Note: This is my first semi-multi-chapter fic so think happy thoughts. Thank you all for the positive responses to my other two stories. Happy Reading.

It was hot outside. That was the only way to explain the day. The air in Asgard was usually warm as if it was summer every day. It usually smelled of flowers or crops that were ready to be harvested. On the occasion, the air was filled with the smell of metal and rang with the cries of victorious warriors who were sparring on the training ground. But today the air was thick like honey and had a sickly sweet smell to it as if the fruit growing on the trees had suddenly become overripe. The sun drifted down towards the horizon as the day drew idly to a close. An uncomfortably warm and sluggish breeze blew through the air, causing dark green leaves to stir lazily upon the ground. It was just so hot.

Sif had been the only person brave enough to go outside.

(But it's so hot out, Thor, Volstagg, and Fandral had complained.)

The gardens had always been a favorite place of hers to go, especially when the first frost of winter rolled by. The flowers looked particularly beautiful when each of their multicolored petals had a thin coating of ice on their edges. But it was only on the hot days did Sif think that the flowers smelled their best. Only on the sticky, humid days did the flowers seem to emanate their sweetest smells, filling the garden with their array of heavy scents.

(You are all just lazy, Sif had replied. I'll be out in the garden if any of you change your minds.)

So now, as Sif sat on a bench hidden neatly behind some rosebushes, she relished in the silence and sweet smells that occupied the garden. She was slightly hunched over a piece of parchment that was lying next to her, and she slowly, slowly sketched a person onto the page with a piece of charcoal. The small black lump that was held in between her fingertips had dusted her skin with black powder, and she was careful not to let them graze the piece of thick parchment for fear that it would smear her drawing.

She was so enveloped in her work that she did not even notice the shadow that had suddenly fallen over her. It grew and grew and grew until barely any light shown onto her drawing. Sif looked up, expecting to see Thor but was met by the sight of a very curious Loki. His eyebrow was arched and he was subtly nibbling on his lower lip. This was a habit Sif had come to notice about Loki. Whenever he was curious about something, he would always bite his mouth: his lips, the inside of his cheeks. It was as if his silvertongue was dying to ask a question but thought better of it.

Her hand immediately swiped the piece of parchment behind her back, and she stood abruptly. So much for being inconspicuous, Sif thought to herself and let out a small sigh.

"And what exactly are you doing out in the garden on such a day as this, Sif?" Loki inquired, his conversational tone laced with a mix of mischief and smugness. Of course he knows exactly what she is doing, and she knows this. She also knows that he will poke and prod at her until she admits the truth.

"I was simply enjoying the garden," Sif replied coolly. If Loki wanted to play a game then she would be more than a willing participant.

"Is that so…?" Loki casually took a few steps to the side, spinning on his heels a bit and then, as quick as lightning, he jumped behind her and snatched the drawing out of her hand. She spun around and shoved Loki backwards, hoping to catch him off-guard. Instead of losing his balance and falling onto the bench like Sif had hoped he would, Loki just hopped to the side, almost dancing away.

Sif reached out to grab the paper, but Loki jerked his arm away and instead held it up to his eye-level. "Give it back," she demanded, standing up. If this had happened a decade or so ago, Sif would have been towering over Loki. But Loki had grown suddenly over the years and he was now at least 3 inches taller than her, making her feel small and weak. She felt her façade of authority waver, but stood her ground and glared up at Loki. "Give. It. Back." she repeated her voice as hard and cold as steel. And if looks could kill, Loki would surely be a bleeding mess on the ground right now.

Loki spared Sif a quick flick of his eyes before settling his sight back on the paper. It took him a second to realize what -who- she had been drawing. The high cheekbones, angular chin, short, black hair that curled just slightly around the ear; it was as if Loki was looking at a mirror. His eyes wandered over the rest of the drawing and finally settled on its own eyes: beautiful, wide orbs that were full of curiosity and sadness and loneliness. The irises were the only part of the drawing that was colored in: a dark green color that seemed to swirl with hints of blue. Loki looked at the way one corner of his lips was turned slightly upward and at how one of his eyebrows was arched ever so slightly making him smirk, full of triumph and mischief. He was amazed at how many emotions Sif could capture in one drawing.

"Is this really what I look like to you?" he asked quietly, handing her back the drawing. His gaze was directed towards the ground, and strands of his black hair fell out of place from being his ears, obscuring his face from Sif.

She hesitantly took the paper back and answered just as quietly as Loki had asked, "Yes. Your smile says mischief, but your eyes say otherwise. They always look so lonely, as if you do not have a friend in the world."

There was a moment of silence between the pair before Loki's found his voice again and quickly changed the subject. "I never knew you could draw."

"Nobody does," she replied, biting her lower lip. There was quite a bit of things that people didn't know about her. Sif already had so much attention as she continued to work her way to becoming a warrior along with the royal sons and their small band of friends. Her mother had refused to stop crying when she found out that Sif was training to become a warrior, and her father had not been happy about it either. In fact, Sif had been practically disowned the night that she told her parents what she planned to do. But that was in the past and that talent was no longer a secret. The girl wanted no more attention, so she had told no one of her drawing skills. She didn't draw very often anyway, but when she did, she would usually wind up throwing the paper into the fire to make sure that no one ever found it.

"If your drawing skills come to light it won't cause much commotion, you know," Loki said in a matter-of-fact way.

"I like to be precautionary anyway," Sif said wearily. She dropped the paper so that it floated down onto the stone bench, and there was a moment of silence. Blood tried to flood the girl's cheeks, but she forced herself to believe that she could not be embarrassed by the boy in front of her. "And anyway," she said quickly, trying to move the attention off of her, "I'd like to see you draw a picture half as good as that one."

Loki grinned. "I might not be very good at drawing with my hands, but I am good at drawing with my words." He paused for a second; thinking of what he could draw a picture in Sif's mind of. When he got an idea, he walked behind Sif and put his hands over her eyes. Her hands immediately shot up to Loki's wrists to try and pull his hands away from her face, but he quickly murmured, "Stop trying to fight me and just relax. There, that's better. Now think about this: there's a beach with golden sands on its shore. The sand is as cool as the rain that falls from the clouds and softer than any fur you have ever touched. Small waves with pearl-white foam edges and azure colored bodies lap up against the shore, pulling tiny pink and orange shells back into the ocean with them. White and silver stallions trample over the sand carrying warriors on their backs. Can you guess where they're going?"

"To the Eternal Realm," Sif said dreamily. There was a story that parents would tell their children at night about graceful stallions taking warriors to Valhalla when they died. She swore that she could feel the sand underneath her feet and smell the salt from the ocean. It was as if the world around her was gone and she was in a dreamland that was slowly being built around her. The only thing she was able to focus on was Loki's voice, so smooth and warm and graceful if that was even possible. Loki's voice was like a -oh what did Frigga call that beautiful sounding instrument that she found on Midgard? A violin. Words flowed out of the boy's mouth as easily as notes did from the small instrument. They were expertly spoken in a tone that rose and fell with emotion as Loki described the beach more and more, painting a gorgeous picture of Valhalla in Sif's mind that she knew would stay with her forever.

Sif hadn't even realized that Loki had stopped talking until he pulled his hands away from her eyes. "That was lovely. Why have I never heard you talk like that before?" she inquired.

Loki broke eye contact with her and stared at his feet. If sadness had a body, then it would be Loki because for just a second, Sif saw his smug façade crumble and she was left staring at his tear filled eyes, his lips that were curved into a deep frown, and the shadows that suddenly plagued his face. They had always been there, but only now did they seem to darken and stick out making Loki look decades older. His brows were furrowed and raised slightly giving him a look of innocence.

Sif would never admit it, but she found that she enjoyed his expression. It was cruel, she knew, to think that but he looked like the naïve child that he was supposed to be instead of the cold adult that he usually seemed to be. The moment of vulnerability vanished as soon as it appeared when a spiteful smile crossed Loki's features. His eyes narrowed to dagger points as he said, "Because you never care to pay attention. You and my older brother are quite thick-headed, you know. I am the outcast of your group; the shadow. Nobody likes magic tricks. Words are no weapons in the eyes of warriors. Nobody pays me any mind. I am nothing."

The venom and bitterness in Loki's words stung Sif. She thought back to all of those times when Thor, Loki, Fandral, and she would spar. On the occasion that Loki would win, he was immediately accused of cheating, for in the eyes of the children using magic was not only against the rules, but it was cowardly, too. She sighed as she realized that Loki spoke the truth. And it was an all too real truth that gnawed at Sif's mind and heart until she was aching inside.

Sif tried to swallow her ignorance, but she found that it had swelled her throat so that she could not breathe or speak. When she found her voice, it was strained. "Well I'm paying you mind now."

Loki shook his head and turned away with a snarl. "Yes, now being the key word. Do not speak a promise you know that you cannot keep."

Sif reached out her hand and laid it on Loki's shoulder. "Loki-"

He spun around, eyes ablaze. "Your ignorance towards me is disgusting. Answer me this: If Thor were to come out here right now, would you stay right here? Would you keep speaking to me as if I am your friend?" He suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her so that she could feel his chest move with each breath he took. His lips pressed against her ear as he hissed, "The answer is no. No because no one dares call me their friend."

Loki's grip was starting to hurt Sif. His hand was so long that his fingers overlapped on her wrist. She wrenched it away from his grasp and rubbed at the already forming bruises. "Monster," she whispered.

His aggressive behavior was gone as fast as it had come. He looked down at his hands, extending his fingers as if he needed to feel the muscles stretch, hear the bones creak. "Perhaps," he said quietly and began to pick at the skin on his right hand. It was a nervous habit, Sif knew. He would sometimes do it when he was speaking to his father as if he was nervous that he would say something stupid, if that was even possible.

"Loki, I am sorry that I have been ignorant towards you. But you have my attention now, so would you like to talk or would you like me to leave?"

Loki looked up at Sif. "No, don't leave. Please. I enjoy your company." He reached out to hold her wrist again, but she pulled away. His eyes met hers and the previous flames of fury that had occupied them were no longer there. She let him take her wrist again, but his grip was gentle this time. His fingertips absentmindedly stroked her forearm, making Sif a little uncomfortable.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, seeming to look everywhere but each other. The birds that occupied the flower bushes chirped energetically as the sun turned the sky a honey-golden color.

Finally, Sif spoke. "You said that you enjoy my company…?"

"Well, yes. I'm afraid that having no friends leaves me quite…lonely. But I have my magic, and that helps a bit." Loki let go of Sif's wrist and waved his hand. The air right beside the pair shimmered as if there was a sudden heat wave and another Loki appeared.

Sif's eyes widened in surprise as she took a step towards the mirage. She reached her hand out to touch its face, but her hand ran right through it.

"No touching."

Sif shook her head. "That's…amazing. It's exactly like you. Can it speak?"

"I'm working on that." Loki frowned. "It shouldn't take me long to get it to utter a few words."

They stood there, marveling at the double for a while. It stared back at them with Loki's wide, green eyes, a peculiar smile spread across its lips.

"And yet, even my magic tricks grow tired of me after a while," Loki said sadly as his holographic double's smile turned into a frown. Its head tilted to the side slightly and tears started to stream down its cheeks. The holograph's tears seemed to be its own destruction, for no more than a minute later was the double slowly melting away until it was blown away by the warm breeze in a flurry of colors. He stared at the place where his double had been for a second before looking at Sif again. "I know that my family grows tired of my magic, too. I fear that they even grow tired of me with every passing day. Sometimes I think the same way. When Thor tells me to leave him alone or when Father ignores me, I don't say a word. But it's so different on the inside because I just want out. I don't want to stay here in Asgard. I don't want to be near my family. I want to leave and never come back. The worlds I've studied that lie outside of Asgard sound so beautiful with their frozen wastelands and roaring rivers and…everything about them sounds so much better then here. If I could travel through Yggdrasil with only my thoughts as a companion, then and only then do I think that I would actually be happy."

The sound of footsteps on the stone path stopped Sif before she could say anything. "Sif!" It was Thor. His voice was coming from the archway of vines that marked the beginning of the garden. "Where are you? We're going down to the village if you want to come."

Sif looked at Loki whose sudden moment of sentiment had disappeared. He had opened up his heart to Sif, let her see him raw and bleeding, expecting her to sew him back together. But the moment that Thor had called out from the front of the garden was the moment that they both realized that Loki would have to do it himself.

"Go," he said, looking away from her.

She turned away and took a few steps before stopping and turning back. "Loki if all of what you said was true –all of the about running away– please know that that is not true. Your family loves you. They would be heart-broken if you left."

Loki wanted to say, And would you be heart-broken, too? But instead he just smiled, picked up the drawling that still sat on the bench, and faced Sif. Ignoring her statement he said, "And would you like me to dispose of this?"

"Would you?"

He rubbed the corner of the parchment in between his forefinger and thumb before smirking slightly and saying, "Consider it a…little favor."

With that, Sif turned and ran off, disappearing behind a bush that had dark blue flowers blooming on it.

…

When Sif had heard the news that Loki had died, this was the first thought that came to her mind. She had leaned back in her chair and stared at Thor who sat across from her. He had invited her to his rooms to talk, and Sif had more than willingly agreed. It had been many days since she had last talked to Thor and she so missed talking to him. She had focused her eyes on a point far away and thought about the drawing that Loki had taken. Had he kept it or actually gotten rid of it?

"I held him as he died. He was so cold. And I couldn't save him. I tried, Sif, I tried so hard to protect him" Thor had said, his voice shaking. "He died with honor."

Died with honor. That was the only part that mattered to Sif.