Lady Sif's first time with Loki had been beneath the broad boughs of an ancient yew tree, very much like the one they were passing by now in the wilds of Asgard.

They were a only a of couple hours into their journey to meet Fenrir, having met at dawn as arranged and departing through the fog of the waterfall-misted city. It felt like longer than that to Sif though. Her head was pounding from her all-nighter in the Undercity, not to mention she hadn't slept properly over the last few nights. Loki's lack of stimulating conversation wasn't helping much either. He was riding lead, guiding them over forgotten paths that scored the city's surrounding mountains, which led down into a lush valley.

The ease and undeniable beauty of the ride was giving Sif's sleepy mind far too much freedom to avoid the fears and expectations that surrounded their meeting with the wolf, and to instead ponder over days past, spent beneath watchful trees such as this one.

As they passed by the old yew, Sif couldn't help but wonder what their tree would have to say about Loki's sticky back being shoved flush to her ragged bark. Or about Sif skinning her naked knees on the solid, plunging roots. She squinted at the tree, a challenge of sorts. The older arbors were fabled to whisper among themselves, and to the wood elves of Alfheim, prattling though their fractals of rooted networks, sharing insights that even Heimdall was blind to.

That day beneath the yew had been a blessed break from years of monotonous duty in a mindless campaign to protect the wilds of Asgard from encroaching troll squatters; Sif remembered it all too well.

She had been reassigned to the solo task of scouting and reporting back any found troll camps. It was a simple task any grunt could do, a downgrade from her previous assignment, and just an all around waste of everyone's time. She didn't need back-up to run off packs of vagrant trolls. Her battle cry and masterful twirl of her glaive were more than enough to get the job done, so that was how she had handled it. Her superiors, however, disagreed with her tactics, and once the captains learned of her reckless behavior, they decided it best to assign her a scouting partner.

It had been Thor's idea to pair her with Loki, figuring his brother's wits and Sif's physical prowess were well matched to keep each other out of trouble, but mostly Thor wanted Sif to keep an eye on Loki.

Sif hadn't been the only one misbehaving. The unruly prince had been neglecting his assignments for years, stealing away to Angrboda's dwelling instead, which was conveniently nestled near a troll camp. A select team of soldiers were eventually assigned to follow him, and upon discovery of the witch's hideout, they detained Loki and captured his beastly offspring. No one ever found Angrboda that day. She hadn't been at the house when they ransacked it. It was rumored that she returned to Jotunheim with Hel, the one child she didn't abandon.

Loki had been taken directly to Odin to account for his actions, which he did with surprising honesty. Still, the All-Father became furious that a prince of Asgard, his son, had both neglected his duty as a soldier and involved the bloodline with that of an enemy witch's. Gossip erupted throughout Asgard, fear mongering over the half-Jotunn beasts that were being held within the city. Odin was humiliated and saw no other option but to exile the serpent, sparing the wolf pup only because of Loki's pleas.

Needless to say—and by the magic of Thor's influence on his father's decisions— Sif had soon been partnered with a very forlorn, very brooding prince. Their first few weeks together had been conducted in bitter silence, conversation only at a bare minimum. Loki was severely soured by his father's actions and Sif, knowing only bits and pieces of what he had done, had no idea how to even approach the subject, so she avoided it all together. Plus they both resented the idea that either of them needed a babysitter.

But eventually and inevitably, the awkward silences thawed into small talk. Then came the lively arguments, which usually followed one of Loki's tricks. The missions had grown so boring with the troll's numbers dropping that the prince had sought other means of preoccupation, and Sif was the only victim around. While a lunch basket infested with frogs or a water pouch full of the bartender's most potent brew wasn't Sif's top choice of entertainment, it was a welcome change to the dredging routine their days had become, and it gave her a living, deserving target to practice on.

She had attempted a few tricks of her own but they always paled in comparison to Loki's, and he would always see them coming. He had tried to explain the workings of magic to her, but he might as well have been speaking Vanir. Magic just wasn't her thing. The only trick she had ever gotten him with was the one that pinned him against that tree, a situation that hotly escalated to a frantic fumbling over armor buckles and urgent tearing of linens.

They could have gotten into so much trouble that day...

Sif breathed sharply at the tingling memory, casting her gaze forward to the figure mounted upon a steed of eight legs. Once again, Loki was her riding partner.

She watched his stringy hair dance freely with the morning breeze, her eyes then drifting down slowly over the tapered body that held naturally a royal riding posture. Even steeped in mischief, the dark prince was always so cultured, so alien yet so uniquely enticing. Sif had never regretted that sticky summer day spent panting beneath the yew's swollen foliage, nor had she regretted the times that had followed in the foreign lands of their next campaign.

Odin had negotiated with the light elves of Alfheim, requesting they cease their expansion over their troll neighbors' lands, which had been the initial cause of the alien invasion into Asgard. The elves had reluctantly agreed, at least their nobles did, but it hadn't taken long for the poorer classes to carry on as they always had, seeking new lands to merely survive on, and once again drive the trolls out.

The drums of war had sounded again, this time in the eerily enchanted jungles of Alfheim to intervene on an Elven civil war.

The battles had been more treacherous than expected, the terrain unknown and the badgering fairies an incessant distraction. Even Loki, once squeezing them into confessing their spell's secrets, had grown weary of their pranks and teasing. All of the soldiers were exhausted at the close of each day and sought refuge in the villages of the allied elves. The pubs were the only source of relaxation and release, and that had grown old fast for a shield maiden and a rebel prince now bitten by Freyja's hunger.

They had quickly made a sport of finding the most exotic places possible to indulge their desires, from a grotto encrusted with gems, to a mermaid lagoon, even, on occasion, across enemy lines, just for the added thrill. They had been seen once by the enemy, but who caught who was still up for debate. The hapless elf was merely seeking his usual toadstool ring of refuge to partake, in secret, of his bootlegged Dwarven mead, which he had dropped upon seeing the grunting tangle of Asgardians in his spot. After his retreat, Loki and Sif hadn't hesitated to work the abandoned booty into their throes of pleasure.

That following morning had, regretfully, been an exercise in pain management. There was a reason Dwarven brew was banned from most realms, especially among the ranks of soldiers. It rendered a body ravaged, listless, a head reduced to a giant's kickball and a gut the habitat of the foulest of swamp ooze. Fortunately, Sif and Loki had been strategically assigned to the same mission that day by an empathetic prince of thunder, ensuring that misery indeed had good company. It was the easiest mission available, the kind usually reserved for those lightly injured in battle.

Funny how Thor had been repeatedly pulling the strings behind them.

Their assignment had them comfortably set up at the river just outside of base camp, filling water pouches and restocking rations for the soldiers doing the real work that day. Sif had lost count of all the dirty looks given to Loki by war-weary men, who would gladly sacrifice a limb to swap places with him, propping their bared feet up on supply crates, a dampened cloth draped over their forehead and eyes. The spoiled prince never even acknowledged those whom he was so royally pissing off.

Luckily Sif's conscience had still been intact, and she saw each soldier off with an encouraging clap to their shoulder, a warm smile, and occasionally a good luck peck on the cheek. The younger soldiers would blush at that.

"You're insufferable," came Loki's bedraggled voice once the last of the soldiers had gone.

Sif looked at him, straight-faced, too tired to be insulted. "You're just jealous."

"That's it." A brow could be seen raising beneath Loki's cooling cloth, thin fabric betraying the sharp curves of his profile. "I'm immensely jealous that I can't use my girly charms to gloss over my neglect of duty." Typical Loki, going straight for her conscience. "Never mind that I could disguise myself as a shapely elf nurse, earning the praise of these subordinate grunts rather than their petty judgements."

"A wise tactic that should have been your course of action instead of this, laying about like, well, like the spoiled prince you are," Sif teased more than she advised. "If you're to one day be their king, you should be more thoughtful to their opinions of you."

Loki snorted, unamused. "Right."

"I'm serious," Sif had said, ignorant at the time of how she had deluded herself to Loki's bad reputation among the ranks.

"Sif..." Loki grew exasperated. "Can we please change the subject? My head has not the tolerance to think about this now." He breathed deeply, laying his head to the side. "I would much rather dwell on more pleasurable things, such as my memories of last night." He pulled the cloth from face, revealing a set of devious eyes that scanned the lengths of Sif's exposed feet and legs. Her boots were off and her pants were rolled up halfway up her thighs to keep from getting wet when she refilled water pouches in the river. It was a rare look for her, and a welcome one at the time given the humidity of the elven jungles.

Sif smoothed her armored skirt down, awkwardly, first blushing then smirking. "I'm surprised you have any memories of last night. Lightweight."

Loki cocked his brow. "I remember enough."

Sif gave him a sidelong glance then scanned the surrounding area, ensuring there wasn't another incoming platoon of parched soldiers. Hearing only the harmonies of feathered serpents and pygmy nymphs in the canopies above, she swayed over to the prince's long, lazy body, slowly pulling the cloth from between his fingers and wading into the river to re-wet it, acting like some kind of exotic siren. She still couldn't believe the of behavior he had summoned in her.

She trailed her now dripping hand over his hair and swung a wet leg over him, taking a seat in the crook of his wide-angled body. He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl as she settled herself on his hips. She freed the drained cloth from her fist and began delicately dabbing beads of sweat from his face.

You're so sweaty," she purred, moving the fabric down his neck and into the split of his tunic.

Loki lidded his eyes and took another deep breath, exhaling it with a low hum. "I hate this place."

Her brow furrowed. She continued to glide the cloth over his now curiously blotching skin. "We'll be home before you know it." Her voice lightened to the tone she had been using with the soldiers. "Everything will be back to normal."

Words spoken in vain. Things never had gone back to normal, for they had never known their routine in Asgard to involve each other so intimately.

It had been fun at first though, anticipation building up over busy weeks filled with post-war duties. They caught only passing glimpses of the other for too long, but finally the day came when their schedules had compatible gaps. She hurried through weapons training then sought him out in the library, her golden locks still dripping from her hasty shower. Clean was enough for her. She hadn't had the patience for stylish, not while he was awaiting her, pretending to engross himself in subjects she couldn't even pronounce.

They stole away to a dark nook in the grand architecture known only by him. And it was there, for the first time, and very much to Sif's surprise, that they made love. It wasn't a raw duel for control, or a heady contest of who could last longer, or even the cathartic simplicity of rushing to release after a trying day. It was a tender, exploratory exchange of gentle caresses and prolonged, dawning gazes.

It was unlike anything Sif had ever felt, and her eruptive cries rang out through the library's east wing. She melted onto him, muffling her moans into his neck when he peaked, his rigid body shuddering wildly before going limp in her hold.

The moment was true poetry, not the endless drivel on the shelves nearby, but the pure essence of what inspired those words to be penned.

Unfortunately, a moment was all they would ever share in it. For soon after, a frighting and relentless cold grew through Sif's body. She immediately went to Eir for answers, who had been in Asgard at the time. When Eir explained the known history of Loki's offspring, Sif soon found herself wandering the Undercity, aimless and confused, hearing only the gossip about Loki's cursed brood and the fate Odin had damned them to.

No one in Asgard could know about her child, especially not anyone in the royal family.

She had met with Loki one last time before taking a nine month refuge in the Valkyries' lands, stuttering out the hardest lies she had ever spoken.

It hadn't been a surprise to wake up a year later, her scalp robbed of its golden splendor, replaced with stubble as black as Loki believed her heart to be.

***Present Day***

After a long day under a shamelessly warm winter sun, the journey brought the weary pair to a semi-wooded meadow. It was lush and inhabiting, an ideal spot to camp, divided by a shallow but determined creek whose sunset-colored waters raced toward the sea, fleeing the halting onset of night.

"You'll want to gather as much firewood as you can find," Loki said, pulling his pack from Sleipnir's side. "The cold will move in before the sun has finished setting."

Sif removed her own pack and looked over at Loki, his hair and collar soaked with sweat from the onslaught of a full day's sun. At least one of them would enjoy the cold night. "Will you be alright?" She pulled a hatchet from her pack and stuck it in her belt.

"I'll be fine," he said, deflecting her concern. "Worry about yourself."

She sighed, throwing a rope over her shoulder and setting off toward a clumping of trees. He had been evading her attempts at conversation all day, rendering her exhausted of his complicated company. The sooner she could get this fire going and crawl into her knapsack, the better it would be for both of them.

The meadow was generous with its offering of loose dried branches, so it didn't take long to gather enough to last the night. She tied it all in a bundle and heaved it onto her shoulder, proud of the weight she could carry without assistance. Fandral would probably buckle under this load and then whine for Hogun to take it from him.

The thought of her friends made her smile, a pleasant distraction from the encroaching cold air.

When she returned to the creek, there were only the two steeds and their two packs, no signs of Loki. As she drew closer, she noticed his cape crumpled on the ground, then his boots next to it, then his jerkin, then his tunic, then his blades, even his socks! She plopped the wood bundle down and cast her glance around the camp.

"Is this a trick?" she called out to nothing, unamused.

"It could be." His voice came from the creek, barely audible over the sound of moving water.

Sif walked toward the voice, her jaw dropping when she saw him lying flat on his back in the shallow creek, wearing only his leather breeches, frantic water rushing over and around him. "You're crazy!"

He tilted his head toward her, eyes scanning the length of her body. "You're filthy." His mouth found its smirk, a small one. "Perhaps you should join me in here."

Now his words, like his actions, were lunacy. But they were also the nicest thing he had said to her all day. "Loki." Sif pointed at the creek. "There's ice forming at the edges."

He gestured to himself. "Frost giant."

She planted a her hand on her hip. "You didn't used to be this sensitive to heat. I've seen you spend entire days in the summer sun, no worse for wear than the rest of us."

"Suppose it's a mind over matter thing. Or perhaps ignorance is bliss."

She wasn't quite sure what he meant but she wasn't going to stand around and freeze to death while trying to translate his riddles. She fetched the firewood and unbound it from the rope, letting the wood spill with a ruckus at her feet. Loki flinched at the clamor.

"So, what does that mean?" Sif started picking the kindling out of the pile. "Knowing what you are makes it more real, somehow?"

"Somehow, yes." Loki's tone betrayed how much didn't enjoy talking about things he couldn't explain. "What about you?" And there was the diversion. "You didn't used to be this sensitive to cold."

Sif paused her arranging of kindling, wondering if he knew just how delicate a matter his statement was touching on. He always could cut straight to the chase.

She resumed her task with the firewood, voice growing distant. "That changed after I carried Ollerus. Eir says he lowered my body temperature to suit his comfort level, and it never fully recovered."

"Smart lad," Loki replied immediately, no trace of sympathy. "Instinctively knew to adapt his surroundings to him."

Sif was desperate to change the subject, too exhausted to handle this now. She looked over at Loki's drenched body and saw, to her surprise, his skin was turning blue where the water touched him, a more saturated blue than Ollie's complexion. It was unexpectedly beautiful.

"Why don't you stay blue?" she asked. "Now that everyone knows, why bother hiding it?"

Sif watched his bare chest rise and fall before he spoke. "Because Odin's spells are as stubborn as he." His voice darkened. "I can't tell you how many times I've tried to replace his with my own."

He didn't answer her second question. She decided not to push it. "How is it changing now?"

"The spell weakens when he is asleep," he explained. "Contact with extreme cold over time also seems to temporarily hide it, but never to this degree when Odin was awake."

"Then Odin truly does sleep." Sif's movements slowed with her realization. Had Loki actually told her the truth about his father's condition? "When did he fall asleep?"

"When I told him the news of my death," he said.

Sif did a double take. "Come again?"

"I was disguised as a soldier."

"Why would you do that?"

"I wanted to see his reaction." Loki paused, as if trying to get angry but unable to. "And when sleep overcame him, I assumed his image. I wanted to see everyone's reaction when I announced my own death."

"And when Asgard mourned you, labeled you a hero, a martyr, why did you continue the deception?" Sif was trying no to get angry. "You couldn't bear handing the throne over to Thor, could you."

"Pretty much."

His confession surprised her. "Oh." At least he was being honest. "What do you intend to do with it?

"Exactly what the king of Asgard should do." Loki's voice found a lofty tone. "Look after her, and all of the nine realms."

Sif wasn't convinced. "How can you say that after everything you have done? The lives you've taken."

He turned a sly smile to her. "Well, you always did like me best when I was at my worst behavior."

"I-I do not." She fumbled with the firewood. "Come on, I'm being serious."

The playfulness left Loki's voice and he turned to gaze up at the stars again. "I have seen powers greater than that of Surtr's outside of the nine realms. Cataclysmic magic beyond even the grasp of Alfheim's elder sorcerers." Sif looked up, stilled by his icy sincerity. He continued. "I know what is needed to protect us from the prophecies. I have touched the necessary forces, felt them pulse through my very being."

"The Aether?" Sif asked.

"And the casket. And the Tesseract." Loki now spoke with longing. "No one in the nine realms understands their power as I do. No one is as fit to lead us into Ragnarok as I.

Sif quickly grew uncomfortable with all of this, prophetic talk. If he wasn't speaking with such stark clarity then she would have mistaken him for a lunatic, and that was too much for her exhausted mind to take right now. She should be grateful he was finally opening up to her, but it...it was just too much.

She shifted her attention to her pockets, searching for her flint and tinder, the silence between them dragging on awkwardly.

Loki took that as his cue to get up, his dripping, half-naked body now coming up the short bank that spanned between them. Sif couldn't help but watch him as he collected his tunic, turning his back to her and slipping the thin cloth over his body. The fabric clung to his wet flesh as he pulled it over his chest then stomach, covering the distinctly Jotun patterns etched in his skin.

"Ollie has those same patterns on his back." Sif's words tumbled out. The subject of their son wasn't as daunting to talk about anymore. "Until he was born, I had always assumed frost giant markings were tattoos."

Loki turned around, glancing briefly at her before squatting to pick up his socks. "When did he learn he had Jotun blood?"

"As soon as he could comprehend what it meant." Sif scraped steel to stone, sprinkling sparks into the teepee of wood.

Loki was pleased with her answer. He sat down across the would–be fire from her, drawing a knee up to put his sock on. "Was he ever ashamed of it?"

Sif shook her head, glancing up just in time to catch the last of Loki's blue skin fade behind an Aesir beige. She tried not to stare. "He's used to being different. Being a child and being a boy alone will single you out in the Valkyrie lands. The skin color didn't make much difference to him."

Loki leaned forward into his knee, one sock on, one still in his grasp. "How was he treated by the Valkyries? We're they cruel?"

"Are you kidding?" Sif laughed. "They adore him. Valkyries spend all of their time carting around dead heroes and serving the Einherjar, so they rarely get the company living, breathing children. Ollie is a treat to them, especially the younger Valkyries who he's now old enough to flirt with. The crones will pretend he's a bother, but I see them slipping him sweets and trinkets when they think no one's looking."

Sif had gotten so swept up in bragging about Ollie that she was doing a poor job of lighting the fire.

Loki watched the constant and useless spray of sparks, his mind wrapping around Sif's words. "He didn't have other children to play with."

Sif's hands stalled, her shoulders sinking a little. "No, he didn't." As much as she wanted to, she couldn't give Ollie everything. "But he watches, when the occasional child is carried to Valhalla. It's...morbid I know, but, well, he's just so curious. He found himself an amazing vantage point up in Glasir mountains to watch the heroes carried through the gates." She paused, resuming the scraping but still getting nowhere, Loki's eyes burned holes in her hands. "Oh for love of—If Ollie were here, this fire would already be blazing. He loves camping, especially in the snow." She flashed Loki a smile at that one. "He's taken up skiing, using my shield as a device to stand on, and he wants to teach me, but I don't know..."

Loki cut in. "Perhaps he can teach me."

Sif paused, the image freezing her hands in place. She didn't know how to respond to that, wasn't ready to accept that was yet a possibility.

Loki put his other sock on then sat up on his knees. "Pull your hands back." Sif blinked and did as she was told, half expecting what was going to happen. Sure enough, her fire came to life from a simple green flame conjured out of nowhere.

She put away the flint and tinder. "That's cheating." She smiled at him, unfurling her knapsack.

Loki rose to feet, lifting his cloak off the ground and shaking it out. He then bent over at her side, wrapping it around her shoulders. "I won't be needing it."

She was touched by the gesture. It was the same kindness Ollie had recently showed her. She looked up at him. "Not even to sleep?

"I won't be sleeping." He backed off from the flames.

"What?" Sif argued, trying to ignore the smell of him on the cloak that the heat was making stronger by the moment. "Even frost giants need sleep."

He now stood at Sleipnir's side, running his hand slowly down the formidable steed's neck. "Goodnight, Lady Sif." He then led the horse to a patch of tall grass to feed.

Sif watched the pair as long as her heavy eyes would allow, warmth spreading fondly through her body as she climbed into her bed. She heard indecipherable murmurs coming from Loki and equine snorts that responded favorably to him. That warmed her even more.

She closed her eyes. Her mind had only a moment to dwell upon the day's events before sleep consumed her wholly. The moment had been enough, however, to marvel at the vast contrast between their past adventures in the wilds and their current one.