Fear, Madness & Memories

And so the time came when Sif found herself in the excruciatingly painful throes of labour.

The process was much lengthier than she'd been led to believe it would be, and never before had she suffered pain quite like it.
However, with Nanna at her side throughout and with the young healers aid, all the toiling Sif had endured was immediately forgotten once her beautiful daughter was delivered safely into the world.

Needless to say, she fell in love with the baby upon first sight, and as she lovingly cradled the tiny bundle in her arms she wept tears of unrivalled joy and relief, pressing tender kisses to it's small head as she swore she would never allow any harm to come to it.

It was a very moving scene, of which Nanna gave Loki a full detailed account of upon her visit to the palace the following day.

Loki remained disturbingly quiet as he listened with keen interest. Processing the news that he now had a daughter evoked many conflicting emotions, but naturally he displayed none.

"You have served me well, Nanna."
He told her, and gave her a wan smile.
"Thank you. I shall see to it that all of the child's needs are met. She must want for nothing."

Nanna bobbed a small curtesy in response.
"Your highness is most generous. Princess Tove is most fortunate to have such a considerate father."

At that, Loki's dark brows drew together in slight consternation.
"Tove? That is the child's name? She...she called her Tove?"

Nanna blinked.
"Oh, yes sire. I beg pardon. It quite slipped my mind to tell you. The Lady Sif has named the baby Tove in....." Her words dissolved when she realised how sensitive the subject might be to him.

"In honour of Thor." Loki supplied in a grating voice. "I see."

Nanna regarded him curiously. He looked like a great, dark, predatory cat as he sat sprawled on his throne, all long muscled limbs and coiled strength. But there was something else there. Some hidden emotion intertwined amongst the magnificence of his physical presence. Was he....hurt? His expression was hard to read, but resembled a peculiar combination of vexation and melancholy.

"My King?" She enquired anxiously, knowing him well enough to tell when something was troubling him deeply.

And Loki knew Nanna well enough to know when she was asking if he was alright without actually giving voice to her enquiry.
It was also an unspoken offer of help. Without her even having to say the words, she succeeded in conveying how she would do anything in her power to aid him. That much he had learned over the past two months. And whilst her devotion was touching, and still a delightful novelty to him, there was absolutely nothing she could do to help alleviate the grief he felt at present. Having to be separated from Sif and his child was difficult enough, and now on top of everything else, Sif had named their baby in honour of his brother.
From this, Loki could only deduce one thing....Sif was most definitely still in love with Thor.

"Pay no attention, Nanna." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, managing to swallow the rage he felt bubbling in his chest. "I am fine. I just wish to be by myself."

Obediently, Nanna thought better of trying to persuade him to talk. To open up about how he was feeling. Having cared for him after his emotional breakdown almost a year ago, she knew there was no way of cajoling him when it came to discussing emotions.
But at least then she had been able to offer him some comfort and her companionship.
Now he was retreating behind the wall of ice he built up around himself whenever something caused him pain, and she only hoped that it wouldn't be a prolonged period before he allowed his heart to thaw a little again.

She dipped a small curtsy to him, then left somewhat grudgingly. No sooner had she gone, Loki stood and snatched up the crystal glass wine decanter from the marble table which stood at the side of the throne, and hurled it at the wall with excessive force. It splintered with a loud smash, causing glass and wine to rain down onto the floor.

The decanter was as broken as he currently felt.

He allowed himself to collapse down heavily into his throned seat once more, his lips set in a grim line.

Tove.

The name bounced around inside his head, tauntingly.
Oh how he would've liked to have bestowed Frigga's name on his daughter, in honour of the late Queen's memory. To have his own child be given a name which meant 'Beautiful Thor' was downright insulting. Like having an insult added to injury.

Still, this did not truly signify, he realised. Nothing could be done about it now. Perhaps under different circumstances, had he and Sif been together, then they might've been able to come to some agreement. As it stood, all he could do was bear the news with equanimity.

He had undeniably distanced himself from the whole business by employing emotional detachment. Having Sif relocated elsewhere had also served to put some emotional distance between his former love and he, as well as physical distance. This meant he hadn't had to deal with the situation first hand. Having trusted the well being of Sif and the child to Namna and Heimdall was beneficial in more ways than one.

Now he was being forced to confront that which made him most uneasy.
He was a father.
And him now knowing the child's gender and name -- albeit a deplorable one -- somehow made it all the more real.
Regardless of his reservations, he knew he would be negligent in his parental duties if he didn't so much as take a look at the brat.
So with growing apprehension, he decided he would make arrangements with Nanna to visit at the first available opportunity, when Sif was away from home.

As he retired to bed that night, sleep did not come easy for him. Even though his extravagantly large, opulent bed was incredibly comfortable, and the grand surroundings of his private chambers a far-cry from the cell he'd occupied in the prison block, he found little comfort in that.

Much to his dismay, being patient wouldn't suffice. Even though Loki could be patient when circumstances called for it, it was not one of his virtues.
And this just wouldn't do. He found he wasn't able to rest easily until he had seen his newborn offspring.

Sitting down meditatively, he focused hard and channelled all his mystical energy. Using his psionic abilities, he was able to magically project himself in astral form, far across the city, passed the lush green fields, rolling hills, and rocky mountains of Asgard, to the small, stone cottage on the edge of the vast forestland.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle, which sat upon the nightstand at the side of a modest bed. He instantly recognised the sleeping form of the warrior maiden. His beloved Sif. She lay peacefully, looking serene and beautiful. Her dark hair was fanned-out across the white pillows, and he ached with longing, desperately wishing that he could reach out and gently stroke her face. Touch those beautiful lips which formed a perfect cuspids bow, and he became momentarily lost to the sweet memories of having kissed them.

Oh how he had loved her. Adored her. Worshipped her even.
He had felt a deep connection to her soul, and lavished her body with his affection. The reciprocation of his feelings had given him renewed hope. Indeed, her love had given him life.
And together, they had created a new one.

But as his mind turned to the child they had made, his feelings spiralled towards resentment and bitterness.

Beautiful Thor.

It was then he heard soft snuffling sounds coming from the far corner of the room. He turned, following the gentle sound to the simple wooden cradle. It was crudely carved from birch, he noted derisively. Such a cradle was unbecoming for a princess of Asgard. The baby ought to be sleeping in one made of solid gold, encrusted with emerald jewels.

Apprehensively he took the necessary steps which placed him at the foot of the crib, and stole his first look at his baby daughter.
Swaddled in a white, laced blanket, she lay on her back, snoring softly. She was small, and her complexion smooth as well as a healthy pink. He let out a sigh of relief. At least her father's Jotun genetics hadn't influenced her skin tone or texture. However, she had inherited his hair colour. Unlike her mother, who was naturally fair and had been up until Loki mischievously meddled with it, little Tove had been born with a shock of fine, raven hair and long black lashes.

And just like that, he found himself smiling.

Edging around the side of the cradle, Loki peered down at the sleeping bundle of joy. The sudden hard rush of emotion was unexpected, and completely overwhelmed him.

"Well, look at you, you....ugly little thing."
He said quietly in a strained voice.

Leaning over the cradle, he brushed a ghostly finger across her cheek, not having to fear he would disturb her slumber due to the touch being whisper-soft like the brush of a cobweb.

He had been totally unprepared for the wave of warmth he felt flooding his heart. The unfathomable amount of love he felt for a being he'd never laid eyes on before, was beyond all comprehension. It evoked a fierce paternal instinct in him, the desire to protect and cherish.

"I didn't mean that."
He whispered gently, eyes burning with unshed tears.
"You're perfect, you beautiful little creature. None shall ever rival your beauty in my eyes."

Just then he heard the sound of sheets ruffling, and looked over his shoulder to see Sif stirring in the bed. He could have withdrawn or cloaked his astral body with invisibility, but chose to do neither of those things. Instead he stood motionless, watching as her eyes flickered open.

Seeing the ghostly figure of Loki, filled Sif with confusion. At first she assumed she must be dreaming, so she blinked hard several times and even rubbed her eyes as though she could not trust them. Finding him still to be there, she let out a startled gasp. Using her elbows to scramble up, she sat straight against her pillows. It didn't seem possible. How could it be possible that the dead prince was appearing to her here? And why would he choose to haunt her of all people? Why not Odin?

Unless of course...

Ah yes. The letter. His declaration of love.
Could it be possible that he had returned to disclose his feelings for her? Her mind whirled. Had his love run so deeply that even now, he wasn't able to rest in peace until he had given voice to his forbidden, secret love.

"Y-you!"
She stammered unsteadily.

"Yes Sif, it is I. The wicked Loki."

"What do you want with me?"
She demanded, gathering her courage.
"Why would Loki of Jotunheim choose to haunt me from beyond the grave?"

A crease appeared between Loki's dark brows. He was perplexed. That was until it dawned on him that she had mistaken his transparent appearance for a spirit, which evoked a perverse curiosity in him, as well as a malicious desire to make mischief. Therefor he did not correct her.

"If I choose to haunt you my lady, that is my business."

"Your business? Is it not mine also? I have no wish to be visited by restless souls, can you not rest peacefully within the walls of Valhalla?"

"Valhalla?"
He scoffed.

"Yes. Valhalla. You did die an honourable death. Your act of bravery surely must count for something. Has your soul not been permitted entry?"

"My soul is in purgatory, Sif. And you are the one responsible for condemning me to an eternity of suffering."
He said coldly.

Sif's eyes widened, and for the first time in her life she felt truly afraid. One could not do battle with a ghost. And his declaration had winded her.

"I? Why am I responsible for your suffering?"

He eyed her steadily. His lofty, magisterial countenance was imposing. Even more so in death than when he was alive. Now he was more hostile. More threatening. And it chilled her to the bone.

"I owe you no explanation lady Sif. But why should I suffer alone?"

"Please leave me be."
She managed as firmly as she could.
"I do not want you here!"

"And how exactly do you propose to stop me?"
He threw at her, giving validation to her worst fears.

She couldn't stop him.
But suddenly the problem seemed less significant, as she noticed the way in which he lingered around Tove's cradle menacingly.

"Get away from my daughter!"
She snarled, rising from the bed.

She felt less vulnerable now she was standing. Even though she was in her nightgown, unarmed, and ridiculously out of her depth, her heart was beating wildly, pumping adrenaline through every nerve-ending, making her hands tremble with a combination of anger, apprehension and fear.

"Your daughter."
His lips quirked into a sinister smile which unsettled her greatly. And then what he said next, floored her completely...
"I think you'll find she is our daughter, madam."

Sif stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelievingly. His ludicrous proclamation incensed her.

"What are you saying? You expect me to believe that I....that we....?"
She faltered, the words backing up in her throat. She couldn't even bring herself to say it. The very idea of her having coupled with one such as he, was utterly ridiculous.

"Yes."
He said flatly.
"Believe what you will, but it will not alter the fact that I fathered this child. She is our creation. Borne of our passion and love."

"Love?"
She exclaimed.
"I do not love you!"

Loki pursed his lips angrily.
"Be that as it may, she is just as much my daughter as yours. My blood also flows through her veins."

"It....it is not possible. I would never--"

"Oh but you did."
He deliberately gave a course laugh which sounded perverse and filthy.
"Several times in fact. You surrendered to me willingly, needing no encouragement to make the two-backed beast with me. I shall spare you the gory details, all you need accept is that she..."
He gestured toward the sleeping baby.
"Is the product of you having loved the wicked Loki."

"No!"
Sif cried, swallowing hard. Anger rose inside her, sweat gathering at the nape of her neck.
"You are a habitual liar. Even in death. If you were alive I would kill you myself for this offence."

He took a step toward her, and in spite of her growing fury she instinctively drew back, stepping away from him.

"I am speaking a truth you do not wish to hear. You have no recollection of the time you spent with me. Of the things we did. Your memory is impaired. But if you doubt me then have the child's genetics tested. You won't be able to wallow in denial then."

To her chagrin, Sif's knees trembled precariously, threatening to buckle on her. Observing the way his dramatic revelation had effected his former love, Loki felt a small twinge of regret, but the malicious pleasure he gleaned from seeing her so stricken, afforded him a modicum of satisfaction.

"P-please leave me be. I....I beg you."
She croaked, her passiveness so uncharacteristic of her.

"I will for now."
He replied ominously.
"But I shall return, Sif. I will not rest as long as you are living. My presence will be here with you always. You may not even be aware of it, so look for the rest of your life over your shoulder and into every darkened corner, and wonder if I am there. It is my express intention to haunt you for eternity, and I hope this knowledge torments you just as you tormented me in life, until I drive you mad!"

He burst into a bone-chilling, menacing, maniacal laugh, and then promptly disappeared, leaving Sif shaken and stunned and filled with dread.
Somehow she managed to make her trembling legs work, and hurried unsteadily over to the crib to check on Tove. She lay sleeping peacefully, unharmed and undisturbed by the ghostly visitation.

Heading for the second bedroom, Sif rapped on the door impatiently in order to wake Nanna.

"Nanna? Wake up. I need you to watch over Tove for me."

A few minutes later Nanna stood over the child's cot, clad in her night robe, as if on sentry duty. The healers' mind was still fuddled from sleep, so she hadn't been able to fully understand Sif's babbled explanation for having woken her in the middle of the night. And she was too tired to enquire as to why the lady Sif suddenly felt the urgent need to go walking at such a late hour.

"I cannot sleep."
Sif had lied.
"A walk will help tire me out and settle my overactive mind."

Nanna was as equally perplexed about why she had to stand vigil over the crib of the sleeping baby. It wasn't as if any harm would come to her. The door could be locked from the outside if the lady warrior took the key with her, but still Sif insisted that Nanna remained standing watch over her daughter, and Nanna was in no position to argue or object, no matter how unreasonable Sif's requests were. After all, she was the lady's handmaiden and companion, in the employ of Loki. It was her job to subserviently obey Sif, at her king's behest, and she was a loyal servant to him.

Taking up her sword, Sif left her new humble abode, taking deep, calming breaths to steady her frayed nerves. The night was still and silent, save for the sounds of nature. Crickets chirped an incessant chorus, and somewhere within the forest an owl was hooting.

But Sif was not intending to merely take a late night stroll. She had a destination in mind. That destination was Heimdall's modest dwelling, which lay just beyond the border of the forest. Perhaps he would be able to advise her in relation to Loki's unexpected appearance and the threats he had made. She had no desire to be harangued by the trickster's malevolent spirit. Not to mention the laughable claims Loki had made regarding him being Tove's father. Such a suggestion was absolutely preposterous. Sif felt nothing for Loki, it was Thor whom she loved, not his abhorrent brother.

But the unsettling knowledge that Holdur had been long dead, therefor could not possibly be the father, lay heavy on Sif's mind.

If Holdur wasn't the father then who was it? She had no recollection, so could not trust her memory. In which case, she reasoned that it was in the best interests of her sanity to seek answers from Heimdall. With any luck perhaps he could shed some light on the subject, and put her mind at ease. Because her mind would not rest easy until she could be certain that there was no truth to Loki's wild claims. Heimdall on the other hand was a trustworthy ally. He would assuage her fears, and would not doubt that Loki had appeared to her. He wouldn't question her sanity, she had faith in that. Unlike Nanna, who would perhaps think her mad if she disclosed that the God of Mischief had returned from beyond the veil to harass her.

As she made her way into the forest her mind was a shambolic mess. Previously Sif had considered herself to be fearless, but now she wasn't so sure. How would she be able to vanquish such a formidable foe? Never having encountered the likes before, she desperately needed guidance and reassurance. The sort that only Frigga could provide, but alas, Frigga was gone. So Heimdall would have to suffice.

However, to her utter disappointment and vexation, when she arrived at Heimdall's smallholding the former guardian of the bifrost was nowhere to be found.
Instead in his place she found none other than....

"Try!"

The captain of the guards stood smiling at her in the doorway. His easy smile suggested that he wasn't at all perturbed by her unexpected arrival. On the contrary, he was still fully dressed in his Asgardian armour, which meant she hadn't disturbed him from sleeping either.

"My lady."
He swept a bow, holding the door ajar for her to enter.
"I trust all is well?"

Sif bristled slightly with discomfort. No everything was not well. After having first been roused from her slumber by the undead, just to make matters worse now she was discovering Tyr here in place of dependable, shrewd Heimdall.

"What are you doing here, Tyr?"
Sif demanded, unable to disguise her shock and slight irritation.
"Where is Heimdall?"

Tyr's expression never faltered. His winning smile still firmly in place as he explained to her patiently.
"Regrettably, due to unforeseen circumstances Heimdall has been summoned back to the palace to attend to urgent business. I have temporarily been appointed as your protector in his stead."

Sif's brow creased in frustration.
"Oh. I see. Do you know when he is expected to return?"

"I'm afraid not. Is there something I can assist you with?"

She shook her head, unwilling to discuss the matter with Tyr. After all, she couldn't see how he could help with the situation, and seeing as she didn't know Tyr all that well, she wasn't prepared to open up about her personal affairs.

"No it's fine. I'm sure it can wait until Heimdall returns."

Tyr looked distinctly pinch-faced now, his smile all but vanishing.
"If you insist my lady. Won't you come in and take a drink with me?"

Sif didn't even need to consider his offer before flatly refusing.
"Oh, no thank you. The hour is late and I wouldn't want to keep you from your bed."
She forced a smile and then turned to leave.

"Oh but you're not keeping me from my bed."
He insisted.

"Perhaps not, but I ought to return to mine."

"In that case allow me to escort you back to your place of residence."

"You need not, it is only a short walk away."
She politely told him.

But Tyr was infuriatingly adamant, and would not take no for an answer.

"Please, I insist. Your safety is of the upmost importance to our King, and I mustn't be accused of dereliction of duty."

Even as he stepped out of the house, pulling the door closed behind him, Sif still tried to discourage him.

"I have my sword, Tyr. There's no need for anyone to concern theirselves with my safety, least of all Odin. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I'm in no doubt of that, lady Sif."
Drawing up beside her, he gallantly offered his arm for Sif to take. Then he said something which gave her pause.
"In all honesty, I would be glad of the company. It is quite isolating, being stationed out here in the wilderness, and I find myself feeling rather lonesome."

So, taking pity on the lonely soldier, Sif decided to oblige him. Accepting his offer, she grudgingly threaded her arm through his, and permitted him to escort her home.