Chapter Text
In the forced stillness of her room, Sif watched the preparations for departure from the window, her hands barely gripping the edge of the sill. The morning air carried a faint scent of damp earth and smoke, a smell that seemed to speak of new beginnings and farewells. Down in the courtyard, men and women, assisted by the tireless gnomes, moved with frantic rhythm: gathering crates of supplies, securing tools to the caravans, and loading everything onto the carts. Their voices blended into a confused hum of orders, laughter, and chatter.
Sif sighed. How she longed to be out there, among them, with her hands busy and her mind focused on something practical. But she knew it would be a bad idea. Loki, despite his mocking tone, had clearly explained that the healing spell worked, but overusing it would be a waste of magic and, likely, a risk to her health. Still, it was hard to ignore the sense of well-being that had started to seep into her limbs, a stark contrast to the weeks of pain and exhaustion that had kept her bedridden. And for that, she was grateful.
Her eyes lingered on a scene in the courtyard. The strange green being, Thor's Midgardian companion whom the others called Hulk, was playfully wrestling with Brunhilde, the Valkyrie. The woman was laughing loudly, dodging with surprising agility the awkward yet devastating moves of the mountain of muscle. The sight made her smile. As a child, Sif would have given anything to be one of them, a Valkyrie, a respected and feared warrior woman, a living legend. But life, with its battles and losses, had taught her that even the strongest could be broken. Brunhilde was living proof of that: fresh scars on her heart and soul, a tortured spirit, yet able to find a spark of joy in the chaos.
Perhaps Thor wasn’t as crazy as he seemed. His idea of an Asgardian colony on Midgard—a second home, a place where they could all rebuild—might actually have a chance. The hope, once dormant, was beginning to stir within her, like a small fire kindling against the cold. Things could turn out well, after all. Maybe not perfect, but... livable. And for now, that was enough.
Her gaze drifted once more, until it froze.
In the opposite corner of the courtyard, another broken soul, lost long ago, was staring at her.
Loki.
He was leaning against a stone wall, arms crossed, with that expression somewhere between indifference and enigma that seemed tailor-made for him. His eyes, however, were unusually intense, fixed on her as if trying to peer into her soul. He didn’t move, nor did he make any gesture. He simply stood there, watching her with that unsettling calm that always seemed to signal something was coming.
His nonchalance contrasted with the intensity of his unwavering gaze. He had been standing there for a while, staring at her. When their eyes met, it felt as though the world stopped for a moment. Loki distinctly felt a jolt run through his body, a shiver that almost made him lose control of the calm mask he wore.
At first, Sif didn’t look away. For a few seconds, their eyes remained locked, communicating more than either of them would ever admit in words. Then, as if something had struck too close to her, Sif broke the moment and turned away.
Loki lingered for a few more seconds before heading toward the small house he was sharing with his brother for the time being. Once inside, he closed the door behind him with a gesture more forceful than necessary, exhaling sharply as though he had been holding his breath too long.
He slumped into a chair, massaging his eyes with his fingers, trying to push away the turmoil of emotions that overwhelmed him.
What was wrong with Sif?
That thought haunted him, obsessed him, so much that it kept him awake at night. It wasn’t just about her health—even though the idea that she was in danger drove him mad—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t define. There was something eluding him.
His mother, Frigga, had taught him many healing spells, especially those useful in battle. He wasn’t on the level of Eir, the legendary healer of the Æsir, but he was skilled enough to detect problems that others might miss. Yet with Sif, he couldn’t understand. Every time he tried to probe her energy, he felt the magical shield of the protective spell he had cast on her years ago, an echo of the magic he had used to protect her without her knowing. It was as if that shield now recognized him as a threat. It pushed him away, preventing him from delving deeper and discovering what was wrong. The realization struck him like a blade: did Sif hate him so much that she considered him a threat, even unconsciously?
A lump formed in his throat, but he stifled it with what he did best: anger and hate.
After all, it had been her who had left him. It had been her who told him, with that harsh yet incredibly fragile voice, that he deserved better. And then… it had been her who chose Thor. Thor. The perfect brother, the favorite of everyone, the warrior who had never known rejection. Despite everything, Loki couldn’t help but ask himself: why did he still care about her?
No, “care about her” wasn’t the right phrase. It had never been enough. He still loved her. He loved her with a ferocity and intensity that made him feel vulnerable and exposed, he who had always used deception and masks as his armor. He had loved her back then, as teenagers and later as young adults, and he had loved the warrior who laughed at banquets and wielded a sword with the same grace that others would hold a flower. He loved her now, fragile, tested, yet still so extraordinary.
He had cast the protective spell years ago, in secret, just to know she was safe. He had continued to protect her in the shadows, silently, finding countless ways to praise her deeds, so that her courage would be recognized. It had become as natural as breathing, a part of him that he couldn’t uproot. And now? Now, he would give anything to understand, to know if there was still a chance, a shred of hope that could lead him to reclaim her heart.
Frigga would have known what to do. His mother, with her infinite wisdom, would have given him advice, a path to follow. But Frigga was no longer there, and Loki felt lost, like a navigator without stars. Thor had told him that Sif still cared about him, but how could he believe him? Thor, with his naive optimism, couldn’t understand the depth of the distance that had grown between them.
And yet… even "caring" would have been enough. He would have settled for a small part of her, for those fragments of attention she might have given him. He would have made that little bit enough, if that was all he could have.
Or at least, he desperately wanted to believe that lie.
In the end, Sif had looked away, throwing herself onto the bed with her heart pounding faster.
Loki was... complicated. Always one step ahead of everyone, yet capable of disappearing into thin air when things got difficult. He had lived through things that had broken and torn him apart, in ways that no one could truly understand. And now he was there, like a persistent shadow in her life.
She couldn’t decide whether his presence comforted or disturbed her. But one thing was certain: she had no intention of being the next pawn in his games. Not this time. Not with another life at stake. Yet she couldn’t shake the awareness that their fates were, in some way, more intertwined than she was willing to admit. Now more than ever.
Sif slipped a heavy sweater over her woolen tunic, regretting her chainmail. It had been days since she last wore her armor, which now mocked her from the corner of the room. She still thought about that moment, when Loki hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He hadn’t seemed angry or annoyed, but there had been something probing in his gaze, as if he were studying her. She knew him too well to think it was mere curiosity. Loki never watched by chance; he analyzed, weighed, and often calculated precisely which strings to pull to get what he wanted. Had he discovered her secret?
He had been surprisingly kind lately. Kinder than usual, at least. His healing spell had lifted her from weeks of exhaustion and nausea that seemed endless. But with him, you never knew what the real price was for an apparently selfless act. And now here he was, the lord of chaos, looking at her as if he were trying to see beyond the window, beyond the skin, beyond the calm facade she was trying to maintain.
Sif glanced out the window again, denying to herself that she might be searching for him. She saw a group of children running between the crates, laughing and hiding as if it were all one big game. She couldn’t help but wonder if her son or daughter would ever be free to play like that, without the weight of war, duty, or the name they would carry. That thought made her slip a hand over her abdomen. It was still too early to feel any movement, but the simple gesture gave her comfort.
It was then that she heard a knock at the door. A light, unmistakable tap. She didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway. Of course.
“Well, you’re alive, Lady Sif. We haven’t seen you in a while, so I came to check if you happened to be dead,” Loki said, entering the room uninvited. “You know, it would have been a real shame after all the effort we’ve put in.” He wore his usual ironic smile, but his tone was strangely soft.
“Why am I not surprised to see you barging into my room without asking for permission?”
“You know I don’t care about permission. Besides, someone has to make sure you stick to the schedule for tonight. You know how it is—without you and your brilliant drunken conversation, the party might become a deadly bore after five minutes.”
“Oh, of course. Because everyone knows the sole purpose of my life is to make your parties interesting. And you know what, I... aahh!”
She had become so clumsy that, in trying to turn, she hit her leg against the bed’s headboard. She cursed under her breath, gritting her teeth.
Loki immediately stopped. “Are you okay?”
“Worried? Sure, Loki, because nothing makes you more anxious than thinking about my well-being.”
Loki spoke more softly, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “You might be surprised.”
She stared at him, a bit uncertain, but he immediately shifted his attitude, shaking off any trace of seriousness.
“You were staring out the window. Were you looking for me?”
“Absolutely. I was watching how the loading is going,” she replied, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“Are you okay, Sif?” This time, the question was almost tender.
She sighed, almost irritated. “Now I am. Thanks to you.”
Loki raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, my Lady. You know I have a passion for helping damsels in distress... especially those who prefer bumping into furniture rather than lying down in bed.”
“I’m resting,” she answered curtly, “As you yourself recommended.”
He laughed softly, a low, sly sound that made her shiver. "It would be the first time in centuries that you followed one of my suggestions. You must be in really bad shape."
Sif forced herself to ignore the provocation, but he didn’t stop.
"Ah, but I didn’t mean to impose complete solitude on you. You could, for example, greet the people who’ve been watching you through that window."
Sif clenched her fists, her patience wearing thin.
"No one forced you to be my nurse, Loki, and I didn’t ask you to be," she said, finally turning toward him. "So if you have something important to say, say it. Then you can leave."
He stood still for a few seconds, staring at her without blinking. Then he moved, slowly approaching her until he was close.
"Rest," he finally said, in that sharp tone she knew so well, but without malice. "Tonight is the last night on this planet, there will be a feast in our honor. And your dear Thor will need your precious company."
When the door closed behind him, Sif realized she had been holding her breath. She turned back to the window, but this time, she saw nothing. Only her reflection. And, for the first time, she allowed herself to truly look at it.
That evening, the gnomes had decided that a feast in honor of their guests would lift everyone's spirits. The clearing in the center of the village was lit by large bonfires, around which huge wild boars were being roasted on long spits. The air was thick with the scent of meat and the cheerful music filling the air, accompanied by the continuous clinking of beer mugs. Sif sat in a secluded corner, away from the chaos, enjoying the warmth of the fire nearby.
Her eyes were fixed on the flames, but in her mind, other images played. Volstagg stuffing himself without restraint, Fandral flirting with the young gnomes, and Hogun, who would probably have been next to her, grumbling silently about how ridiculous the other two were. A wistful smile touched her face. How she missed them. She imagined them where they were now, in Valhalla, alongside the bravest warriors of Asgard, next to Odin and Frigga. She closed her eyes for a moment, offering a brief mental prayer.
Thank you for this second chance, she thought. Thank you for allowing me to be here, to help rebuild our home.
She realized a moment too late that a shadow had approached from behind her.
"Lady Sif… Good evening." The warm, velvet-soft voice made her stiffen.
Her heart leapt in her throat, and she hated with all her being that he still had that power over her. Slowly, she turned around.
"Good evening, Loki," she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral.
He elegantly gestured to the space beside her. "May I?"
"Of course."
Sif made a conscious effort not to meet his gaze, because she knew that if she did, she would see all her secrets reflected in his green eyes. One in particular, the one that weighed like a boulder under her tunic. Loki sat beside her with the grace that seemed to come naturally to him.
With a simple wave of his hand, he conjured two plates of meat and two mugs of beer, which appeared before them.
"I couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t touched the food. I took the liberty of bringing you something," he said, with an enigmatic smile.
Sif tightened her hands on her knees, torn. The rational part of her tried to reassure her: Loki wouldn’t harm her. Not here, not now, not with Thor and the others present. Thor had told her he had changed, that he had put his schemes aside. He had even told her that… that he still loved her.
Her tongue, however, was quicker than her mind. Too much anger had been building up over the years, and it made her snap. "Did you put some spell on the food again, or can I eat peacefully? I have no intention of falling into your clutches again tonight. Ending up in bed with you under false pretenses was already hard enough to endure once. I wonder how you boasted about it. After all, it’s not every day that a fake Jotun king gets that opportunity."
The words came out sharper than she intended, and she regretted saying them the moment they left her lips. A flash of pain crossed Loki's face, quickly masked by a self-satisfied smile.
"Ah, so this is the reason for your bitterness," he said, his usual irony in his voice. "You think I forced you to sleep with me using a spell. Interesting, truly interesting."
Sif opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he continued, his tone sweet but cutting. "For your information, I didn’t use any magic on you. Not that night, nor now. If something happened, I suppose it was of your own free will. Of course, we could blame it on the fact that you were slightly drunk, but... I can't say I minded. If you have regrets, my dear, I fear they fall only on you. It seemed to me that you rather enjoyed having this Jotun between your legs. The fake king, as you call him, was the rightful heir to the throne while Odin was in his slumber, and his prince was out in the universe helping others."
Loki gave her a smug smile, the same smile she had once found alluring, but now it made her blood boil.
"You are the God of Mischief," Sif retorted, her voice heavy with emotion. "How can I know you're not lying even now, as you’ve always done? You’ve deceived us all, time and again, faked your own death, hurt all the people who loved you... even your mother..." Her voice faltered.
For a moment, Loki’s face changed. There was no trace of irony or smugness. Only pain.
"You’re right," he said, his voice quieter. "My word means nothing, and no matter what I say, you would never believe it. I am the monster, the Ice Giant, the bastard son of Odin. I don’t matter, not to you or anyone else."
Sif felt a knot tighten in her throat, but he continued, with a bitter smile.
"But you can always ask Thor, can’t you? The God of Thunder. Your perfect, glorious Thor. He will tell you if what I said is a lie, if I’m still the monster you’ve always believed me to be. And now excuse me, my lady, if I have bothered you with my unworthy presence. As I remember, you said you deserve better."
He stood, giving a small bow, and walked away, leaving her alone.
Sif remained still, staring into the void. A wave of shame washed over her. It wasn’t true what she had said, she knew that. Loki wasn’t a monster. She had never truly believed that. It was only her defense mechanism speaking, the fear of being hurt again.
She wished so much she could trust him. But she was afraid. Afraid to put her heart in his hands again. Afraid to have her soul torn apart as it had been the last time. Afraid to love him again. And yet, as she watched him walk away, a part of her wondered how much of that fear was directed at him… and how much was aimed at herself.
Thor, standing near the edge of the clearing, had been watching the entire scene closely. He had stayed there, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for something to happen between his brother and Sif. He had always believed that, despite the hardships, love was enough to overcome any obstacle. But when he saw Loki’s expression suddenly change and walk away, his brow furrowed.
He wasn’t an expert on matters of the heart—certainly not the type for long romantic speeches—but he did know one thing: if two people loved each other, they should be together. And in Loki and Sif’s case, love was evident even to someone like him. Sif loved Loki. Loki loved Sif. What was so complicated about that?
With determined steps, Thor approached a dejected Sif, who was still sitting by the fire, absentmindedly nibbling from the plate Loki had brought her.
"Everything okay?" he asked, sitting next to her, in the exact spot where his brother had been moments before.
Sif lifted her gaze to him. Thor immediately noticed the glistening in her eyes, filled with tears barely held back. His heart tightened.
"Hey, Sif," he said, placing a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don’t cry. It’s a celebration, remember?"
Sif quickly wiped away a tear that slipped down her cheek, trying to regain some control. "Yeah, you’re right... Sorry. It must be my condition, you know. They say it makes you cry," she said, forcing a weak smile.
Thor furrowed his brow, tilting his head slightly. "Did something happen with Loki? Did he say something that upset you?"
"No, no," Sif quickly replied, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand. "Actually... I was the one who was cruel. He didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to be kind, but I..." She stopped, her gaze falling on the now cold plate. "It’s stronger than me. Fear is an emotion I don’t know. I’ve never known it... and I can’t handle it."
Thor stayed silent for a moment, reflecting on her words. Then he smiled gently, a smile unlike his usual brash grin.
"Sif," he began, in the firm yet kind tone he used in delicate situations, "you’re the bravest woman I know. You’ve faced wars, giants, even death. And now you’re facing a different challenge... but no less important. If you truly love Loki—and I know you do—why not try to start over with him?"
Sif looked at him, surprised by the disarmingly simple nature of the question.
"We’re about to start a new life, all of us," Thor continued. "We’ve lost everything, but we’ve been given a chance to rebuild. This could be a new beginning for you two as well." He paused and pointed to her belly, just slightly noticeable under her tunic. "And especially, Sif... you should try it for him. Or for her. You can’t deprive a child of its father. That wouldn’t be right."
Sif lowered her gaze, biting her lip. Every word Thor said hit her like a hammer.
"And it wouldn’t be right for Loki either," Thor added, his voice quieter. "He’s lost so much, like all of us. He’s been lied to his entire life, had the truth hidden from him. We wouldn’t be any better if we hid everything from him again. You two have been given something no one else has: a second chance, a gift to protect. Do you really want to waste it?"
Sif let go, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as sobs shook her. Thor tightened his grip on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. Fortunately, the music drowned out the sound of her cries.
"I wish..." she stammered between sobs. "I really wish I could."
Thor smiled at her, tilting his head slightly. "Then do it."
Sif lifted her face to him, her eyes still glistening but now filled with a new resolve. Her hazel irises seemed almost green in the firelight.
"I want to start over, I’ll at least try," she said, her throat tight. "From the beginning. All over again. A new beginning." She placed a trembling hand on her stomach. "For him... or for her."
Thor’s smile widened into a sincere, bright laugh, and with an instinctive gesture, he wrapped her in his strong arms. He held her tightly, almost engulfing her in his embrace, and she returned the hug with equal intensity.
However, they didn’t notice that, from afar, hidden in the shadows, a pair of eyes as cold as ice were watching them. Loki had stayed there, invisible to all, and his heart twisted with jealousy. But it wasn’t just that that burned him. His mind was in turmoil, overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn’t define—a mix of anger, pain. Sif’s words had hurt him more than he wanted to admit.
I wish I were in his place, Loki thought, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.
I wish I were the one making her laugh, the one comforting her. But I simply... will never be enough.