Fic: Sif's Heart (Rated M, MCU) Loki/Sif 3/8

[bookishwench]

Back to Chapter 2

The healing room’s doors had been closed for what felt like weeks. Loki waited outside, leaning against the wall, still occasionally shuddering from the after-effects of all the magic he had used in the preceding hours. He was tired beyond anything he had ever felt, but the idea of sleep was ridiculous. His eyes remained fixed on the shut doors behind which Sif lay, unconscious, while the healers worked.

“Brother?” Thor said quietly.

It showed just how exhausted he was that Loki hadn’t even heard him approach.

“What?” he asked, no real vitriol in the word, just a sense of weariness.

“There has been no word?”

“No.”

“Do you know where her parents are?”

“Visiting her father’s sister. I don’t know the town. They won’t be home until the day after tomorrow—no, it’s tomorrow now, isn’t it? Sometime. I don’t know. I don’t recall.”

Thor’s blue eyes were filled with pity, something Loki normally would have loathed, but as some of it was for Sif, he couldn’t let the anger kindle to fire in his belly. Not this soon. He had no fuel left for it.

“Sif is strong. I believe she will be well soon,” Thor said in the same gentle tone that felt so out of place.

“They’re dead,” Loki said.

Thor nodded, understanding at once whom he meant. He didn’t look surprised.

“She killed Dag herself,” Loki said. “Self-defense, obviously, and a damn good bit of sword work considering what they’d done to her. I did the rest.”

“Why would they do this?” Thor asked.

“Oh, don’t be a doddering idiot! They hated her because no matter how many challenges they threw at her, no matter how unfair or seemingly impossible, she surpassed them! Every one of them! For a maiden to triumph over the men was too much for them,” Loki said, anger crackling through him in spite of his exhaustion, but it was only for a moment. His shoulders sagged again almost at once, weariness seeping into his bones, and he looked at the doors. “They had to knock her unconscious from behind, tie her down, and gag her to best her. They must have thought themselves truly great warriors.”

Thor, for once, said nothing. He simply stood beside his brother and waited.

After an interminable time, the doors opened, and one of the healers came out.

“Are you the young woman’s family?” she asked.

“No, but they are not here, and we are her friends,” Thor said, using the most commanding tone he could muster, which even Loki had to admit was highly impressive. “As princes of Asgard, we crave news of her health.”

The healer hesitated, but Loki sought out her gaze, and whatever she saw there convinced her.

“She was concussed badly from a blow to the head, but that will heal in time. Her wrists and ankles sustained damage from the ropes. We were able to heal those, but there could be some lingering discomfort and scarring,” she said.

Loki silently thought that “discomfort” was usually code for mind-numbing pain.

“Were there any other problems?” Thor asked.

“In addition to a variety of bruises, cuts, and scrapes, she had three cracked ribs, a stab wound to her upper arm, and one of her teeth was knocked out. Again, we were able to treat those successfully,” she said, but it seemed like the healer was holding something back.

“Anything else?” Loki prompted.

“Extensive injuries on her chest,” the healer admitted delicately. “Whoever did this to her treated her abominably.”

“But she will recover?” Thor urged her as Loki felt rage sizzling through him again.

“She will, but she will need to remain here a few days,” the healer said, then paused. “This was also an emotional trauma. She will need support.”

“She’ll have it,” Thor assured her.

“May I see her?” Loki asked.

“To make her as comfortable as possible, we’ve sedated her. She’s not conscious.”

“But may I see her?” Loki asked again. “Please?”

The healer’s face softened.

“Only briefly.”

Loki entered the room and looked at Sif. Her visible wounds had been cleaned and healed, leaving only pale pink marks where they had been, and in sleep her face seemed untroubled, but she was paler than he had ever seen her.

“I’m here, Sif,” he whispered, putting a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You’re safe, and all will be well now.”

She didn’t move, which was to be expected. Loki’s mind whirled with feelings of regret and self-blame: if he had just turned down Thor’s offer of going to the tavern, if he had insisted on accompanying her to get her bag, if he had realized more quickly she had been gone too long, if he had been able to use his magic faster to amplify his hearing, if he had figured out earlier that the others were intent on her humiliation and destruction, if he had run faster, if he had offered to carry her bag for her in the market, if they had left before Thor had even arrived, if, if, if. The list was too long, and he gritted his teeth in pain, his eyes watering.

“I’m going to stay close. If you need anything at all, I’ll be here.”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her.

“I love you.”

He had never said it before, but he was more certain of it now than he had ever been.

Thor moved to stand beside him, laying a gigantic paw of a hand on his shoulder.

“The healers are very good at what they do. I have no doubt she will be cared for well,” he said. “However, would you like me to bring you anything from your apartments? Food or drink? Perhaps a pillow?”

“You already know I’m staying here until she wakes up,” Loki realized, surprised.

“I thought at much,” Thor said. “Do you want company?”

Loki considered for a moment before realizing the surprising answer was yes.

“Fine,” Thor said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The brothers convinced the healers to allow them to stay in the corridor outside of Sif’s room, wrapped in blankets. For a full eight hours, Loki had not a single unpleasant thought about Thor. It had to be a record. Thor eventually drifted off, and Loki was left to watch silently, standing guard over the comings and goings from the healing room, his eyes barely blinking.

Light slowly began to creep across the floor from the east-facing window, and morning came. The door remained closed. Thor stirred in his sleep—Loki noted that his roof-shaking snoring had not improved—but he didn’t wake yet. Loki carefully refolded the blanket Thor had brought for him and sat, waiting, hoping to look alert and like someone who should be given an update on the patient’s condition, but the sun became higher in the sky and no one came. At length, he stopped someone passing.

“Pardon me, but could someone please tell me about the Lady Sif’s condition? Is she well?” he said, trying not to sound desperate.

“She will be fine,” the healer said, “but she has requested not to have visitors at the moment.”

His heart soared and then fell at the words. She blamed him. That must be it.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Would you please let her know that I was here?”

“And I!” Thor added, having apparently awakened at some point in the conversation and almost scaring the healer to death.

“I will let her know you were here,” the healer promised, giving them a sympathetic smile and then going down another corridor.

“She is going to be fine,” Thor said, smiling at his brother. “All will be well!”

“She won’t see anyone,” Loki said, half to himself and half to Thor.

“Yet,” Thor stressed. “This ordeal has been horrible, I have no doubt.”

Loki considered. It might simply be that. She must be exhausted, physically and emotionally. But the lingering doubt in his mind whispered that there could be other reasons.

“Perhaps we had better go,” Thor said, looking around at the increasingly hectic area.

“Yes, I suppose we should,” Loki said, his eyes still on the closed door as they left

Later that day, he had a single flower sent to her chamber, a lovely summer bloom of pure white tipped in gold that smelled like the fresh air of the meadows of Asgard. There was no reply. Every day for the next five days, he sent another flower to her, each with a simple enchantment attached that would prevent it from wilting. Still, he heard nothing.

“My brother, I would not worry so,” Thor said. “The reasons she might not have sent you word are countless.”

“Tell me, brother, have you heard from Reidun since that night?” Loki asked, sounding innocent.

“Who?” Thor asked. “Oh, yes, the redhead with the… I thought her name was Berit!”

“You thought her name was Hilde before.”

“Yes, well, no, I haven’t,” Thor said.

“And what do you suppose that means?” Loki asked.

“Most likely she found the events of the evening troubling and doesn’t wish to revisit someone who reminds her of them,” Thor said, then stopped at Loki’s pointed look. “But that’s not the same thing.”

Loki hoped not.

Odin spoke with him that evening. It had taken him a full week to find time in his schedule to talk to his black sheep of a son, but when it happened, it was, as usual, uncomfortable. The long and short of the conversation was he had spoken to the families of the five now-dead attackers, explaining precisely what their sons had done to earn the ire of not only the second prince of Asgard but himself as well. Though Odin didn’t know Sif well, he was fully familiar with what had occurred from Thor’s explanation to him. Again, Loki had the odd sensation of gratitude towards his brother for taking his part. Sif’s injuries made a clear case of self-defense, and as far as Loki’s part in it all, that was allowed as defense of a comrade. The laws of Asgard were clear; had the five not died and been caught instead, they would have been executed anyway. Still, Odin was stern.

“You had no other alternatives?” he asked.

“I clearly said they would die if they continued what they were doing to her, and they kept on,” Loki said. “I may be accused of lying in some circles, but I keep my vows.”

Odin drew a deep breath, but nodded in agreement and left to pursue other business. Loki was certain he would see him again soon, if one interpreted the word “soon” to mean sometime in the next twenty or so years.

The return to training was equally awkward. Roughly a quarter of their coterie was now gone, and so, Loki was pleased to see, was the inept instructor who had undoubtedly been bribed to leave so Sif could be attacked the first time. Apparently Odin really had done the thing properly. While those who had shown their preference for the original five aggressors were still there, they were silent. To Loki’s surprise, a few of them spoke to him about not realizing how far the thing would go.

“We thought it was only a bit of fun, putting her in her place,” Einar said as a handful of others nodded eagerly in the background.

“And what place might that be?” he asked, the ends of his hair snapping with magic. “Because for them that place was the grave. Her place is wherever she likes, as it is for anyone who proves themselves here. She has more claim to the name of warrior than any of you.”

They said nothing, but whether it was because word of Loki’s obliteration of the others was now common knowledge or whether it had something to do with Thor standing behind him looking stern was difficult to say.

However, Sif’s choice of where she wanted to be was no longer clear. She had gone home from the healing room, but she still hadn’t seen Loki or spoken to him, and two weeks had passed since the incident. His hope was beginning to flag, but he continued to send her a flower each day. Finally, he wrote a note.

Sif,

This is the final blossom I will send you, not because I tire of you, but because I fear I am bothering you. You have the right to choose whomever you will, and if you are angry with me for allowing what happened that night to occur, then you join me in my self-loathing. If you do not respond, I will understand you wish to break contact with me, and I will not blame you or hold you in any anger.

L.

Loki had spent the better part of an hour trying to compose the letter and was still not fully satisfied with it, but he tied it to the stem of the flower with a golden ribbon and had a messenger from the palace deliver it by hand to Sif’s parents’ home.

An hour later, the same messenger returned with a note from Sif.

I’m returning to training tomorrow. Would you walk with me?

He released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Scrawling the word “YES” on another piece of paper in what might have been slightly overly enthusiastic handwriting, particularly the triple underlining, he sent it to her and promptly fell asleep despite it being only mid-afternoon. He hadn’t slept well since the night before the festival. Finally, he could rest.

On to Chapter 4