sinking feeling this wound would be worse.
He pushed open the heavy door with more forcefully, the thick oak panels banging against the wall, reverberating off the room.
But there was no one there; everyone had retired for the night, and the cots of the healing rooms were all empty. Loki wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. It only meant that Sif did not have a wound that needed to be treated by Eir.
She could be dead. She could be cursed. She could be trapped somewhere dangerous. All of the options ran through his head quickly, the hysteria threatening to bubble up in his throat.
He was going crazy, and he knew it would only get worse until he found her.
Transporting himself to the only other bedroom he knew Sif might be in, Loki thrust the doors to his chambers open.
And stopped.
At first..at first it didn't look so bad. Sif was curled up on his bed, still in his clothing after taking on his form. But as he moved to her, he could see the blood.
Oh, god, the blood-it was everywhere. The stain on his bed sheets had grown large enough to consume her body.
He flew to her side; he could see her trembling now, doubtless from the pain. But he couldn't-where was the wound?
Sitting gently on the side of the bed, Loki gingerly pushed the hair back from Sif's face that shielded her eyes, her body drawn up, her hands curled close to her face.
And he Saw.
Oh, god, it was so much worse than he imagined.
Her lips, oh Yggdrasil why, were sewn shut.
"God, Sif," was all he could manage before he pulled at her clawing fingers, touching her chin gently as her hazy eyes glanced up to him finally.
His stomach rolled, pitching in fury at her state, his body empathizing with pain he could only imagine. It was all he could to restrain himself from screaming out in anger, destroying everything in his chambers with a simple output of energy.
She was hurt, and Heimdall, the all-seeing guard, had blamed him.
His fingers trembling with rage and sorrow, Loki pulled the dagger from his boot, bringing it up to free Sif from her laces, but she flinched away from him, cowing under the protection of her left arm.
It broke his heart.
"Please, Sif, let me help you," he begged, holding her face tenderly. The tears poured from her eyes as she willed herself to be still, and after a few moments, Loki moved forward with his dagger, shredding the visible throngs of leather with the utmost care.
It still stabbed, though, and Sif groaned at his ministrations, the wounds being reopened again.
"Sif, you must trust me as I do this," he said quietly, and Sif could feel her body tense before relaxing at his words.
He did not deserve her trust, but she gave it anyways.
Gripping his leg as an achor while Loki worked the leather from the gaping wounds, her nails dug deep enough into his thigh to draw blood. It was a small recompense for the pain she had endured.
It was like being laced all over again. She tried to stifle the whimpers, the moans, but she was so exhausted after the initial punishment that she had nothing left to give. She had no fight left. Her body arched to his touch, deft fingers pulling at the thread that bound her, shuddering as the pain racked her body. How stricken, how pale he looked, she thought, as she tried to glance at Loki through the haze of her tears.
And finally the last lace was undone, the leather pulled out and fresh blood staining her chin. Sif opened her mouth tentatively, immediately choking out blood over the side of the bed. Loki tried to sooth, holding back her hair and rubbing her back, noticing the way her grip tightened around his thigh.
Surely, she would hate him now. The thought was terrifying in its accuracy. Loki knew that if this was indeed his fault, then he did not deserve Sif's trust any longer, much less her affection.
When she finally sat up, exhausted, she looked at him, and it was a startling difference from her usual reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot from tears, blood covering her mouth, holes now marring her perfect lips. Loki could feel his blood turn to ice.
He would Kill.
She breathed slowly, not daring to talk as she leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder. Loki clutched her closely to him, running his hands through her hair.
"Sif, what happened?" He asked quietly, not sure if he truly wanted to hear her response, but needing to know the answer. She curled into him further, and for a moment he was afraid she would fold under the weight of her memories, but she took in a halting breath and began.
"You...you lost the wager," was all she managed to say before Loki remembered furiously, his heart seizing in his chest ,the memories from the night he had been so inebriated with the dwarves. The wager that was set. The consequences.
It was his own. Damn. Fault.
Wrapping her closer to him, he cradled her body against his chest in a way that she never would have allowed, had she been well. "How did you escape death?" He asked suddenly, his eyes widening as he remembered the deadly consequences of losing his wager.
Her mouth quirked, and he swore if her lips had not been so sore she would have smirked. "You're not the only one with a Silvertongue."
Loki could have cried from the revelation that here was Sif, his Sif, facing a punishment meant for him, facing certain death, and yet she had managed to talk her way out of a beheading without betraying her true identity.
Without betraying him.
It rotted in his gut, how unworthy he was. Sure, it had always been there, but now it festered and spread, an aching sore that grew with each poke and prod.
She was the sun, moon, and stars, and he was destined to want forever from the deepest pits of Helheim.
Summoning a wet rag, Loki took to gently wiping the blood from Sif's face, careful to not prod the holes that still oozed, stubbornly refusing to scab. There was so much blood, though. Sif let him undo the blood-stained leathers of his borrowed tunic, baring her so he was able to clean her neck, the blood having dripped all the way down to her breasts.
"What are you thinking, Loki?" Came the soft whisper from Sif. She could see how dark his eyes were, mired with surely guilt and anger, a dangerous mixture. She caressed his cheek, and he looked at her, his eyebrows drawn and expression dark.
It was that he wore before going in to battle.
"I will kill them all," He said with a quiet conviction, stopping Sif's heart for a moment. She had expected anger and resentment, but not downright violence.
"Loki.." she began, before he silenced her with his lips at her ear, shushing.
"You have suffered injustly, my dear, and I would hold them accountable." He continued, his cool breath at her ear, his fingers sliding along her side, trying to either distract her from her wounds or from his words, she wasn't sure.
"Please, Loki...I have paid the price...now leave it be." But she couldn't tell if he had indeed heard her, for his lips continued to trail from her ear to her neck, distracting her.
"Sif, you must trust me; please," and she could hear the desperation in his voice, the pleading for her to still trust him, even after this mistake. She nodded, and his thumb comes to caress her lips, slowly, as they seem to grow colder and the pain numbs blissfully. Sighing in contentment, the worst of the stinging pain subsides, and Sif lets her body finally relax, her rigid limbs collapsing in Loki's arms.
She falls asleep to the sensation of Loki rocking her, her eyes closing as he whispers endless apologies, stroking her hair as he trembles at what has been done.
In the morning, Sif wakes up in her own chambers, which startles her at first; so used to the muted green and gold tones of Loki's chambers that her own crimson-shaded finery seems garish.
And then she is assaulted with the pain again, and she collapses back on her bed, moaning softly and bringing her hands up to prod at her wounds, even though she knows it will only exacerbate the pain. But the pain is not as dreadful as she expects even as she fingers the wounds, most of them scabbed over and starting to heal. Sif stumbles out of bed to the mirror in the corner of her bedroom, hoping to catch a glimpse at the healing scars on her mouth.
But they are not there.
They have disappeared from her face entirely, even though Sif can still feel them with her fingers and prod them with her tongue on the inside of her mouth. Loki must have glamoured it, then, and the thought is bittersweet. Sweet, that he would care about her beauty and how she thought she looked. But Sif would have proudly born her scars for him.
Maybe it was something he would rather have hidden away; not wanting another reminder of the pain she bore on his behalf. And that was a bit selfish of him, if Sif was being honest.
But she would need to hide them, for she would not be able to answer if anyone asked her about their origin. They were too noticeable, too distinctive to the punishment Loki had supposedly endured.
Loki let his power consume, as he had never done. Back on Svartelheimr, he flew towards the mines, intent on one thing, and one thing only.
Revenge. Justice. It was one in the same.
His first instinct was to destroy everything, and everyone. That would have be satisfying, yes. But the loss of innocent life was something that still nagged at his conscience, and he placated his mind with focusing only on the four dwarves that had harmed Sif directly. The Ivaldi brothers. Brokkr. Eitri. But after traveling to the distant realm, Loki found himself focusing his anger, directing it strictly to the pursuers of the wager; Brokkr and Eitri.
He let the magick in his blood, the power that he was not supposed to wield, consume him, overtake him, and move him.
Loki watched, with distracted awareness, as he charged into the forge that housed the shocked dwarves Brokkr and Eitri, who looked at him in horror as he drew his dagger, the magic at his fingertips thick enough to be tangible, clouding the air as his fury grew. The power controlled him, and while he could only watch as his dagger slid into the flesh of the dwarves, carving and eviscerating, he did not try to stop himself, letting the memories of Sif's wounds fuel his every action.
It was a massacre, and blood coated his hands, painting his clothes as slammed the dwarves against the wall of the cave, taking his sweet time as the screams echoed off the walls of the cave. Oh, how he reveled in their screams. They would bleed ten drops of blood for every one that Sif did, and he would carve their flesh until his guilt was assuaged.
Loki's eyes opened with a start, and he sat up quickly, taking in the scene around him. There was blood everywhere, oh my god why was there-and then the head of a dwarf he recognized was at his feet, and blood was on his hands and he fought the urge to throw up. When he had let his power consume him, he did not expect to lose control, slaughtering the dwarves as if they were but livestock. It was terrifying knowledge, of what he was capable of when left unrestrained, and looking around the forge sent a chill up his spine.
It was startling, how he did not care; how he had watched and let his body utterly destroy the two dwarves, and yet he could not find it in himself to regret his actions.
This power, his revenge; it was something he could not share with anyone, not even Sif. She had enough burdens to bear. Stepping out of the cave filled with blood and his own mindless rage, Loki transported himself back to the realm Eternal, heading straight for his bath.
He finds Sif on the training grounds, after searching almost the entire castle for her. He did not expect her to be training so shortly after her-he could not bring himself to say 'accident', nor could he rightly say 'punishment'-and he worried for her, that she would collapse.
Loki strode toward her quickly as she attacked a practice dummy with more enthusiasm than she normally would. Sweat streamed down her face, and he could only imagine how badly that must aggravated her wounds. "Sif.." He begins, before a dagger flies at him, and he narrowly dodges it by tucking into a roll on the ground. "What the he..." He trails off as she lunges at him, and he has just enough time to grab a sword that has been tossed aside on the ground to parry her blow, barely able to bear the weight of her sword and her body as she leans into him, trapped on the ground as he is.
Her sword nears, and Loki can feel the exertion exhausting him, the sweat already dripping from his body. "Sif, what in Helheim is going on?" He wheezes, trying not to let her sword get any closer. Her eyes narrow at him, her glare chilling.
"Fight me," she growls, and does not relent, and Loki is forced to use a knee to the abdomen to dislodge her from above him. Hissing, he clambers to her feet as he does the same, pulling at the daggers that he has hidden in his tunic at all times. He doesn't have time to reject her command, barely has time to think as she twirls at him with her sword, nicking him in the shoulder before he retreats from her reach.
This is War, he thought, not Sif. It was a halting knowledge, for he had only seen this in her when they were in battle against the toughest of opponents. She would kill him if he did not fight back.
Damn it all.
Her sword sliced again, coming too close to his face for comfort, and he let fly a barrage of daggers at her, regretting every single one. But she was able to dodge each one, speed and agility built up over centuries of experience, and still drove onwards, trying to catch him off guard. Leaping out of her reach, Loki hoisted the sword he had grabbed to chest level. It felt awkward, fighting with a sword instead of daggers or magick, but it was all he had in the moment, having spent his daggers, and he refused to use magick on her.
He was not so far gone that he would try to spell her. It could have drastic reverberations that he did not intend.
And she would Slaughter him.
So they fought, with tooth and nail, until they each dripped blood and sweat and tears. In the end, Loki had channeled his anger and frustration at the whole situation into each blade swing, and as the metal clashed back and forth, it was almost cathartic, his mind letting instinct and training take over instead of analyzing every single movement. She must have known how it had helped him, for she finally let her sword drop, following it to the ground and collapsing into the soft grass outside of the practice ring. Loki, caught off guard, dutifully followed suit, letting his abused sword slip from his grasp as he stumbled over to where she lay, collapsing next to her. They lay there in silence for a few moments, their gasps and the heaving of their chests filling the space where words usually would. Sif turned to look at him, grasping his bruised palm with her own. "We're okay, Loki," she said quietly, staring at him with a quiet intensity that took him aback. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, ignoring the bubble of what he had done on Svartelheimr come up and ruin the moment. He shoved that down. Nodding, he brought the trembling warrior close, his lips upon her forehead as she curled into him. They lay like that for hours, and for once, Loki did not care if anyone happened upon them. Let them see. His warrior was here with him, had forgiven him, and that was enough.
AN: Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you've enjoyed the story. I am sad to end it. Leave me a review and let me know what you thought :) If you're looking for more Loki/Sif check out my stories 'Aflame' and 'Hope in Silence'. I plan on writing more in the future :)