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It is the old days or the early days depending on which side of history one were to look at them from. It is a time rich in magic and worship. A time when they are at the height of all they could be.
It is to her that all warriors pray. Words spoken by hearts take flight to whisper in her ear. And she answers. Always she answers. Prayers for victory, for an end, release and freedom. Every warrior pledges their undying, everlasting loyalty to her the very first time they step out on to the field.
When he comes to her, it is at the end of a battle. Bodies scattered around them, the ground soaked in blood to make red mud. As the fog of war lifts and she collects her due, he begins to gather his own. Dead who will forever answer to her call, new warriors to stand at her side. The mayhem that came from battle was a feast, and now that lingering effects are a sweet taste on his tongue.
They couple in that field.
Among the bodies and the blood and guts and other things.
She is beautiful, kneeling naked in the mud with him. Pale skin decorated with splashes of crimson and rusty red, fresh and dried blood. She puts a knife to his throat as she takes him into her body. The deadly point pressed just under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat to her.
She claims him, riding fast, riding hard.
And as their passion takes them over, she pushes him to his back in the bloody mud. A goddess above him taking her pleasure. And he is made for her pleasure, body rising to meet the sway of her hips.
Yggdrasil hangs heavy and ripe in the sky above them. Branches swollen with the tides of war and birth. Shaken by the force of their pleasure to rain life among the stars.
---
They die.
They all die eventually.
All things must return from whence they came.
---
She feels it like an itch at first.
In the middle of a feast. Another glorious battle won. There is drinking and dancing. Stories and laughter. Friends and companions all gathered around the tables. They are celebrating at capturing one of the last of the marauders camps.
It is not a desire to dance. But to move, to leave this place.
Her feet wish to take her from this place, from the revelry and joy. They know where they wish to take her and it is not here, or just outside, or anywhere that she can easily identify. Much as she tried to ignore it, the urge to move, to leave gets stronger until it becomes a need.
And that is when she first hears it.
---
All he has are his memories.
They are all that is left to him in this place. This nightmare.
He’s walked his familiar paths in the palace in his mind. From his rooms to the library, to the training yards, to court, to Sif’s suite of rooms. Rewalked the city, visited his favourite stalls, favourite shops and seller. And the only face he saw in these memories was Sif’s.
Not his mother who taught him to count his steps to sooth his mind.
Not Odin who had taught him to find patterns in politics.
Not Thor who had shared so much of his childhood with him.
But Sif who would walk those steps with him.
Right by his side as they travelled the palace. Shoulder to shoulder as they entered the training yards. Hand in hand through the city. She enjoyed the barter as much as the hunt through the stalls and shops.
“You’re wrong!” Thanos roared in the distance. ”He is an agent of chaos.”
Sunlight. Laughter. Swimming in the lake…
It wasn’t the cuts that broke him from his memories. It was the feel of his skin being pulled and peeled off his body that shattered them.
---
They know what she is when she is born.
They can feel it in their bones, in their hearts.
She was dangerous to them, to all of them.
---
She's heard the voices, like whispers against her heart her entire life. And she had never understood why, was hushed and told never to speak of it when she'd asked her mother. It was Loki who had helped her realize what it was she heard.
Prayers.
None in Asgard heard prayers any longer. It had been so long since they had been worshipped as Gods and Deities that their power had waned. And yet Sif heard them, felt them in her chest, with nearly every beat of her heart. She had tried to answer them before, tried to listen to what they said, what they asked for, tried to understand what it was they worshipped her for.
But she had never heard them before.
Until now.
It was a scream, a wail of chaotic rage and helplessness that it nearly brought her to her knees right there in the middle of the hall. It awakens something inside of her. A power, a strength, something she has never felt before. It makes her skin feel two sizes too small, and yet as though she had no skin at all.
She knows who it is that calls to her like this. She would know that voice anywhere. Has known it in every life, in all her lives, a whisper in the dark that was as familiar to her as the sound of her own heart.
Loki.
---
It is painful and agonizing. But the torture was nothing.
Broken bones, dislocated joints, skinning…
These were all things he could survive. Would survive.
It was seeing Thano’s face hovering above him. Purple skin twisted in some kind of smile or smirk. A satisfied expression as he held a device in his hand. Loki thought for a moment that there was a chance he would just kill him.
A mercy. Not that this creature knew what mercy was. Or compassion.
“You mustn’t remember,” Thanos said cryptically. Loki’s tongue was long gone, his vocal cords swollen and useless for making noise now.
The device hovered a moment above his head and Loki could feel the hum of it in the air as it drew power. He waited for something to happen, waited for whatever it was that Thanos meant to do. And his mind turned inward, drawing up a memory.
Of a picnic in the fields outside of the city. He and Sif are talking, eating lunch and sipping wine. It’s not a perfect memory - he can still feel the pebble that had left a bruise on his hip. The too warm breeze. Sif has a tiny berry seed stuck between her teeth when she laughs at something Loki says.
And she’s leaning in to… to…
It’s gone. Just an expanse of emptiness where a memory used to be.
Thanos’ smile twists. Satisfied, cruel.
You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.
---
They fear her so they try to steal her power.
They try to bind her strengths with silks and powders.
They tremble the first time she picks up a sword.
---
She found him abandoned in a cabin on the edges of the universe. The trees growing nearly one atop the other in this place. And it feels so familiar to her. As though she had been here before, some time long, long ago. A memory she cannot quite grasp.
But it doesn’t matter in that moment.
Loki has been left on a crude table, his body more blood than it is skin. And it will take every skill she has to make him whole enough to travel. She isn’t even sure where it is she should start.
“Loki,” Sif called, her voice strange even to her own ears.
She receives a garble of noise in reply. His body writhing on the table top, limbs hardly able to thrash in his condition. She doesn’t understand how it is he’s still conscious. Unless the damage is not as bad as it seems…
“Loki, it’s Sif,” she repeats, coming closer to him.
It’s the same intangible noises, pained and frightened, and so horrible to hear. It breaks her heart because she can hear him screaming in her heart, horrible sounds of helplessness that echo in the chambers of her heart with every beat. And with her ears she can’t understand him.
“Loki…”
She is close enough now.
Close enough to see that what she thought was blood, isn’t.
He has been skinned.
His nose isn’t broken, it’s missing.
So are his ears.
His eyes lids.
His tongue.
The ground trembles outside. Rolling and rumbling as the trees shake, their roots twisting in the dirt and the rock of those tiny forgotten planet. Something stirring in the depths of the earth, struggling to form, struggling to rise.
“Tell me,” she whispers, dropping to her knees next to him.
Those whispers have stopped in the wake of Loki’s voice. The cacophony in her heart finally drowned out by his pain. As though they are all waiting, listening, strainging to hear what his answer is.
“A name,” she pleads, her hands hovering helplessly above his body. There is nowhere she can touch him that will not cause him pain. Tears blur her vision when the terrified green orbs roll back in Loki’s head.
“Tell me who did this, Loki.”
For one blinding moment he meets her gaze. Green eyes so sharp and aware, completely devoid of pain, suffering, or agony, meet hers. And she hears him. A single word, a name, whispered into the silence of her heart where his screams have echoed.
Thanos.
The world outside erupts.
---
The memories don’t come back.
They aren’t all gone, but enough. Enough of them are missing that Loki can feel the holes they make in his mind.
But Thanos is distracted.
Something is coming for him.
Loki can feel it.
Like thunder and lightening, except he knows it’s not Thor.
The rumble and vibrations have the Titan spooked. They are growing stronger and even though Thanos looks to be calm, Loki can see the panic starting to rise behind his eyes.
What could make him afraid?
What could make the ground shake like this? As though a hundred thousand warriors were marching up to this strong hold…?
A hundred thousand warriors…
Sif.
---
She can feel them under foot.
The bodies of a hundred million million under her foot.
They turn and roll to follow her passing
---
The warriors are gathering outside of the palace. They have been gathering for weeks without completely understanding why. The All Father has avoided her, many of the elders have. But she doesn’t care. Cannot care.
They will answer.
Eventually.
Eir has worked a miracle. Laying in the deepest layers of healing energy, Loki’s body is once again covered with flesh. His ears, his nose, his lips, his eyelids, all returned. Ten new fingernails match his ten new toenails.
He had slept through the healing once she had brought him back. His tongue was one of the first things returned to him, and he had used it to good effect once his vocal cords had healed.
Screaming until Eir had dosed him with a sedative.
And today he was to wake. His prayer continued to whisper in her heart, leading the cacophony like a chant that set the beat and pace of her blood. Steady and certain. And she finally understands.
She has sat by his bedside all these days while her warriors gather. Coming from all the realms, coming in ships and by Bifrost and portals. They gather and mill outside of the palace and generally set the elders on edge. But she heard them whisper a name.
A name that had made her stop. Assaulted by images and sounds, memories coming alive from the dark corners of her mind. And with them, another name. A name she has known all her life, in every life. Because he is hers in a why none of the others ever were, or will be.
He is her General. Her Champion. Her Companion.
When Loki’s eyes open for the first time, Sif smiles and laughs.
Loki smiles in return, reaching for her with a weak hand.
And she speaks his name.
---
She is War.
He is Chaos.
Where She goes, He will follow.