Sif liked to watch him practice his illusions.

He did so often, and always alone. He wandered to the very reaches of Asgard, where no one would stumble upon him practicing his tricks, but he could not hide from her. She should have been doing other things—namely, keeping an eye on the dead of the Nine Realms—but whenever he slipped away from everyone else to practice, she had to watch him. She had spoken to him a handful of times, but he captivated her. His was the sort of company she could imagine keeping—for who would want to be in the presence of the Lady of the Dead unless they were dead or about to be? She had a few friends—Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg, Thor—but they did not fill the void that she felt, the aching loneliness of the Asgardian underworld that constantly pressed on her heart. There was something special about the dark Asgardian prince.

She wanted him.

The trick, of course, would be figuring out how to get him to come to her. He would never go of his own volition. He may have been different than the others—a little darker around the edges, a little more of an outcast—but that didn't mean he would willingly submit himself to the kingdom of the dead. She would have to think carefully about this.

She tried to focus on other things—namely, ruling the underworld. The winter was cruel this year, and the weaker ones were succumbing to the final sleep. She ferried them around as best as she could, looked after them, set them to their feast. Perhaps she should have been keeping an eye on Fenrir, but there was nothing to indicate that he would be party crashing any time soon. The magic of the underworld would warn her when he got too near—not that she would be able to do much about it, anyway.

She journeyed above one day, leaving the underworld in the command of one of her subordinates. She found her friends throughout Asgard, and she stopped to speak with each of them. Hogun she spoke to only briefly; she encountered him on the training ground, battling through the intense wind and cold. What little skin he had left exposed to the air looked raw and cold, and they merely exchanged pleasantries before Sif moved on. Volstagg she found having a drink and bouncing his daughter on his knee. He seemed content to be inside, and laughed uproariously when she informed him that Hogun was outside training.

"Damned fool," he said fondly. "I'm much happier in here with some ale and pleasant company." He tickled his daughter, who giggled. "No dead men for you today?"

Sif smiled. "Well, you know what they say about dead men, Volstagg—they tell no tales." She waved and left him alone with his daughter.

Thor she found standing just inside a doorway, looking out over winter-ravaged Asgard. He did not stir at her approach, and Sif stood at his side without speaking. She was about to say something to alert him to her presence when he spoke to her.

"It is him, I know it," he said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. There was something pained in his expression, his usually laughing eyes were veiled. Sif found him difficult to read. "Loki," he added, looking over at her. "This is Loki's doing."

Sif thought of Loki, his fluid movements, his illusions practiced so far from Asgard. "What of him?"

Thor pushed himself off the doorframe and paced, his hand twitching toward Mjolnir at his hip. "Ever since he has learned of his parentage, we have had this abominable winter. It is worse than the rest, and Mother fears that it will not end when the spring comes. Loki's influence may be too much for it."

Sif's eyes narrowed. What had she missed? "His parentage?"

"Loki is of Jotunheim." Sif suppressed a gasp. "He is Laufey's son, cast out into the snow to die. Father took him in when he was a baby, and he and Mother raised Loki as their own. And yet… He is angry with them. He does not forgive them."

"Would you?"

Thor looked at Sif, and it was difficult to read his expression. She wondered if she had gone too far. Thor was like a brother to her, but sometimes she found him as difficult to read as Loki. She wasn't sure what had compelled her to defend Loki, but something had bristled in her when Thor had attacked him.

After a moment, Thor's shoulders slumped and his gaze softened.

"I do not know," he admitted. "It is not for me to say what I would do. But Loki casts off so many years of brotherhood between us and begins to act as if I am the enemy. This winter he has inflicted upon us…it is to punish me."

Sif's brow furrowed. "But surely you didn't know of his parentage?"

Thor snorted. "Of course I did not know. But yet Loki blames me." He sighed. "And I do not blame him. I can see now that Father was not always fair to him. But Asgard will perish under this winter if something is not done to curb it." He clenched his fist. "But Loki is still my brother, no matter what he may say—and so I am at an impasse."

Sif frowned. "This is grave, indeed. I will leave you to your thoughts."

Thor gave her a half-smile and nodded, and she moved off to continue her circuit of the area. She had almost decided to return to the underworld, perhaps to actually check on Fenrir (just to reassure herself—she was sure he was nowhere in sight), when she came across Fandral. He was swaying slightly, and his armor looked as if it had been hastily replaced, but of all of her friends, she knew Fandral would help her.

When he saw her, he broke into a lopsided smile. "The Lady Sif!" he boomed. "Back from the world of the dead to grace us with her presence!"

"Yes," she replied with a close-lipped smile. She looked around, then tugged him into an alcove.

"My good lady, I am sure the underworld is a lonely place, but I do not know if I can satisfy your appetite after—ah, after so recently whetting my own…" Under the influence of drink, he was still speaking more loudly than he should, and she clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Listen to me, Fandral," she whispered. "I know Asgard suffers in this winter, but I have a plan that I believe will save you from this winter."

Fandral's eyebrow quirked, and she felt his lips move under her hand. She pulled her hand away and tilted her head to the side. "Lead on, good lady."

Sif was glad she had chosen to speak to Fandral. Hogun would not have understood, and while Volstagg would have helped, he would have shaken his head at her like a disapproving father. And Thor had never been a possibility at all. No, it had to be Fandral. The fact that he was more than a little drunk was simply an added bonus.

She had told him where to find Loki, where he usually practiced his illusions. He was, Sif realized now, venting his frustrations. He was doing it far from Asgard, which she thought noble. Perhaps she was mistaken, but then again, perhaps not. And it made no difference to her. The knowledge of Loki's true parentage had added to her conviction to bring him to the underworld with her. Asgard would be crippled by this winter if something were not done. She was doing this for the greater good of the realm.

Or so she told herself.

Loki's face could be best described as bored and at worst as annoyed when Fandral began speaking to him. She took a moment to admire him. Fandral could hold his own for a moment or two longer. There was so much control in his expression, even if he was the cause of the terrible winter that was ravaging Asgard. It was amazing, how his face could betray nothing that he did not want it to. She wondered if he was an illusion. If when she rose from the ground to grasp him, her hands would meet empty air, and all of her attempted trickery would be for naught. But she couldn't allow herself to think that way if she wanted to go through with this, and she did.

She wanted him, and she would get him.

Sif was not Lady of the Underworld for nothing. The ground behind Loki erupted, and Sif leapt out of it, swift as an arrow. She wrapped an arm around Loki's neck, around another his waist, and used her momentum and his surprise to allow them to fall backwards into the chasm. It closed above them as they fell, cutting off Fandral's slurred cry of, "Godspeed, Lady Sif!"

She kept expecting the Frost Giant in her arms to disappear, to vanish in a puff of smoke. But he remained solid and intact. Her arms did not pass through him. And when they landed back in her underworld, Sif knew she had won. She had him. She was still smiling triumphantly when he turned to her, his expression haughty and unreadable, and arched an eyebrow.

"My, my, Lady Sif... To what do I owe the pleasure?"