A/N: This is the second-to-last chapter and it's a beast. I shoehorned way too much into it, mostly little side-character indulgences that have no bearing on the pairing but entertain me nonetheless. There's even a totally random cameo stuck in for fangirly fun. I have no self control. Thank you again for reading. It's been a year since I started this obsession and I can't believe it's nearing the end. It means so much that's you've stuck with me this far. xoxo Now, enjoy!

If she let go, Sif feared, she might lose him again. So she held tighter, pressing hard kisses onto his head, her tears of joys soaking into his hair. The lean, strong arms that squeezed her in return were bliss. She thought she would never feel this again.

"My darling Ollie," she said. "I am so sorry."

"For what?" he said in a deeper voice than she remembered.

"I put you in danger. I should have known better."

"The stampede wasn't your fault, Mother." His words were muffled on her shoulder. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have let those trolls get to you."

He doesn't know, Sif realized, who really was to blame. "We need to talk later, love." She crushed him harder against her cheek. "But for now let me hold you. I missed you so much."

His hold tightened. "I missed you too."

"What in the godforsaken universe happened here?"

Loki had opened his eyes to the aftermath of war. Only vague familiarities surrounded him, the smell of smelting, the feel of manufactured atmosphere, the disorienting displacement from home. It was when The Collector had entered, drink in hand, his cloak sweeping a path through broken glass, scattered artifacts and withered flora, that Loki knew he had made it to Knowhere.

"Where is the Aether?" he then asked. There was a disturbing amount of guilt Tivan was trying to hide in his cocktail.

"Your lady is quite impressive," he said. "A little barbaric..."

"You don't need to tell me that." Loki stepped closer, shards crunching under his boots. "Tivan, where is the Aether?"

"Did you think," he began, actually attempting charm, "I wanted you back here for only your pretty face?" He raised his hand to what he believed he owned, but withdrew once fully seeing Loki's face wasn't as pretty as he remembered. "I need your help, Laufeyson." Translated: the Aether was gone.

"That is not my name," Loki said. "The Bringer of Ragnarok will be an Odinson. And all those who parish will know it." Present company included if it came down to it. "The deal was, you keep it protected and I help you collect the other four. You have failed to uphold your end of the bargain, therefore I am no longer bound by our current contract."

"Hmmm," Tivan mused. He then turned, moving to a small tattered table which held a set of dusty antique bottles. "I don't think you want to go, dear 'Bringer of Ragnarok.'" He partially filled his glass with an unnaturally purple liquid, then topped it off with a splash of something clear, and probadly quite potent. "Curious," he said. "Your ambition is to ultimately murder one who was worth sacrificing your freedom for, perhaps not directly, but war is war and you can expect she'll be on the frontlines." His pinky was used to stir the drink. "You are the most contradictory being I have ever met." Turning, he sucked the liquid from his finger, slowly. It popped from his lips. "You understand why I had to have you."

"You don't have me." These displays had no effect on Loki. He's dealt with enough enchanters in his time, building up resistances after that unfortunate tangle with Lorelei. "I am your equal." He joined the ancient at the table, helping himself, hoping whatever inebriant this was would dull the throb of his stab wound, among other aches. "You know this. You have not chained me or stuffed me into a capsule. You allow me to roam freely. I could escape these flimsy walls in a heartbeat of magic." He took a drink. It tasted strange, and burned, but ultimately felt good. "You are correct in assuming I want to be here," he concluded, "But only under my conditions."

"Of course you want to be here. You want the stones as much as I," Tivan said. "How else will you garnish the power you need to...annihilate your home and family?"

"Once we've acquired all six," Loki deflected, "then what of our alliance? We hardly share the same ambitions."

"Why don't we deal with that when the need arises and focus on the present." Tivan closed their distance, eyeing him up and down. "Like getting you cleaned up. This blood upon you has a most, disturbing odor."

Eir had to pry the Warriors from Sif for fear they'd squeeze her back into a coma. "You will see her again at dinner," she said, escorting Sif out of the healing chamber and into the baths, where she quickly stewed up a medicinal pool of oils and healing spells.

"Am I to be the main course?" Sif joked as she slipped out of her patient's gown and into the large, steaming basin. Her eyes rolled back at the enveloping heat. "Oh my, so this is what Valhalla feels like."

"You need to soak for at least half an hour if the oils are to have any effect on your wounds," Eir said.

"I can manage that," she exhaled, sinking until the water grazed her chin.

Eir went quiet for a long moment, returning several small bottles to their proper places around the room. "I suppose you wish to know," she finally said, "why I kept your magic a secret from you."

"That would be nice." Sif wasn't upset but she still wanted an explanation. She had decided, during her endless cycles of thought in the underworld, that she wouldn't hold a grudge about Eir's deception. It seemed all Asgardian parents did their share of omitting valuable information, Sif especially. To fault Eir would make her a hypocrite of royal proportions, and she was too exhausted to be anything but a mound of soaking flesh right now.

Eir took a golden brush from the shelf, studying it in her hands. "Where did you get this?"

"It was the Queen's." Sif opened one eye to glimpse it. "She used to brush my hair with it." She laid her head back with a sigh. "Loki gave it to me."

Eir moved a stool to the head of the tub, taking a seat and letting Sif's hair down from its bun. She began brushing, slowly, not for the sake of preening.

"You were such a vicious young thing," she began, softly. "It shouldn't have come as a surprise to see your magical streak make a violent debut," she laughed a little, "not like it surprised the three seasoned Valkyries you bested in the ring."

"They had it coming," Sif added. "Bullies."

"Your gifts were evident," Eir continued, "from the moment your fingers touched smelted weaponry. It was your first passion. So, naturally, your magic bolstered it. I did not realize it back then, but I see it now. Dark magic was not threatening to devour you. You merely borrowed its power for a situation you could not handle alone." She laughed again, ironically this time. "All these years, my perception of the dark arts have been...so biased."

"Discipline and dedication are what bolstered my abilities," Sif said. "I will not credit magic, whatever orientation it may be, for years of hard practice."

"You can't discredit it, either," Eir said, "not when its workings are entwined in our very being." She ran her fingers through the silky strands left in the brush's wake. "I was wrong to assume magic would lead you down the same path as Amora."

"Amora," Sif rolled her eyes. "She, like Lorelei, is cut from cloth where I am from steel. An enchantress is nothing more than a coward, preying on men's weaknesses instead of challenging their strengths. I would never reduce myself to that."

"I am well aware, now, that you have not the tendencies of a siren," Eir said. "However, I did not back then. You were still a child when your magic surfaced, knobby-kneed and appalled at the introduction of supportive undergarments. My heart still ached for Amora's fall. Please understand, she was my top student and I loved her as such, but you..." The brush stilled and Eir's hand slid over Sif's shoulder. "You were different. You were more. I could not risk it."

A warmth, not from the bath, blossomed in Sif. She squeezed her Elder's hand, coating it with oily water, saying, "I understand." She turned and smiled. "I am your daughter. You wanted only to keep me safe. And yes," her chin jutted forward, "I said daughter. It is due time we start using these terms with each other."

There was nothing like a brush with death to make one realize what's really important in life.

Eir's eyes softened, their sheen reflecting the candlelight. "Does this mean," she asked with a shy vulnerability, "you have given up searching for your real parents?"

"I know who my real parent is," Sif assured, sliding back into the water once the air chilled her wet shoulders. "And if the folks who conceived me happen to still be alive and finally wish to meet me, then I suppose I'll humor them."

"You musn't be bitter." Eir continued brushing, her tone hardening back to normal. "They could have valid reasons for orphaning you."

"Sure." Sif wasn't convinced. "Just like Laufey could be justified in leaving his infant to die." Again, Loki came up in conversation. It seemed inevitable. "I suppose it makes sense," Sif confessed with a sigh, returning to their previous topic, "what with the blurred lines between passion and mysticism, that my battle skill is entwined with my magic."

"Why the change of mind?"

"Because I've heard the same explanation from both you and Tivan now," she said. "My magic clings to my loves. And it took confessing a...very specific one to liberate me from the depths."

Eir paused, her hands stalling the way they always did when the gears of her mind cranked up. "Of course," she said distantly. "We were so close, yet...even if we had figured it out, we'd have no control over it."

"Strange isn't it?" Sif laughed a little. "All the combined power between you and the All-Father but no one could save me but myself."

The brushing resumed, less gentle this time. "I suppose you'll be rubbing it in for the rest of our existence."

"Only when the need arises," Sif teased. She then rolled her head back, closing her eyes. "Oh, Elder. What do I do now?"

"About?"

"Who do you think?"

"You wait," Eir said, firmly. "If Loki has promised himself to The Collector, as you claim, there is nothing we can do for him."

"Do not say that. There is always hope. And please don't say he promised himself, as if in marriage. The very thought," she cringed, "and to that, creeper, no less."

"Do not be silly," Eir said. "Tivan takes trophies, not trophy husbands."

"You speak as if you know him."

"We crossed paths once," Eir admitted. "Long ago."

There was clearly a story there, one Sif would get out of her another time, when there were less pressing matters at hand. "Can you talk to him? Ask him to release Loki?"

"He does not relinquish his possessions so diplomatically."

"Then curse his bargain," Sif said, jolting upright. "I will take Loki from him."

"Sif," Eir said, easing her back. "Do not over exert yourself. And please don't meddle in the affairs of that ancient."

"Why can't I?" Sif argued. "He meddled in my affairs."

"He did so under contract," Eir said, adamantly. "Something his kind take very seriously. As do our kind. We mustn't bring tension into Asgard's relationship with him, especially not while he has the Aether."

Sif sunk back down into the water. "Curse you, Loki. You got yourself into this mess."

"He often does," Eir added.

Silenced stretched between them until thunderous footsteps were heard approaching. The chamber door flew open.

"Sif," Thor boomed joyfully.

"Thor," she returned the greeting without thinking, whirling up to see him, sloshing water over the edge."

Eir's eyes widened and Thor turned pink. That was when Sif's indecency became apparent to her. She made some noise of embarrassment while her arms slapped across her chest.

"Sorry," Thor said, turning his back, "I did not expect—"

"It's a bathing chamber," Eir barked, snatching a robe from the wall and tossing it to Sif. "Very little happens in this room besides what it is named for."

"I apologize," Thor repeated. "I wasn't thinking. I only wanted to—"

Sif barely had the robe tied before she threw dripping arms around her dearest comrade.

"...do this," he finished, embracing her in return with vocalized relief. "I refused to believe it until I saw it," he said, picking her up and spinning her. "My friend, how we worried for you."

Sif laughed, holding him at arm's length once he dropped her. "Worries in vain, dear comrade. Did you think I would be defeated so easily?"

"Of course not." Thor smiled, squeezing her shoulders and gazing upon her with tired eyes. "It is good to see you well."

"It's good to be well," she said.

"She won't be," Eir chimed in, "if you don't allow her rest."

Sif ignored the Elder, peering over Thor's shoulder to the open door. "Did you," she began, apprehensively. "Did you return alone?"

Thor's smile shrank. "Fenrir returned as well." That was all he said and her shoulders sank.

"Come," he then offered, leading her to the door. "You must see him with your son. They are quite the pair."

"So I've heard," Sif said, skeptically. "Ollie sounded like he got attached rather quickly." She wasn't certain how to handle this news yet.

"Come to the feasting hall and see for yourself," Thor insisted. "I am certain that is where they are. The wolf's appetite could rival Volstagg's."

"I've heard that as well..." Sif trailed off, stopping them mid-step. That was exactly what Loki had said about Fenrir when they visited the island. Now her heart sank.

"I will go," she began, attempting a lighter tone. She couldn't think about him now. "But I must first...get dressed?"

Thor laughed, moving for the door. "My apologies. I will meet you there."

Eir sighed, looking to Sif. "If your not going to rest then at least promise me you'll eat more than you drink."

Thor chuckled as he left, murmuring something about Hel melting over.

Sif smiled, moving to Eir and clasping both her hands. "I promise." She then punctuated," Dear Mother."

Eir had no choice but return the smile, blushing as she did.

"Now," Sif continued, throwing open the wardrobe doors and beholding the garments like they were a Vanir riddle. "I need your help. What does a lady wear when formally meeting her son's half-brother?"

The decadent steam room and tall jetted tubs he remembered from his first visit here were not the luxury that rinsed his body this time. The dried blood and forest residue were instead doused by a bucket of cold, tinted liquid set behind a dining table, which stood on end to serve as a makeshift privacy wall. Everything he remembered enjoying about the museum was obliterated by Carina's little demonstration with a power she knew nothing about. The nerve of her. He never would have agreed to Tivan's terms if he'd known this ramshackle abode awaited him. This arrangement he put himself in truly was turning out to be a sacrifice. He dried off with his own clothing.

Decent medical facilities were unheard of on Knowhere, and Loki, redressed and still in pain, refused to subject himself to the commoner's clinic, which he imagined bred more illness than cured it. His wound was healing too slowly, his natural regeneration stunted by Angrboda's blackened blood snaking through his veins. He needed help, regrettably, and there was no one but his drunken host who could offer it. Loki asked, and Tivan said he had a doctor that made home visits, and could "beam" him here within the hour. "Fine," Loki replied.

"The table serving as the washroom wall," Tivan slurred with a half-hearted gesture. "Use it to lie on."

"That can't be sanitary."

"You'll figure it out," he said as he left the room, voice trailing. "You're clever like that."

"Patronizing prick," Loki said. Of course he could figure something out. And he did with plenty of time to spare before the doctor arrived, using a cleaning spell—which he swore used to take more time and effort—to sanitize the surface he was to lie on.

He waited, staring up at the punctured ceiling, his preferred line of thought dedicated to where the Aether was and how they were going to get it back, yet his actual thoughts drifting to all he had left behind in Asgard. The doctor's arrival was timed perfectly, before a second ache set in.

"Who are you supposed to be?" grumbled the old, gaunt man. He appeared of Midgard but then again so did many of Knowhere's inhabitants.

"I was about to ask the same of you," Loki said, trying to place where he has seen this man before. He had heavy bags under his large blue eyes. In his youth, he had been handsome.

"I asked first," he replied, plopping a worn leather bag on the table.

Loki laid his head back, keeping an eye on him. "I am Loki of Asgard."

"Leonard McCoy, retired medical officer of the Starship Enterprise." He retrieved a device from his bag and held it up proudly. "Some folk call me Bones."

"Starship Enterprise." Loki's brow knitted. Now he recalled where he'd seen him. "You're a fictitious character."

"You," the man began, toying with adjustments and settings, "just introduced yourself as a Norse myth and you're calling me fictitious."

"You're not even in the right time."

"Anything's possible in these parts fella." He began hovering his now humming device over Loki's injury. "So, who are you really?"

"Who are you really?"

"I asked you first."

"I told you who I am. And I was actually truthful about it."

"If you're truly a god," the man said, making eye contact, "then why do you need a doctor?"

"I never said I was a god. You humans love to assign that title to anything you can't explain. Not that I'm complaining."

The doc snorted. "Can't argue with you there." His tone then lightened as he continued the scan. "People will keep on creating deities far into the future, even with the advances we'll make in technology and space exploration. Our discoveries uncover more questions about our existence then they provide answers for, so religion stays alive and well."

Lunatic or not, this man had good conversation. "Spirituality is built into your survival instincts. So long as your kind exist, so will your gods."

"Does that mean with human extinction comes your own?" His eyes lifted from the readings. "Loki of Asgard?"

"I sure hope not. I would dread to be at the mercy of your kind."

"Hmmm," the man contemplated, peeling woven leather straps back from rib to hip to expose Loki's wound. "Aren't you the damned fool that causes the extinction of your kind?"

"I see it as more of a rebirth myself." He watched in concern as a new device was pulled from the bag. Fortunately, it didn't appear to have any needles or probes.

"Yeah," the doc drawled, "I remember reading stories about you. You're not a very nice fella. I'm not sure I even want to patch you up."

"Idle threats..." he said, watching as green light was projected into his flesh. Within moments, the pain subsided and the wound shrank. "Tell me, what stories did you read? The attack on New York? You know you cannot trust Earth media to give an unbiased account."

"New York?" His brow quirked. "Might wanna recheck your timeline. I'm talking the myths. With the giants and the dwarves. Ancient stories I read as a boy, about ransomed maidens, stolen gold, trickery and...say, didn't you change into a mare and—"

"It was only that one time," Loki defended. "I didn't know how else to remedy the situation. We all underestimated that accursed giant and his, rather impressive steed."

"I...don't need the details." He shook off the imagery. "You really are him, aren't ya?"

"No, old man, I'm merely a figment of your decrepit imagination."

"Hah! Nice try but I been around too long to fall for tricks." He studied some readings on his device. "So, explain to me, Loki of Asgard, how'd you get this stab wound?"

"A woman."

"Explanation enough," he nodded. "Sounds like a friend of mine. Say, how'd you end up on Knowhere?"

"Also a woman."

"Is a woman also to blame for your blood poisoning?"

"Most certainly."

"How did it happen?"

"I was rescuing my daughter from the jaws of a giant serpent and its fang punctured me, poisoning me."

"How noble." The doc rolled his eyes. "Now tell me what really happened."

"You're good," Loki smiled.

"Comes with the job."

"I was stabbed by a Jotun witch, right before I ate her corrupted heart."

He paused before responding. "After a lifetime of practicing medicine, I still can't decide if it is a blessing or a curse to hear the tales of people's injuries."

Loki shrugged. "You asked."

"Part of my job."

"I thought you said you were retired."

"From Starfleet, wise ass. Not from paying back favors I owe to hoarders with the tackiest fashion sense this side of the galaxy."

"Thank you!" Loki laughed, gratefully. "Although, if you think his taste is tacky, you should see Knowhere's street styles. It's like a superhero convention on psychedelics out there."

"I don't even wanna know," the doc said, shaking his head. "I venture outside of these walls as little possible. Just beam in, fix his latest humanoid, beam out." As the man leaned over to inspect what remained of the wound, Loki noticed a peculiar scar, maybe even a seam, peeking out from under his collar.

"So," the doc said, "tell me more about this corrupted heart. I assume you mean it was poisoned and for reasons...unfathomably asinine to me, you took it upon yourself to eat it."

"I had to," Loki said.

"Fine, whatever." He fumbled with the straps of Loki's tunic, attempting to cover up the now-healed flesh. "What kind of poison is all I care about."

"Dark magic."

His hands flopped. "Do you want me to help you or not?"

"I speak the truth."

"I don't work in magic, man. I'm a doctor, not a Vegas attraction."

"Vegas?" Loki was insulted. "That's not real magic."

"It's all a bunch of," his hand waved around, "lights and mirrors and tomfoolery. This witch girlfriend of yours had you duped."

Loki burst out laughing. "Oh that's rich. How is it that you, an intergalactic man of medicine, a time traveler, have no experience in magic?"

"It's called science."

"Please do not bore me with this debate. Can science do this?" With thought alone, Loki drove the doctor's hands to properly weave his tunic straps back together and cover his flesh.

The man frowned, insulted. "We're done here." He packed up his bag the instant he regained control. Apparently, one doesn't toy with a doctor's hands. "Your poisoned blood can send you to the fiery pit for all I give a damn."

"Been there, done that." Loki sat up on an elbow. "And it's ice, not fire. You humans are forever confusing your elements of the afterlife."

The man turned and walked away, speaking into his wrist watch. "Will somebody beam me the hell out of here?"

"Come on, now," Loki grinned. "It was all in good fun."

The man made it halfway across the room before he slowed to a stop. Loki anticipated his response but was instead surprised to see his spine straighten and his chin drop to his chest. He became inhumanely still, and the mystery began unraveling.

"Interesting," Loki said, sliding off the table and approaching him. Where was once a fascinating character was now an upright corpse, fantastically organic despite the robotic internals he was now presuming it had. Unlike the techno-organic physiology of the Chitauri, this being had not a visible fleck of synthetic material. There had only been that one sign, the seam.

"It was all the craze a few years back," Tivan said upon entry. "Customizing your medibots into fictional characters. Lucky for you he was in the shop during the accident, and was spared annihilation."

Loki folded his arms. "He lacks bedside manner."

"Be grateful I didn't go with Dr. Frankenstein." A couple adjustments to Dr. McCoy's watch reawakened him and sent him out of the room. "He's still programmed to the old floor plan," Tivan said. "I need to send him back to the shop. Anyhow, from what I overheard, he wasn't able to cure your blood poisoning."

"I'm starting to think," Loki said, "it is not something I want cured. That trick I played on him, its spell was cast with far more ease than normal, as was an earlier spell. I think Angrboda's share of dark magic, is exactly what I need."

Tivan blinked, unimpressed. "You might change your mind once you see what it's doing to your complexion."

Watching Ollerus with his brother was a delight. They teased and they bickered, but behind every word was a shining gratitude that they had found each other. A mother couldn't wish for a happier reunion for her child. She felt warmed all over, and the wine wasn't to blame. "See," Thor said, seated next to her. "I told you."

Sif smiled wider. It was a blessing to have this back. Family. Friends. She laughed when Volstagg and Fenrir played tug-of-war over a goat leg. Such barbarians were her kinsman, and she loved them all dearly. Fandral claimed the seat on the other side of her, surprisingly lacking a companion on his arm but predictably running his mouth off of his latest feats in the arena. Hogun had even come to celebrate, taking time away from his people to clink Sif's glass and give her a not-so grim nod. He might even slip a word in if Fandral would ever shut up.

The head of the table, reserved for the royalty, was empty. Thor preferred his place among friends and Odin was absent, still feeling ill according to Thor.

"I wish he hadn't exerted himself on my behalf," Sif said.

"We needed him to help Eir find your cure," Thor said, his fork poking at a boiled root. His appetite was surprisingly small. "And had we not awakened him, then Fenrir wouldn't have been freed."

They both glanced at the wolf, just in time to see the massive snout rolling the last bread roll onto Ollerus's plate. Sif was touched by the gesture Fenrir believed went unnoticed.

"Asgard is witnessing a new dawn," Thor began, "when a Jotun and a once-feared beast can sit at our table."

"Half Jotun," Sif corrected, lightly. "I always dreamed this life for him but I never imagined it would happen so soon. And I certainly couldn't have predicted the events leading up to it."

"If you had it to do over again," Thor asked, "would you change the choices you made?"

"Do what over, exactly?" Sif questioned. "Letting myself become pregnant and then lie about it? Or letting myself fall in love in the first place."

Thor's smile softened. "All of it."

"I wouldn't change a thing."

He raised his goblet. "Cheers, to no regrets."

She met his toast. "Your mother always said it was wasted emotion." They drank.

"And your mother said," Thor reminded, "go easy on the mead."

Sif rolled her eyes. "I know," she sighed. "Can't have any fun until I'm fully healed. Never mind that I feel fine. I've half a mind to jump up dance once the bard gets here."

"Dance?" Thor chuckled. "You? My how the underworld did change you."

"I had," she argued, "a change of heart before that. Loki," she then confessed, gaze dropping to her lap, "had insisted I dance with him at his banquet."

"Shame that celebration wasn't to be," Thor added in a low voice.

Sif glanced back up, scanning the revelries around them. "I wish he could be here, Thor. To witness..." her eyes fixed on the teenagers, Ollerus laughing while Fenrir demonstrated a spell that made fruit levitate, "the beauty of his creation."

"Aye," Thor said. His expression then shifted to something worrisome. "Sif, there's something I need to tell you, a couple things really, but I do not wish to say them here."

Sif sighed. She had unpleasant information to share too. "About Loki."

Thor nodded while taking a pull from his goblet. He cleared his throat. "We will talk after dinner."

And talk they did, at length, exchanging every frustrating detail of both of Loki's bargains. This was the first Sif was hearing of Angrboda's slaughter and Thor was made aware of Loki's initial bargain with Hela: the one that nearly killed Sif. Thor's fist crunched a segment of the balcony railing when hearing this, but as Sif explained the second bargain with Tivan, Loki's attempt to right his wrong, Thor calmed down.

"I suppose his sacrifice makes up for his gambling of your life," he said, clapping marble dust from his palm. "But it still doesn't explain why he dismembered Angrboda and ingested her heart."

Sif blinked. "He did what?" Thor went on to explain what he and Fenrir had witnessed in the forest, every gruesome detail. "That would explain your lack of appetite," Sif added, feeling queasy.

"I did not understand what I was seeing at first," Thor continued, "nor had I the time to question it before Loki was gone. I barely had time to say goodbye. Fenrir had to explain to me the reason for consuming her heart, saying that was the only way to cleanse her afterlife."

Sif shook her head, at a loss. "Lucky for the witch we did not cross paths—wait a moment..." She paused as the pieces fell into place. "There must have been a third bargain, between Hela and Loki. Maybe that is why he left Asgard. Hela was completely smitten with her wretched mother and wanted nothing more than to get her into Helheim. She admitted to me that her initial bargain with Loki was ultimately intended to accomplish this, assuming either I or Loki would slay her before she could get to me. But both Hela and Loki underestimated her..."

"And you paid the price," Thor provided.

"But really," Sif continued, "I didn't. Loki did. He...rid the witch of poison by consuming it. And for what? Certainly not for his own sake, there would be no gain in becoming sick. He would have done it for his daughter."

"Then," Thor synced up, "not only did he sacrifice his freedom for you, but he's sacrificed his health for his daughter's happiness."

A chill shot down Sif's spine. "So now he's trapped and he's sick and there's nothing we can do about it because of...politics?"

"Aye," Thor admitted, begrudgingly.

Sif shook her head in refusal. "No. I do not accept that. You are the king, Thor. Surely you can negotiate something with Tivan."

Thor nodded. "Perhaps." He wasn't half as worked up as Sif. "We will discuss it in the next council meeting."

"When will that be?" Sif urged. "We cannot put this off."

"I will make it happen as soon as possible."

Which he did, only 'as soon as possible' meant the following evening because Queen Brunhild had insisted she be on the committee, but wouldn't be able to attend until she sorted out a matter where apparently some deceased revelers had hopped Valhalla's gates and were flirting with the Valkyrie cadets. Sif was mad with impatience by the time they actually assembled. The group was comprised of the same faces that were around last night's dinner table, substituting Ollerus and Fenrir for the Valkyrie Queen. Ollerus had many colorful words of protest for not being included, and insisted he belonged in a discussion concerning his own father. Sif wished he could have been there too, his persuasive skills a potential boon in expediting a rescue mission. But rules were rules and the doors closed on his and the wolf's disgruntled faces.

"Thank you for meeting on such short notice." Thor's words hushed the room. He went on to read awkwardly, from his cheat sheet, all the customary opening statements that a king is required to say. This part was always painful enough when Odin did it, but with Thor being a slow reader, Sif found herself missing certain aspects of Helheim. If it wasn't for Fandral passing her notes under the table, she may have gotten herself ejected for a disorderly outburst.

Fandral's first note read, "Near death has not disqualified you from our arranged duel."

She quirked her brow at him and he awkwardly avoided eye contact, which was strange. Shrugging it off, she discretely scribbled her comeback: "If you didn't use my downtime to hone your skills, then you may as well yield. Also, why are we opening with the topic of Vanaheim's trade relations with Alfheim? Don't they know we have more pressing issues to discuss?"

Fandral snorted when he read it, pulling a glare from Hogun, who droned on about increased tariffs on Elven imports. The response he gave read, "the day I yield to you is the day I take a vow of celibacy.

"Because Hogun figures if he's here, me might as well address the concerns of his people. He doesn't give a pygmy nymph's nutsack about Loki's well being. And to be perfectly honest, neither do I."

Sif glared at him from the corner of her eye, a look that admonished his rudeness. She responded, "Rumor has it you abstained for a week after that trick you fell for.

"Could that be the cause of your callousness?"

Fandral turned red, keeping his eyes fixed on his lap. He didn't once look her way while replying, not even to pass the note.

It read, "Who told you? Nevermind, it doesn't matter.

"Yes. That is one reason I'm not in a hurry to rescue Loki."

Sif looked up from the note, scanning her eyes around the room to feint her interest in the discussion. When she felt her committee members were adequately convinced, her hand resumed its secretive scrawling.

"He told me. He also told me how liberal you were with your tongue when you believed it was in my mouth. I should cut you.

"Is there another reason I should know of why you won't help?"

She passed the note, noticing vaguely how he held her fingers longer than necessary and wondering why was he acting so strange. He was fidgety. Fandral never fidgeted. The room then quieted while Hogun took his seat and Thor rose. That was probably the most Hogun had ever said all at once in his lifetime. Sif now wished she paid closer attention.

"The next matter at hand," Thor began and Sif awaited with anticipation, "is the allocation of resources for restoring the gates of Valhalla." Sif wanted to scream. "I implore you," Thor continued, "to give Queen Brunhild your undivided attention."

Sif watched, tight-lipped, as the pompous Valkyrie rose. Why did she choose now, of all times, to launch the Glasir Restoration Project?

"You're probably wondering why I've chosen now to launch the Glasir Restoration Project," the golden queen said. Sif tuned her out the moment Fandral's note was stuffed into her palm, deciding she didn't care. She would hear nothing but talk of the project in her coming visits back home. She opened the note.

"By Faubauti's frozen nipples, you are so clueless."

She had no idea what Fandral was talking about. She hadn't a clue what anyone in the room was talking about for that matter. All she knew was that no one else was bothering to comprehend the urgency of Loki's situation and she had to do something about it. She couldn't sit here and pass notes like some silly schoolgirl.

"Forgive my interruption," she said upon rising. "I insist we postpone discussion of non-urgent matters until we've addressed the very reason our king had called this meeting. I mean no disrespect, my Queen, but your topic can be postponed without injury. Mine, however, cannot." She fixed her eyes on Thor. "I request passage, granted by Heimdall, back to Knowhere that I might petition a breach of contract with The Collector."

All eyes were upon her. Thor seemed grateful, and a bit contemplative, while the majority worried for her well being, and Brunhild...well, Sif would get a lambasting from her later. The Queen hated being interrupted.

"I know," Sif continued, "the details have yet to be revealed in full to all of you, but I need your support in negotiating with Tivan. He already has the Aether, we cannot allow him to posses one of our own. Loki belongs here, in Gladsheim, close to his family. That is the only way we can prevent losing him again. So will you help me? Can we devise a strategy to free him? Perhaps offer The Collector something from the vault in exchange?"

Wordless opinions and exchanged glances swept across the table. Sif couldn't tell how her words landed. No one was saying anything and she grew impatient. She made to plead her case again, but a new presence emerged, stealing her audience. It was Odin, weary-eyed but ever-commanding. He approached the table. She remained standing. She probably shouldn't have.

"Lady Sif," he addressed her specifically. "I understand your urgency." His voice was rougher than normal, thinned out, yet still that of a king's. "And I am grateful for your intentions, as Frigga would be if she were still with us. Your commitment to Asgard and your undying loyalty to the crown contribute greatly to our strength as a realm, and a people. I know you want only what is best for the kingdom, that you fight for her security and you risk your own future to keep her's safe."

Sif was honored, all while a dread was building. There was a bomb waiting to be dropped.

"Because of your love for Asgard," Odin said and she knew it was coming, "I cannot permit you to open these negotiations."

The room fixated on her just as her heart plummeted. She kept her chin raised. "What is your reasoning, my Lord."

"Loki is lost to us." And there it was.

"Inside Asgard," Odin continued, his words becoming labored and not from his health, "he is a threat to our safety. Which I, solely, am to blame for."

That, she didn't see coming. No one did.

Loki sat, studying through the obstacles of shelves and bottles his reflection in the bar's mirrored backsplash. Odin's transfiguring spell was barely hanging on, only tinting his natural blue instead of masking it, resulting in a depressing gray. What was even more depressing were the wrinkles and veins made prominent by Angrboda's accursed affliction. Was a boost in magic really worth all this?

"Hmph," snorted the being occupying the stool next to him. He had reptilian skin and was shaped like an upright walrus. His posture advertised his regular occupation of lower class watering holes, which was all Knowhere had to offer its population. This was a hard fact in mining communities no matter their galaxy, one Loki would have to learn to live with. The walrus spoke. "I thought only pretty folk gawped that much at mirrors."

Loki sighed, settling back down on his stool. "I used to be pretty."

"Yep," he drawled, "Happens to the best of us. Used to be quite th catch myself, once upon a time, so much that I had me the finest of ladies. Let me tell you, that dame's mustache alone could launch a thousand crafts."

Loki swirled his cocktail before sipping it, resigning himself to the reality that yes, tonight he was just another homely bloke spilling his woes to strangers.

"She broke my heart that one," said the walrus.

"I'm sorry to hear," Loki replied with little empathy.

"Was a long time ago." He brought his mug to the impressive mustache, which presumably harbored lips. "'Bout you?" he said. "You got a lady?"

"I did, once."

"She break your heart?"

"Not this time." Loki paused. "More, the opposite. Plus I nearly got her killed and damned to an eternity of suffering."

"They don't much like that," verified the walrus. "Was she pretty?"

"No they don't. And yes, she was beautiful."

"You apologize?" he asked.

"I never got the chance," Loki said.

"Why not?"

"Because I left her side and ate the heart of another woman." Loki looked at the mirror again. "That is why I'm ugly."

The bald head nodded in response. "Yep. That'll do it."

As difficult as it was, both in accepting and repeating, Sif relayed Odin's confession to Ollerus: the conversation on the Bifrost, and the talk of prophecies that triggered Loki's departure. She wanted to be angry with Odin for his tragically-timed truths but how could she? When should truths surface when not as soon as possible? Even if Odin had said nothing, would that have stopped Loki from his reckless, misguided behavior? Probably not.

Sif also told Ollerus about Loki's bargains, all three of them. Fenrir had already told him about Angrboda's slaughter, and the consumption of her heart, but he hadn't knowledge of Loki's bargain with Tivan, or his initial bargain with Hel, the one Sif struggled herself to forgive.

Their legs dangled over the lamplit kingdom and the young man's shoulders slumped in the most disheartening way.

"Why did he have to make shady deals with people?" He lifted his head to gaze distantly over the city lights. "If he hadn't ever faked his death..."

"Do not burden yourself with explaining his methods." Sif spoke gently, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "It is futile and you will only drive yourself mad."

The air was cold and Sif was underdressed, still wearing the thin, short-sleeved gown from last night's dinner. She had fallen asleep in it and not cared in the impatient pacing that followed her rest that she had worn it, wrinkles and all, to the meeting. She shivered.

"Should I get your cloak?" her son asked.

"Don't bother." She kissed his temple. He was such a gentleman. "This is nothing compared to Helheim."

Ollerus shook his head. "What he did was wrong, I know. But he's not our enemy. He's just sick. Because of that tainted heart."

"I want to believe that too," Sif said. "But Odin's account, the way he described the look on his face—"

"Odin is wrong," Ollerus blurted. "He's sick too."

Sif frowned. "You should not disrespect—"

"You should go to him, Mother." Sif was taken aback by his prosecuting tone. "You can help him. Use your magic. If it could awaken you from the dead, think what it could do for Father."

She shook her head. "It's not that easy. I can't simply use my magic for healing the way Eir does."

"Can't you at least try?"

She didn't know how to respond. She didn't want to get his hopes up, or hers for that matter, but she didn't want to crush them either.

"If you won't then I will," he said, shifting his gaze to the Bifrost. "I have magic too. And so does Fenrir."

"It's not like," Sif began, regretfully, "Heimdall can just go against the king's orders and grant you passage out of the realm."

"He's done it for you and Uncle Thor."

"That was different."

"Was it?"

"The All-Father wasn't in his right mind," Sif explained. "Heimdall committed treason because Asgard's safety was at stake."

"If we let Father keep thinking he's meant to bring the apocalypse, Asgard won't be safe! Please listen to me, Mother. We can't sit idly by. If you won't go to him then I swear I will. If not by the Bifrost then by some other means. Between Father's secret portals around the realms, and alien tech that jumps through space, Fenrir and I will find a way."

Sif looked at him, studied his eyes. She knew there would be no stopping him. "I believe you," she said. "You'll set your mind to it and you'll go. And I won't be able to stop you unless I chain you down."

"Don't ever use that word around Fenrir," Ollerus cautioned.

"What. Chain? Sorry."

Ollerus sighed. "You don't need chains to stop us. You only need to go to him yourself. I know you want to." He pulled his legs in and stood, offering his hand to her. "Talk to Uncle Thor again. Talk to Odin, to Heimdall. Or say to Hel with them all and just go."

"Ollerus," she warned, accepting his hand. "Mind your words when speaking of your elders."

He helped her to he feet, annoyed. "So what, that's it? 'Shut up and mind your elders' is how we handle this?"

"I didn't say that," Sif said calmly.

"Then what!?"

She watched as tears glazed over his eyes, a sight that finalized her acknowledgment of what needed to get done. He was right. To Hel with the committee. Why had she even bothered with them in the first place? There was no one left to help Loki besides her and Ollie, and he knew it. He understood that Odin and Thor had exhausted their resources of hope. He understood that his elders didn't always have the right answers. He understood, most importantly, that there still was a reason to hope. How his limited years acquired him this knowledge, Sif could not explain, nor did she need to, but if it came to pass someday that her Ollie would inherit the throne of Asgard, she wouldn't be an prouder of him then she was now.

She smiled at him. "I'll go."

Music: Losing My Mind by Pet Shop Boys