1964-01-08 - Bad Bedside Manners
Summary: Loki visits Sif in her little cozy dungeon.
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sif louis 

When consciousness returns to Sif she'll at first be aware of the dim glow of light above her, not enough to glare, but enough for her to perceive it from behind closed eyelids. She had been brought into the same deep hallway far below the palace, the same cell that had held Loki less than a year ago when he first returned to Asgard and was imprisoned for being entirely too rude to the all father. It was the place he spent several weeks, merely a blink of time to an immortal, but it was also the same place she had visited him in to gloat and smile, in a not entirely cruel way.

Of course the room's furnishings haven't been changed. It would pass for a decent hotel room in an upper class lodging, save for the large transparent walls that allow any travelers down the hallway to view in. No privacy really, but then again there is no one to witness her incarceration.

Or at the least she might think that at first, until the first dulcet and soft words are heard from the man who had trapped her here.

"It was a mistake, did you know?"

The words hang there in the quiet for a moment, but then he goes on, a quiet monologue as there in the shadows Loki of Asgard sits upon a small makeshift stool, an old flat-top Asgardian helm converted to a seat for him as he leans to the side and holds Gungnir in both hands, clasped against the side of his chest as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat in tumultuous waters.

"My reputation, the trick and joke of taking your hair, turning it from its golden sheen." In the shadows his eyes can't be seen, barely just his silhouette and the toes of his boots that are barely illuminated by the sliver of light from above.

"You had made such a noise about Helgi and her curls, after that feast we had all attended together. How she was so beautiful."

He turns his head to the side, just a shift in the darkness, but a smile can be heard in his words. "I thought I could make them a gift to you of a sort. What harm could it be? A few whispered words, a focus of power. It would be a present. Could Thor do this for you?"

He shakes his head and chuckles softly, "But I was young. And stupid. And not so well on the way to grasping such spells as I had thought. You were asleep and I reached out after murmuring the spell, I touched your hair and then imagine my surprise, and then my terror. It all fell and faded and there I was, wide-eyed, and the first thing I thought to do… was to tell Thor since the hiding he'd give me would have been less painful than if you had done it."

Another small chuckle and the toe of his boot lightly worries at the gap between two of the stones lain in the hallway floor, as if finding the craftsmanship compelling. "But father… ah father. He had told one of his warriors the day before in the war room that when facing an opponent it is better to draw rage and ire… than to be thought a fool, an incompetent."

The haft of Gungnir lightly digs at the small gap between those stones now as he ponders the smallest bit of dust and debris that works its way to the surface. "And so I set foot on my path. No it was not a mistake. Twas a trick."

He offers another small chuckle to himself and then adds, "Take that."


The dreams come as they always have in such a slumber; whether the slumber comes from the shock of Gungnir or to lay a weary head to rest. The encumbered armor, dented and pitted was removed during her transport, leaving her in nothing but something not too remarkable and befitting of a prisoner of 'King' Loki. But those dreams. A silent spot that was filled with much laughter. The hot and sweltering sun that only Asgard could bring, the feel of dried dirt beneath the fingers with a touch of grass, the flat footed pound of that dirt beneath the feet as muscles burn and ache due to a powerful run.

The laughter of children, a once blonde girl who twirls within that dirt and leaps onto another boy, how fist flies and shrills and shrieks are heard. Odd that, that the dream would come upon her then, for the group of them stop in that moment to look to the sky as a bird flies over head and someone points.

To the light, to the light.. the orangish hue beneath closed lids, the died mouth as the jaw works to feel if there were pain there.. the soft words that float through the air to her ears which rouse her from such a happy state..

An inhale of breath that hurts.. 'take that'.. to where her hand lifts, shaky, pressing upon her middle where the previous injury due to battles upon Midgard were irritated once more. Now bandaged and slightly wet with healing herbs or.. could it be blood?

The smell. It was plain. Not like the smell that were usually within the halls of the grand castle, food.. mead.. incense, jasmine.. but air. Air that was breathable yet clean.

Her arm hangs from the bed as eyes fully open to the light that hangs over head, that same arm lifting again to touch along her face as she slowly uses the brace of her elbow against the bed, oddly comfortable, to slowly sit upright with a pained groan. She was no fool. She knew where she was. T'was not the infirmary, no. But in confinement. Perhaps it was the foreboding feeling that told her of this terrible thing, or perhaps because she herself was cunning enough to know that this is what she would do if the tables were turned.

"A moment of reflection.." She says, her voice harsh. "..is this what you reduce me to, for you to have?" It was not mocking in her tone, but a plain blandness, not acceptance neither.

"To speak upon my fallen form in words that you think that I shant hear before I awake.."


"Nay, no moments introspection, assuredly but a tool with which to manipulate the fallen warrior goddess." Loki's smile remains there much as it tends to as always, though barely perceptible in that small drape of shadow. Though the gold of Odin's spear seems to catch the gleam of that single glowing globe in the ceiling above and draw the illumination to itself.

"Did you ever set forth on your quest, Sif? I never asked you of it. To seek your parents, to find you and your brother's lineage?" His tone is curious, but with what has passed how can one be sure he is truly so. Sincerity is an ephemeral thing to him, summoned as easily as a manservant and proud to do its duty before him. Yet he presses on, "Matters seemed to spin out of hand soon after that."


"Hah." Sif mutters out, one foot curling from the bed as the other follows, both placed upon the floor as her fists soon dig into the surface of the bed to provide some form of support. There was a breath, an inhale and exhale as she slowly pushes herself to her feet. She was a warrior. She must keep moving even though the pain made her knees feel week. There was a grunt of a stand as she slowly twists her hips, her arms hung limply as she wills her legs to move. One step. Two. Like a newborn babe figuring out the mechanics of their legs, the brain working at connecting the dots so that muscles and tendons could work themselves out due to this alone.

"Part of me fears that this is true. Tis your trick, Loki. To speak the truth plain as day as if it were lies in the same breath."

With that said, the askance of her parents give her pause, her hand drawn to her wound again, pressed down over the flimsy shirt that she bore. Her eyes examine the room, it had a lovely touch no doubt, but yet, she was still confined. "Nay." She says quietly. Truthfully. "For my eyes were only for your brother and you. Matters of thine own heart meant naught." Could she even draw her eyes in his direction? Even as she spoke? "Though now my own reflection on what I have asked you, I am glad that I have not. Who knows what I would have to do to see my new and personal oath to you fulfilled. To strut in stirrups like a mare? To strike down my own love? To burn out my own brothers eyes? What would it have been?"


"Sif," Loki draws one hand from the shaft of Gungnir and then pushes himself slowly to his feet. The old helmet, dwarven made and perhaps a remnant of a guest held long ago, is pushed to the side with the toe of his boot. "Be aware of where you are, and what has passed. Be afraid of questions that will lead you down a path that is unkind to travelers."

He steps forth from the shadows and there he is, Loki of Asgard, King Loki, All-Father? Never. He looks as he did only weeks ago, centuries, millenia. The black and green courtly armor the same as he's worn in the past, only augmented with that single iron ring upon his brow. "There are words you or I could utter which could be so full of truth entirely that they would insure you would never be outside of this cell lest you or I be dead."

A leatherclad fingertip scritches at the bridge of his nose thoughtfully as he looks to her, Gungnir still humming faintly at his side as if it could barely contain the energy within. "But know this for true, whatever you may think of me. Your brother was blinded by Laufey's hand. And I have taken Laufey's life with mine."


The calling of her name finally has her turning towards him, her posture slightly hunched, slowly but surely straightening as her jaw clenches to prevent ire. And she listens, her brows lowering faintly as she takes the slow steps to the surface of where she would not find release. She can see him now, clear. The battle armor is something of a fond memory, now soured by current conditions. But to say it does not make her want to fight would be a lie.

"Isn't that the point of all of this?" Her arms lift, "You keep me here. To what end? To be a prisoner forever under your new found ruling and to die here under my refusal to bow." Her hands drop then, another step closer, close enough to reach out a hand to lightly flick. "I ask. I ask with purpose of knowing. I ask with purpose of knowing that yes. I may never leave and that I may die here, or that Thor shall return and usurp your ruling. I. Ask."

She shakes her head faintly. "If that is the truth then I owe you my gratitude for avenging my brother. But it still stands. He is wounded. He shattered the Bifrost to see him here. And he is not. Where is he?"


"I keep you here to keep you clear of what must pass." He looks down the hallway, perhaps to the other cells. There are no other prisoners, at least not in this one wing of the ancient dungeon. But still his thoughts drift for a moment. He looks back, "I could lie and pretend some altruistic mysterious motive, to preserve you in some testament to the times we have passed together. But it is in some ways as much for my protection as yours."

"When the Bifrost fell, Thor appeared before me. Oh I had wanted to destroy the Bifrost, I needed time. Heimdall has given it to me, though perhaps too much of it." He pauses again to look thoughtfully down the hall, as if something begged his thoughts before he's able to return them to her. "But my dear brother found me quarreling with one of the Jotun. They wanted to assault the vault chambers and I was dissuading them, weaving a tale of the woes that would befall them should they set foot there."

He looks back to Sif and tells her levelly, sternly. "Thor demanded an explanation of me. I gave it to him, told him all. Told him everything. Yet he still would not hear. The Jotun attacked him and I let it attack him. They fought, and he tumbled over the edge of what remained of the rainbow bridge." His eyes sharpen and he speaks in a controlled steady manner, making each word pronounced precisely.

"He held out his hand for me to save him. Begged for my help. And I stabbed him in the arm. He plummeted into the abyss… and then I saw him no more."


It almost looks as if Sif would accept his words. His reasonings to keep her hear, but her hand is thrown up into the air as if she were swatting a fly. "Bullshit." Her time upon Midgard proved well, she's adapted to their language very well. "As it stands, Loki Odinson, you have been lying to us your entire life. What is the truth?"

She shakes her head, her arms folded about her chest as she begins to walk the walls of her cell, her gaze pressed to the walls as if the scene was there, played out before her very eyes. That she was helpless to react. Helpless to interveine and assist Thor in his battle with the Jotun. That she could have stopped Heimdall from being harmed and struck down Laufey with her own bare hands.. but such was not the case.

And yet to hear that he drew blade against his own brother, who did not take his hand, to watch him fall into the abyss, her heart crumbled. It broke. Those scenes upon the wall now were of their childhood, more recent times. How she threw her arms around Loki in the form of worry. Held him tight. Laughed with him and shared bread. Listened to his words which seemed wise at the same time.

She crumbled. In a literal sense, one that saw her knees buckling as she strikes them upon the ground below, her hand touching upon the same surface, her back shown to him as her dark locks shrouded her features. The shadow was cast, though a small glimmer of light from a fallen tear was shed. Was Thor dead? The Undying felled by his brother? Was it a lie? Was it sorcery?

"You… you lie.." She stammers out through heaved breaths. "..you stand there, in all of your glory, only to resort to the same truths, the same tactics.. to prove what?! That.. that you can win. That you can break the hearts of those who loved you even through all your faults? That you can prove us wrong even though we knew deep down that you were greater than the sum of all your parts that make you.. you?!" She near crawls to the bed, one hand reaching out to steady herself, quiet little whimpers of her attempting to not cry out, to not give in to the need to bawl and scream to the heavens, to exert more power that did not lie within her bones. She tries. And she resists.. "Why."


"You know nothing of what makes me!" Loki's expression suddenly contorts into this wild-eyed venomous thing as he snarls at her. "You only saw what I chose to show you." His voice calms down a touch, relegates itself to the steady tone that he holds himself to now as he speaks to her. "You think I was ignorant of all the whispers behind my back? Of all the ways those around us and even yourselves, you and Thor spoke ill of me."

"Your brother ever called me pretender, lie smith, trickster. Even the times I would return triumphant, even the times where my wits and plans had saved us. Had saved Asgard. Yet perhaps he saw something, perhaps he spoke true."

Loki slams Gungnir down into the floor where it remains standing upright, quivering with the force of the impact. "For I would even lie to myself. Tell myself that if I just served. If I just did my duty for my father, my king, perhaps he would see me as worthy. For Thor…" A shake of his head is given, "Even you must admit he was never going to be ready to be King. Would not make a strong one. I felt assured 'father' would see this. For was I not of the blood as well?"

"But no, never to be. Always outshone by this… fool."


His snapped words actually causes a sorrowful laugh as she nearly rolls upon her knees, both hands pressed to the bed now to hoist herself up to sit. He could see in full view that there were tears, even she was made aware of that fact, for by wiping them away and sniffling quickly, her arms soon curl around her stomach like a defiant child, yet she rocks like an old woman telling a tale. "You think yourself so clever.." She states quietly. "..you twist us in your memory." She leans in his direction, fingers tapping against her temple now.

"He spoke true yes, but we have naught heard it from his lips! And if he had spoken it where our ears were apprised, we did -NOT- listen!" Her teeth grit, her head shaking. "You were so, so blind to see that your brother had an untapped love for you. That even.. even if the story that you told were true, that he had hope. He had hope that his love for you would have stopped this from coming into fruition.."

She inhales. "But nay.. nay to all .." Her words were cut with the slamming of Gungnir, her body jerking in a phantom form of PTSD, a quick trembling of her bones as her eyes lift to narrow at him, saving anger for true fear. But for quiet, she says nothing. Even once Thor was called a fool, she said nothing. Her eyes turned to the ground, a little smile curling her lips as she offers quietly. "Only a fool would wish for the throne.."

"On Midgard.. where your brother and I prepared for our return to Asgard, where he spoke of speaking with Odin about his change of court.. he said to me that the threat of the throne is a real thing.." She lifts her eyes towards Loki. "Do you think most wish to be encumbered by such? Do you think that the All-Father would wish that of you? His younger son? Who had life, more life within his fingers than we all ever had? To tie him down with a golden crown. To -TETHER- him here?"

She sought to rise, but she was tired. "Do you think your worth is that of a king, a conquerer, or something more?" She shakes her head. "Even I know that it is a chain. Even I know that to court and marry into the fold, there would be no more riding to battle. There would be no privacy. No freedom. No more clashing of the swords. No longer seeing the bodies of our enemies lay waste across the deserted fields which would be renewed with vigor from their blood."

Her lips tighten. Stretched thin. Eyes lowering as her hand lifts to wipe and bat at them, her voice near crumbling. "Have.. have you ever thought that he wanted more for you than this prison?" Her face crumbles. "But.. but we are all fools for loving you so.."


For a time his eyes remain on hers, his brow furrowed as he watches, then quietly he tells her. "Do you think… that my ambition ends here?" The volume rises gently at first, just a slow building that can barely be perceived from word to word. "That I am satisfied with my brother slain, Odin and Frigga imprisoned forever…"

His head lowers slightly as he steps towards the transparent wall, watching her as she seems to wilt within the confines of her prison. "That I am satisfied with but one kingdom?" His voice returns to the steady tone, like the marching boots of a military review, marking each word. "I told you true that I meant to conquer Jotunheim, and then Midgard. It is with an army of those gifted mortals, their mutants, that I will see the 9 realms burn."

He looks down at her and smiles faintly, "And then, only then when all is naught but ashes, will I bring Odin back. Awaken him long enough for his injuries to take hold. For his breath to become ragged and his strength to ebb from his many wounds… and in that instant as he hovers on the edge of death, that is when I will tell him what has passed. I will see the realization in his eyes before the life fades."

For a time there is nothing more save silence. A silence that rules with a heavy hand upon the minds of those two beings there in the depths of Asgard. And then it's broken as he says quietly, "But you will have been long since dead by then, Sif."


Sif shakes her head wholeheartedly. "No.. I am sure you have more tricks up your sleeve.." Her words were bitter, filled with venom. But she does not interrupt. She does not speak a word. For even as he tells the tale of his future and things to come, her lips curl into a slight smile. The wild look within her eyes. She was right. She would be no more of this world, she would fall into the hands of the Deathbringers to take her to the halls of Valhalla. Maybe then, she could be reunited with Thor.. if he even is dead to begin with.

There was hope for her after all.

She rises again, her body full hunched, feet stumbling and staggering until she reaches the veil of where the two separate. The silence was palapable, even as he speaks his final words, the tired smile lays upon her lips as her chin lifts towards the ceiling and down.

"Then be done with me, curr. I tire of your drivel. Your delusions of granduer. I like it not." Her fingers curl into a fist, slamming against the surface as she begins to laugh, near mad. "Know what I meant when I said these walls will not hold me! For when my strength returns, dear brother of my betrothed, I will see you dead by my own bare hands! Odin renewed! Thor vindicated!" She sucks in a hiss of a breath, leaning back, slumping into her spot. "Leave me here to regain my strength. Or kill me in my weakened state, coward. You seek my safety and wish death. PICK ONE."

She slowly rolls then, crawling upon all fours, something unbefitting of her current standing. "I need my thoughts. For that is all I have.. begone pretender. Begone."


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