A/N: This is basically a song fic. I couldn't help myself.

She wondered if a perpetual dream state was the condition of the dead. There was a comfort in that, a peace amid the chaos, a beckoning to abandon all worries for the ease of drifting. It was a calling unheard by warriors and mothers, alien in its defeatism, yet alluring for the mercy it promised her heart.

Everything felt lighter, and she was starting to like it. Her body bore not the weight of her armor but a veil of mist, masquerading as a gown. She imagined it would be cold to touch if her being could feel anything. Perhaps it would feel pleasant, like the massage that was now enveloping her scalp. A subtle tingle that blossomed into kneading, strong fingers that combed through her hair, sometimes brushing her face, and then her lips.

Which was odd. Too intimate. She opened her eyes.

"I don't recall you being a blond," said a familiar and unwelcome voice.

Sif spun into a defensive stance, her body reclaiming some sensation, but only to feel violated. Before her was Tanaleer Tivan, that shifty eccentric, seeming very much alive and circling her. His pompous fur cloak dragged on the frosted cobblestones, his eyes were dark and curious. She glared obscenities at him. She hadn't felt her skin for a while but now it was crawling. How dare he touch her. How dare he study her like his prey.

'"What are you doing?" She turned slowly with each of his steps, keeping her eyes locked on him. He leaned in and inhaled deeply, causing her to flinch. Did he just sniff her hair?

"Interesting," he mused, backing off. "So simplistically...complicated."

"Why are you here?" she demanded.

He ignored her questions, turning away, seeming to lose interest. Now she was violated and insulted.

"Your majesty," he called out. "I require your assistance."

The room around them took shape and detail as he strolled through it, growing brick walls and dim lights around him. Warn wooden flooring spread out from his shiny, pointed shoes and his white hair became orange from the glow of the gas lamps. In a matter of footsteps, Sif's frozen tomb was transformed into something warm and inviting, like the pubs of the undercity. Why hadn't she thought to decorate her afterlife? How difficult could it really be to use her magic?

She would ponder that later. First things first. "Tell me why you're here," she said adamantly, her voice gaining more volume.

Tivan was standing at a waist-high relic from Midgard's last century, an aged furnishing lovingly constructed of carved wood. It supported a black disc that spun atop a felt table. Sif could vaguely place its purpose but questioned why it too was here. It all seemed so random. She would have assumed she was dreaming had Hel not appeared, her very aura the reality of death.

"I really shouldn't get involved," the young queen said, not even making an entrance. She was just there, like she had been all along.

Still, she did a double take upon seeing Sif. "The heck you do to your hair?"

The garishly garbed alien glided up to the teenager, bringing her tiny hand to his tattooed lips. "I dearly want you to get involved." He kissed her and Sif shuddered. The union of the pair was disturbing.

"Tell me," Tivan continued, still holding her hand. "Have you even been in love?"

Hel tilted her head, briefly glancing at Sif, who was readying herself to intervene. What exactly did this ancient think he was doing? With a young girl no less!

"I haven't been so lucky," Hel said, unacceptably hospitable. "Pickings down here are slim."

He released her hand. "How unfortunate." His attention then shifted to the relic, attending to its knobs and moving parts.

Hel propped her hand on a cocked hip. "Why do you ask?" Sif was wondering the same thing.

"I find it fascinating," he said, his back turned, "how intimately woven our supernatural fibers are with our hearts. I hate to even use the word 'supernatural.'" He looked over his shoulder. "For what is more natural than love?"

The adolescent girl raised her one visible brow, her face half-covered in that strange hairstyle again. "You fancy yourself a poet?" she asked with her reliable sass.

Tivan glanced to Sif. She narrowed her eyes at him. He looked to Hel, then back to the instrument, which started making a scratching sound before it filled the room with a suddenly springy melody.

Tivan turned around, his hips finding the rhythm. "Do you like poets?" he said as he showily closed the distance between himself and Hel, slipping a hand on her little cinched waist. "Perhaps dancers?"

A line was crossed. Sif stormed up and tore Tivan away from the now enchanted queen. The restored strength of her arms would have surprised her if she wasn't so disgusted.

"Don't you dare," she warned, getting in Tivan's face. "She is merely a teenager."

Hel stepped around Sif, challenging. "I am of consenting age."

"That matters not," Sif scolded. "He is a scoundrel. A predatory degenerate."

Hel crossed her arms. "The word you're looking for is creeper."

Sif couldn't respond before a puff of Hel's magic knocked her down. She hit the floor with a grunt. The queen then rejoined the smugly swaying man, allowing his hands to position her in a proper formation and pull her to his body. Sif tried to get up but Hel's magic had rendered her immobile, her palms splayed on the floor, fingernails splintering the wood.

"Where were we?" the ancient cooed in a disgracefully charming tone before he swooped Hel into a series of dramatic turns and syncopated steps. Sif fought her restraints and snarled in protest, but to no avail. All she could do was watch, and grind her teeth. The pair would not be hindered from their...oddly...captivating display. Strange how their movements complimented the cheerful tune so well that Sif was forgetting to struggle. How was something so wrong falling into such perfect time and flow?

"You were asking what I look for in a lover," Hel picked up their conversation. "Coming from no experience whatsoever in the field, I must admit my expectations are high. One's first love could make or break the entire experience, depending on how it is handled."

Sif couldn't agree more.

"You are wise for your age," Tivan flattered.

"I learn a lot from the dead," Hel agreed. "You'd be amazed the wisdom that comes from hearing woeful regrets on repeat."

"I see," Tivan said, intrigued. "And what is the most common regret?"

"Having too high of expectations."

Tivan and Sif exchanged glances, half expecting the record to scratch out the music.

"Did you not just say..." Tivan questioned.

"It's pitiful," Hel cut in, "the standards these rotting saps had for their lovers of the living world. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket. They think a lover is supposed to solve all their problems, cure all their ailments, fill their world with roses and kittens for all eternity. What they fail to realize before it's too late, is that true love, once all the roses have wilted and kittens grown into mangy old flea bags," she slide her gaze to Sif, "is a treacherous minefield that they were too chickenshit to cross."

Sif narrowed her eyes.

"Interesting," Tivan said, lifting Hel onto his hip and twirling them with a flourish.

"So tell me, my dear..." He returned her to the floor and they started the routine over, holding her inappropriately close this time. "What kind of lover awaits at the opposite end of your minefield?"

"Fuck if I know," she shrugged, impartial to his flirting. "Preferably someone who didn't bring me music from my neighboring realm when he has the selection of the entire universe to impress me with."

Tivan looked insulted. "I rather like my choice. Knowhere had a visitor a short while ago that introduced us to the wondrous potpourri of Terran tunes, specifically their mid-century Rhythm & Blues."

"It's called R&B," Hel corrected. "Ya square."

Tivan laughed, pushing the curtain of hair from her face and brushing her cheek. "You are quite charming."

That, Sif fumed, was too much. Paralyzing spell long faded, she sprung to her feet charged toward them.

"Stop this at once!" She yanked Hel from liberally roaming hands, shouldering between the two and beholding Tivan with no shortage of disgust. "You should be ashamed. Her father would gut you!"

Hel laughed, shrugging Sif's hand from her shoulder. "I thought you didn't care about him."

"I care about what is decent and appropriate," Sif stated, sizing up Tivan. "This display is neither."

The alien smirked, inching toward her. "And why not?" He detached the extravagant cloak from his shoulders and tossed it aside. "She's not your daughter. We aren't harming anyone."

"It is wrong." Sif held her ground as he moved closer. "Loki would slaughter you. And if given the opportunity, I would assist him. You're lucky I am without my weapons."

Tivan exchanged a brief glance with Hel, holding his smirk. "Is this true, your highness? Would your father disapprove of our...intermingling?"

"Quite," Hel nodded, adjusting her fishnet gloves. "He'd cut you clean across that fancy codpiece for a most decadent removal of your manhood."

Tivan glanced down his body, brow knitting. "Well then," he cleared his throat, restoring his composure. He then stepped to Sif's side and dared to fidget with a lock of her hair. She could see from her peripheral that it was indeed her natural gold, a bothersome distraction that allowed Tivan to slip his hand onto her hip and guide her into an easy step.

"That would make him," he continued while Sif fought another form of paralysis, not a spell this time but something different. "...a most committed father now wouldn't it."

Sif opened her mouth to argue but there were no words. Her head spun while he spun her across the room, whisking her by a blur of Hel, who watched in amusement. Her entire body lit up, painfully, like the prickling of blood rushing back into a deadened limb. Her limbs were anything but dead, though. They moved with this peculiar man, beyond her control, and that tingling returned to her scalp, this time creating a chill upon it. Such a contradiction of sensations.

"A most intriguing specimen, your father." Tivan spoke to Hel as he drove Sif's defiant body. "I learned much about him while he stayed at my museum. He's so convicted, so ambitious. All while being so unpredictable."

Amid her artful disorientation, Sif wished she could shield her ears. His words stung deeper than any physical pain. She had worked too hard to forget all of this, to dismiss from her memory the wondrous puzzle that had haunted her for too long.

Tivan continued, "He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet he has no idea where he is going."

"Why do you suppose that is?" Hel asked as they breezed by her.

"Because," Tivan said and Sif squeezed her eyes shut, not that that did any good. "His heart houses both chaos and purpose, a pair that make lousy roommates yet still create a force to be reckoned with, rendering a being that's infinitely perplexing as he is alluring. A fine prize indeed." His voice shifted to hover at Sif's ear. "Especially once you factor in his capacity for love."

With a growl, Sif found the control to shove Tivan away.

"I know what you are doing and you will stop!" The hair that fell in her face was a light brown. She pushed it away, out of sight. "Whatever this is must come to an end. I will not be a part of your games."

Hel scoffed through her smile. "We're not the ones playing games, milady. You are. With your silly, stubborn, schoolgirl denial."

"It is not denial," Sif defended. "He bargained my life and put our son at risk. I will not forgive him for that."

"Hmmm." Tivan chimed in, bringing his finger to his lips. "Your highness?" he asked.

"Yes, Tanny boy?"

"How many of your broken-hearted residents have forgiven their lovers?"

"Very few."

"And how many have fallen out of love because of their grudge?"

"Even less."

"How very fascinating." Tivan crept up to Sif, his gaze locked with intent. "The heart can still love, even after it has been wronged."

Sif frowned, standing her ground. "Why does any of this matter to you? What stake have you in my personal affairs?"

He offered his hand, posing as a gentleman. "Dance with me again and I will explain."

Sif looked down at his offering, then back up to his expression that attempted innocence. His eyes were a mystery, dodging any specific color yet reflective of all the eons and expanses of space they had witnessed. He was not a trifling man. There had to be a greater reason for his presence here, some connection with Loki that probably worked in their favor and against Asgard's.

With a sigh, Sif relented, taking his hand.

"That's better," he said, leading her in a series of steps that she never learned but somehow knew. Was it the work of his magic? Perhaps it was her own? Whatever the explanation, she couldn't deny that she felt better. The pain had subsided and this whole business of dancing could admittedly be enjoyable, perhaps under different circumstances though. And with a different partner.

"I must admit," Tivan said, "I didn't expect my task here to be so much fun. I thought I'd have to work for my reward."

"Spare me your riddles and explain yourself." Skilled dancer or not, Sif would not draw this out unnecessarily.

"I have been tasked," he began, "by our common acquaintance, to free you from your nightmare."

Sif's breath caught. "In exchange for what?" She quickly collected herself. "Will he now hand over the Tessaract?"

"If only," Tivan said in a dreamy tone.

"Then what?" Sif demanded. "Loki is incapable of remedying his mistakes without bringing about more harm. Tell me what he has traded this time."

"Himself."

The room fell silent save for the inappropriately happy jingle that carried on. Even Hel was surprised.

Sif's feet became less graceful as she felt the weight of her boots around them. She looked down to see her armor restored upon her body, heavy and real. A far cry from the whimsical fibers that were there moments ago. She promptly met Tivan's eyes. "What do you mean?"

He smiled, his eyes scanning her hair. "I think you know what I mean," he said.

"She might not," Hel added, her elbow propped on the music box. "Not really the read-between-the-lines kind this one."

"Say no more," Sif shot at the girl. "I understand. I think." Her feet became clumsier with each word.

"Curious," Tivan said with an amused glance to her feet. "With relenting of the heart comes rejecting of coordination. Still, not bad for a first time magic user."

"What does that mean?" Sif ordered, halting their dance. "Please tell me. What of his fate? And of mine?"

Tivan reached for her neck and pulled a strand of raven hair out for her too see, letting it slip through his fingers. "You are almost home. And he is almost mine."

Dread washed over Sif, leaving her as raw as when she first entered this cursed realm. She closed her eyes. "He traded his freedom that I might live."

Hel was ready to burst with some sarcastic comment but Tivan silenced her with a hand gesture. Her turned back to Sif, lifting her chin with his finger.

"How does that make you feel?" he asked. He then brushed that finger over her cheek and she sent him to the floor with one punch.

Hel laughed. "Wow, I didn't think inbetweeners could garner that much strength. You're really getting a handle on your magic."

Tivan was not laughing. He needed a moment to restore his senses, blinking and shaking his head. He rose, wobbling to his feet, hand cupping half his face.

"Are you going to answer my question," he growled, "you brutish bitch?" His words became biting. "Your lover, the father of your child, has handed himself over to me, opted to become my slave, all so you can live. Doesn't that make you feel anything?"

"That I want to bury my glaive in your gut," Sif snarled.

Tivan realigned his jaw, attempting to restore his composure. "And why would you want to do that?"

Sif puffed up to respond but her words choked her. She wasn't about to confess anything to this lowlife.

"Why are you doing this? she said. "Why must you toy with me instead of simply freeing me like he wants you to do."

"Freeing you," Tivan said, exasperated, "is proving anything but simple."

"What must I do?" Sif pressed. "Tell me. I will not attack you again. I won't even threaten."

Tivan snorted. "That, I find difficult to believe."

"Please," Sif was becoming desperate. "Tell me what I must do."

Pulling an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed his split lip, purposely taking his time to answer her. Sif clenched her fists in impatience.

"I was supposed to teach you to use your magic," he said, his voice losing some edge. "And in a sense, I suppose I am."

Sif shook her head, uncomprehending. "How is drudging up my heartache meant to teach me anything?"

He waggled his finger at her. "Your heartache is what fuels your magic." The finger started moving in circles. "It's all interconnected, simple in that magic feeds on our emotions, complicated because your magic latched on to the most obstinate one it could find."

Sif blinked, starting to comprehend. "What you said earlier," she began, "about magic, and the nature of love..."

"Was intended not to woo a child," Tivan said, "but to awaken a sorceress."

Realization struck like a giant's bludgeon to the face. Sif's eyes darted as she imagined Eir piecing her skull back together, solving the puzzle. Now it was all making sense. Her magic and her love for Loki were one in the same. That elusive mysticism had stayed dormant until a very specific desire was born. It cared not for her ambitions or her goals, not for her loyalty or her camaraderie, but that forbidden fruit that tragically ripened only after she denied it. It took the form of her raven locks as that was the last place Loki had touched her before the dozen-year wedge was driven between them.

There was a flutter in her gut. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

She recalled back to what Loki had said on the island, about magic being present between them when Ollerus was conceived. It was a comment meant only to charm in the silliest of ways, yet it held so much more than either of them had realized. Her feelings for Loki were not a curse. They were not a burden or punishment from the gods, not a fantasy or a delusion. They were the very fabric of her being. And they were there to be embraced, to suffer for, to...drive her safely through the proverbial minefield. There could be no more denying it.

She closed her eyes. The weight of her breastplate pulled her chest down, and her boots connected more solidly to the ground. She knew what she had to do.

"I'll ask again," Tivan said, breaking the silence. "Why does the fate of a criminal concern one such as yourself? Aren't I doing your kind a favor by removing him from your realm?"

"He is not yours to take," Sif said, a quiet warning. She opened her eyes. "He is mine, and I will come for him."

"Because..."

"Because I love him."

Her final words triggered a quick disintegration of Helheim. The last image she saw before the light was of Tivan and Hel, bidding her farewell with forced grins and patronizing waves. She also heard Hel saying something about a wizard and ruby slippers. She didn't know or care what the girl meant. It didn't matter anymore. She was going home. She was going to see Ollerus again. She was going to reunite with them both.

She gasped, a real breath. Upon her body she felt the warmth of animal furs. She then sighed, relieved.

Strange, she thought before opening her eyes, that one being could be both her damnation and her redemption. She wanted to cut this throat.

But not as much as she wanted to kiss him.

Music: Love is Strange, by Mickey & Sylvia.