fic: enveloped in a sad distaraction [thor, PG]
Title: Enveloped In A Sad Distraction
Fandom: Thor (2011)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Sif/Loki, Thor, Frigg, The Warriors Three.
Spoilers/Warnings: post film, kinda post Avengers; I only say this bc Thor is back on Earth.
Disclaimer: not mine, or The Avengers and any Thor sequels would be different films.
Summary: Sif is well aware she shaped her own life but at times it feels like Thor handed her the hammer and Loki the chisel. Post-film, mainly dealing with Sif back on Asgard.
note: so many thanks to little_giddy who basically held my hands through the breakdown I had writing this fic and then doing beta duty on it.
Enveloped In A Sad Distraction
The palace feels empty these days. Its corridors still gleam their bright gold, the marbled floors have not lost their shine, and the throne room is still as majestic as ever. Yet they are all dulled in Sif's eyes. She walks paths as she has for years. They are familiar and comforting and she does not have to think as her feet guide her.
Night is falling and she looks out to the edges of the realm where Heimdall keeps his watch. Her thoughts immediately turn to Thor on Midgard. His decision to return had been hard for all to bear, including Thor himself. He had warred with himself for days after Jane Foster had shocked them all and opened the Bifrost. Now it overlooks the edge of Asgard as if it had never been gone. As if it had not been broken by Thor's Mijonri and Loki's spear, cracked at the edges for too many days.
His decision to return had not surprised them in the end. Frigg had smiled and kissed his cheeks, the Allfather had looked on as another son left him. Sif had pressed her palms to his bread and had told him to not be stupid. Thor had laughed.
She thinks of Thor on Midgard and the good he is doing, protecting one more realm. She tries not to think of Loki.
They know of the whispers. Thor says nothing of it, but that always was Thor's nature: to protect his brother when he was not teasing him.
Heimdall sees the shadows of magic and whenever pressed Thor is silent on the matter.
In the end Sif cannot question Thor’s wish to return to Midgard. Sif wonders if there was a choice hidden in the past somewhere that they missed to change how things turned out.
She stops at a doorway, arched and tall, opening to the last place she stood with Thor and Loki in the palace.
Her feet have taken her to their warrior's chambers. Her hands touch the edges of the entrance and she pauses before stepping in. The table is no longer upturned, the fruit bowls need filling, and the fire is out. The room is bathed in soft light of dusk and torches. She feels as if she tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes she could imagine them all in this room once more.
She doesn't do this for it is silly and childish.
Laufey's death and the near destruction of Jotunheim has staved off the threat of war, but there are survivors -- there always are -- and they bear ill will towards the realm. Thor and Loki both, in the end, brought chaos on the Nine Realms and sometimes part of her can’t help but think: of course they did.
As different as they always were, it was together when they were always at their best, and as she knows all too well, their worst.
Her eyes sweep the room looking for something she knows is not there. The shadows fall heavily from the pillars and she walks out towards the balcony. Her hand curls over its edge.
There were days when she would look down from here and see two brothers -- silver and gold -- as they would train and tease and fight and love each other. Now she sees the shadows of the trees, glint of torches flickering and making the shadows dance. Her chest feels heavy with the memories.
She wants to hear the whispers of years gone by but she cannot allow herself. She had a duty here. It is why she chose to stay when she wanted to tell Thor she wanted to join him when they first heard the whispers. Leaning on a pillar she closes her eyes and wills herself strength to not walk to the Bifrost. The past has only served to hurt the house of Odin.
When she opens her eyes, the realm is dark, the edges of it tinted in violet. She moves back into the chamber, lets her fingers drift along the ancient wood of the table, sturdy enough to suffer Thor's fits or hold Loki's books. Yet neither will use it any longer.
The thought makes her frown.
Moving to the door, tired of the memories, she tenses, feeling the air shift around her. In the corner of her eye green flickers and then it is gone like a ghost. She spins, hand going to the short blade she keeps sheathed at her side when not in full armour, but there is nothing in the room but her. Her eyes squint at the corner of the balcony where she had just been, where shadows feel darker. Stop it, she thinks to herself. She cannot let her thoughts stray down that path and dismisses her suspicions as the night, fully fallen over the palace like a heavy gown over legs, and maybe a little wishing.
Feeling foolish, mind chuckling at her, she leaves the room with no backward glance. That is giving in.
Sif walks away.
The palace is unchanged, still golden and vast, yet it feels empty. What is worse is that she can still hear their echoes. Thor's booming laughter and Loki's sly chuckles following her with every step. She doesn't turn for she knows that neither is there.
The echoes grow louder.
-
Missing Thor is different to missing Loki. She let herself admit that much.
Missing Thor doesn't involve much missing in the first place because one trip down to the Bifrost and she could be sparring with him in the desert behind Jane's home with Darcy sitting on the outskirts watching, grabbing images of them with this device called a camera, and missing Thor would be no more. His laughter would follow her to Asgard where it would seep into the palace walls and reflect its comfort back to her.
Sif never had siblings--and Hiemdall doesn’t count--something she is reminded of every time she visits her mother and father, and her father eyes her breastplate as if he is imagining a son donning it.
-
The first time she came upon them it was by accident one afternoon while her mother visited with the Queen. Two boys playing in the garden, dancing around each other like shadow and light.
Sif tries to sit and wait, like she was supposed to, but the sounds of wood hitting wood and laughter lure her out of the Queen’s antechamber where her mother told her to stay. Soon she finds herself in the corner of an outdoor practice area where two boys fight each other with wooden swords.
Both are small, skilled, but it’s clear that the one with the pale hair is the better sword-wielder. The other, slighter but not smaller, is quick on his feet but slow with his swings. It’s as if he did not even want to make them at all and when he does make them he stares too long, thinking about it, and telegraphs his hits.
She eyes them with longing. Her fingers are itching to hold one of the swords.
It is the slighter boy who first notices her first, calling her out of her hiding place near the wall telling her she was being rude for spying. She yells back at him at she is not spying and his companion laughs and asks her if she wants to join them.
Sif does so without question, feet practically spiriting across the practice area, her hair flying out behind her like a cape.
By the time her mother's business with Frigg had been done she has muddied her dress and ruined her hair. She learns she’s been sparring with the princes and flushes bright red. Thor laughs and tells his mother that Sif is almost as good as him to which she snaps back that she’s better and he goes from being the prince to just being Thor. Loki stands at his brother other side smiling at her when Thor sticks his tongue out at her and his mother grabs his ear.
When her mother leads her away Thor waves back and Loki bows his head. Sif sends them a wide smile and does not care that her father will not be please at all that she’s been play fighting again, because she had beat Thor three out of five times all the while snapping at Loki as he laughed at them both.
Soon after that Sif more or less forgets what it is to be an only child, running into the woods to pick up sticks to practice in secret. Loki and Thor become her dearest of friends, greatest supporters, even though they call her Jarnsaxa and Loki steals pins from her hair.
-
She can picture her life had she never met them and knows it would have been far more boring, she thinks fondly.
Missing Thor is like that. Remembering what it was like to be awkward in her solitude for she did not act like was she was supposed to like before they entered her life, and yet it is like knowing that they had been there. That Thor was still there in a quiet town, waiting for her to bring her no longer wooden sword to Midgard and fight until they were muddied and tired.
-
She doesn't let her thoughts dwell on missing Loki.
Missing Loki is...
trees, green, the smell of spilt mead, cool fingers
She doesn't like to think on it.
-
Once when she had been younger she had found herself alone in the gardens of the palace, holding her slippers in her hands, as she walked across the paths Queen Frigg had built. The stones were warm under her feet and the grass cool and wet.
The Queen sees her waiting, hands neatly folded on her lap as her parents always taught her, on one the couches near the princes' antechambers. They had not been there when she arrived to see them and while strange, as Frigg would always send a missive to Sif's mother if the princes were unavailable, she knew they would be along at some point.
They never keep her waiting long, even if she did always berate them for keeping her waiting in the first place.
Today though, she’s been waiting for near half past the hour, her fingers fisting in her dress forcing herself not to run the halls and call for them. It would not be the first time Loki has convinced Thor to hide and have her come seeking. Not to mention it would be un-lady like and she’s on thin ground with her father who already berated her for wrestling with Baldar last week and winning.
When the Queen happens upon her, she sits next to Sif, hand drifting over Sif's shoulder pushing Sif’s hair back.
"Sif, my dear girl, have you been sitting here alone all this time?"
Sif’s lips fight to grimace because yes, clearly she has, and the princes are stupid, but controls her face for this is the Queen and Sif regards her as highly as her own mother, “Yes, my queen, the princes do not seem to be available."
Frigg's lips flicker into a frown that disappears as quickly as it came, turning to look down the hall, her eyes seeing something that Sif cannot. Sif dares not ask what she is seeing even though she wants too.
"My queen?"
Frigg then smiles at her and stands, extending her hand, "Yes, my sons seem to be with their father at the moment. They will not be long, but let us not wait here in this empty, drafty hall."
Sif blushes at the offered hand for before this day she has never touch the Queen in such a familiar manner, but takes it like a gift, following Frigg through the corridors.
"The gardens are lovely today, dear Sif. You are welcome to them and I shall inform my sons where they can find you."
“Thank you, my queen.”
That’s how she finds herself walking the palace gardens for the first time alone, letting her feet sink into the cool grass. When the boys find her she is laying in the sun, slippers by her head, pins tucked in them for safe keeping, watching as the clouds drift by, thinking that despite what her father says she is proud that she beat Baldar. No one has beaten him in wrestling before, not even Thor.
She hears Thor first, his steps are never quiet and neither is he, Sif thinks, smiling.
"Loki! I found her. She's over here!" He comes forward and grins down at her, his face filling her vision like sun. "Why were you hiding!"
She rolls her eyes, propping herself up and snarls back, "I am not hiding! I was waiting for near an hour, and you two had forgotten about me!"
“As if we could ever forget you, Sif," Loki's voice comes from her left and she watches as he slips through the hedges like a snake, never once making a sound. She has the strangest feeling that he has been there for far longer than Thor, but pushes such a silly thought away. Why would he find her and keep quiet about it? He walks up to her and Thor and sits by her side, his fingers brushing her the bone of her elbow. She narrows her eyes at him but Loki had pays her no mind. "Father called us to him."
"Oh?"
"He wanted to show us something," Thor says, sitting down at his brother's other side already pulling off his shoes, wiggling his feet in the grass. "Something important, something amazing."
"He wanted to teach us a lesson." Loki adds, seemingly correcting Thor and as always Thor brushes off his brother’s critical tone.
She thinks to ask what it was that the Allfather has shown them, but then Thor has the brilliant idea to see who could climb the highest on the trees and all thoughts of important lessons are lost to the challenge.
She wins, for once her ever growing limbs and speed giving her advantage over Thor's tenacity and Loki's agility. When they reach her they all sit on the tallest branch that will hold them and Loki picks a pear from the tree and gives it to her. The pear is pale yellow and she smiles, thanking him, as her fingers curl around it.
After they finished three pears each they raced back to the palace, another challenge, and Loki's hand pulls at her wrist when they have to switch directions to avoid some guards. His fingers are cool on her wrist. Thor’s laughter rings out in front of them.
-
The gardens are still as lovely as ever and Sif sits in the shadow of the tree she once bested. She looks up through the leaves and the next thing she knows she's half way the tree, hands and feet moving up through the branches with practiced eased until she gets to a point where they will no longer hold her weight. It is much lower than before. Laughing at herself and her impulses, she rests her forehead on the trunk, feeling its grooves bite into her skin.
Her breath is coming in quick and not from exertion. Her hands curl around the bark and grip with a force that has snapped enemies’ necks. The tree holds steady under her hands and she tries to control her breathing.
It is foolish to feel this way. Foolish and silly and were he-no, no, they, it is easier this way. Were they here they would laugh and mock her for being reduced into such a state.
(There is part of her that knows this is not true. Thor would muss her hair and hug her in his giant bear arms. Loki would just look her, his eyes soft and lidded. He would say nothing with Thor around but later he would press his fingers to her cheek and she would know: it is not foolish to feel this way at all.)
The leaves rustle in the wind and it is as they are laughing, and for all the foolishness she feels she would welcome back his thin chuckles and sly eyes easily.
She would punch him and curse at him first, but she would welcome him most of all. The thought weakens her, that she can forgive him so easily for all he’s done, and she hates him for it.
There is a truth that no one knows but her:
Sif has not said Loki's name since he fell with the Bifrost. Fear of calling him forth, fear that he might not respond, she does not know.
She whispers it now, “Loki.”
The leaves shudder with it.
Letting herself rest against a tree they once climbed together and he once touched her under, she closes her eyes and curses him for making himself as important as Asgard in her heart.
A branch snaps and a leaf falls to her lap. In the snap of the branch she thinks she hears her name whispered.
She jumps from the tree and retreats to her chambers.
-
Missing Loki is…
a fist clenched around her heart.
-
He had pulled her into the shadows one time.
She leaves the training area alone. The sword master told Thor it was time to go to the blacksmith and get fitted for a new breastplate and off he went, cracked breastplate and smile in place. Her friend does not grow steadily like his brother but rather in spurts that have her reeling from the fact he was now taller than her. Never once before has either prince been taller than her and now it was as if they themselves are Yggdrasil, ever expanding.
She's walking towards the library, heading to the dark sections where Loki knows he should not be and she knows she will find him. She has a mind to ask him about his training. He’s so quick, sometimes even too quick for her, or even Hogun, who is the fastest of them. She’s considering asking him to start sparring with her. She rubs at her shoulder where it’s aching from where she had been too slow for Thor's swing. Training with Loki would improve on her speed and it is fascinating watching the younger price fight. He moves like water but strikes like a viper, precise and deadly. She is thankful she will never meet him battle, though of course, she does not tell him that. He may be unlike his brother in many ways, but both princes share one very tiresome trait:
They can be smug gits about victory. Thor’s grin still floats in her mind’s eyes over that strike; annoying prat.
The library stacks are now long familiar to her so she pays no mind to her surroundings when suddenly there are hands at her waist pulling her back into a shadowed alcove.
Surprised freezes her reaction for a second before she lowers her shoulder and shoves her elbow into her attacker’s side. There’s a soft groan and she moves her fist back to strike their ribs only to have quick fingers stop her.
"It is only I,” he whispers in her ear.
His breath brushes at her neck and Sif sucks in her stomach at the sensation.
"Loki, what do you think you are doing?" she hisses, forcing herself to relax her shoulders and half turns towards him, nose uncomfortably close to the high collar covering his neck.
His answer is to pull her deeper into the alcove and she blinks at the realisation that he is manipulating the shadows. Once she realises this she can sense the differences right away. They feel darker and from her vantage point she can see they extended farther down than they should at this time of day. She knows enough about the ways of magic, because unlike Thor she does listen to Loki when explains things, and she knows that Loki’s shadows should not extend at all, but as he pulls her further back they even out with the rest of the shadows cast in the library.
“Shh, we are not supposed to be down here,” he says.
She can feel his chest move where it is pressed against her back. Her teeth bite into her lip and then she’s twisting and shoving her hands against his sides wanting him to loosens his grip on her waist. "It's never stopped you before. Now shove off," she whispers back.
His hands fluttered away from her hips.
Sif swallows. There’s an itch she feels where his hands had been.
From her periphery she can see his lips twist into a smile, "Yes, but we're not alone. Now hush." One long finger presses to his lips before he points forward.
He’s pointing to one of the Masters of Magic that stands near the stacks his eyes roaming the shelves. Sif recognises him as one of Loki's tutors from the few instances she, Thor and Fandral have peek into the windows where Loki's lessons are held and make faces at other boy, hoping to break his concentration to no avail. Glancing towards Loki, who has his lips pressed tight in concentration, she wonders why he’s hiding from his tutors.
Her lips open to ask just as Loki turns his glance towards her and puts his fingers to his lips again. Sif rolls her eyes but complies, leaning back further into his shadows. Her side presses against his arm and neither says anything. They stand there in the dark for minutes, Loki's brow furrows in concentration, eyes closed and his lips are a thin line on his face. She’s close enough to see beads of sweat gathering at this temple and ignores the urge to brush them away.
At one point he reaches out and grabs her forearm, making her jump, her eyes falling to where his hand is pale against her skin. She thinks to yell at him for grabbing her again but he looks so pale. It worries her.
“Loki,” she whispers, her eyes taking in how the corner of his lips look so white they seem pale blue.
His fingers tighten on her arm and he lowers his face to hers, “Quiet, please.” The words are almost dragged out of his throat and Sif can only nod. She moves her free arm and curls her hand to his crease of his elbow. Holds him there as his eyes close again and she watches as the edges of the shadows waver green.
He was straining himself, keeping them both hidden for this long, and she wants to hit him. He thinks he’s so much better, brighter, cleverer than everyone else that he forgets he’s just a boy. A stupid boy that looks like he’s going to collapse. She turns to where his tutor is still loitering and she wants to lash out and hit him too because he is the reason the Loki insists on hiding them. Then the Master leaves the room and Loki practically drops to the ground. She still has hold of him, guiding his weight to rest on the wall behind them. She steps in front of him, feet planted in between his spread legs.
"Loki, are you well?" Her hands go to his jaw, titling it towards her so she can see clear into his eyes. His colour is back and his lips no longer seem to be tinted with blue. Relief floods her.
His eyes are half lidded and he smiles with the corner of his mouth. "That was a challenge." He sounds so bloody proud, she curbs her urge to hit him. Does he not see what toll this took on him?
"Pardon?"
Loki sighs as if bored, and she knows it’s an act. "He was stalling, waiting to see if he could catch me here. I'm sure he thought I could not hold an illusion for so long."
"Are you telling me this was a test?" she says, livid at his dismissive tone, at the fact it feels this is all a game to him.
He shakes his head, "Not as such. He was not sure he was testing me.”
"Loki," she sighs, "you near collapsed."
His eyes are bright and wide when they look at her, "Yes, well, I did not expect to have company." He pauses, his tongue peeking out to glide over his lips. She follows its movement and shakes her head when she realises this. His words become clear and suddenly feels awkward and tense, like her skin is being pulled tight over her back. She wants to kick him.
“Sorry, I did not mean to be a bother during your game,” she bites back, looking away.
“Yes, I believe I’ll forgive you,” his says, his hands moving to her wrists where her fingers still lingered on his jaw. “I am well, you need not hold my head up any longer, Sif.” The way he looks at her makes her feel as if she has not cleaned all the mud from her face. Her hands want to brush at her cheeks and she does not let them.
“Clearly, though I do not know how you hold it up seeing as it filled with lead. It was incredibly stupid to play at your tutor in such a way. He’s much more advanced in the magical arts than you.” She scoffs at him.
He cards his hand through his hair, regarding her, “I won, did I not?”
She shakes her head, “You and your games, Loki. Will you ever learn?”
“According to you and my brother it does not seem to be the case,” he answers, pushing himself from the wall. “So what has brought you this way today, Lady Sif? Aren’t you supposed to be playing in the mud with my dear brother?” He moves smoothly away from the alcove, leaving her blinking.
"Lessons ended early, Thor’s breastplate broke,” she says. She steps back, turning as he moves further away from her, and swears upon Odin’s ravens the air suddenly feels different. Pushing her shoulders back, she decides not to let it affect her.
Loki goes towards the stack his tutor had just been at, his hands swiping at his trouser legs. "Did his ego finally break it?"
"No, I did." Sif smiles and leans against the one of the shelves.
“Proud, are you?”
She laughs, for she was, “No prouder than you, Loki Odinson, Shadow Prince.”
Loki turns his head in a small nod of acknowledgement and she feels doubly proud for the curve of the lip she spies on his face. She’s won two victories against Odinsons today.
-
Training with the Warriors Three is different now. They used to move as a unit. They used to be six. A warrior made of twelve arms and twelve legs, now it is as if they are wounded in battle. Limbs amputated, eight and eight missing four and four. Now when Fandral ducks there are no daggers thrown over his head, and when Hogan swings his mace or Volstagg his axe there is no sound of a hammer swinging in time with them. When she rolls and spins her glaive there is no second shadow following her.
There are no more sounds of laughter when at the end or clever words to guide them.
Back in Jotunheim was the last their mighty twelve and twelve limbed warrior fought whole. They fight strong as ever, they train hard as ever, but phantom limbs weigh them down.
Watching as Fandral’s sword clashes with Hogun’s blade a second too close to injury, Sif sighs.
Volstagg turns his gaze on her and drops a thick hand on her shoulder. “We will find our footing again, friend.”
“Yes, but I fear it might not be soon enough,” she says.
Volstagg pats her back and Sif bites back a wince from where it hit the ground earlier during their sparring match. Something that hardly ever happened before, and the knowledge that her mind was not focused on the match but rather on the shadow she misses fills her with annoyance.
“It will, Sif, it will.” Volstagg moves towards Hogun, his axe swinging and Fandral jumps out of the way. The look and curse he throws Volstagg makes her smile.
From behind she hears a chuckle, feels the ends of her braid brush something, and whips her head around. There is nothing, as always, but her eyes narrow at the corner of the training area where light meets dark.
Fury bubbles up in her at her thoughts and she stalks forward, brandishing her glaive, calling Fandral to arms. She can’t hit phantoms or shadows but she can hit something.
-
It had been a feast to honour Thor’s first win in battle. Her first win too, for she had walked right into that battle head held high next to him, and walked home alive, now forever with the knowledge her father had been wrong to say she would never be a warrior.
It had begun with her asking for some mead, not him, as some stories have said.
“Loki, some more mead!” She grins, happy and full, shaking her head at Thor’s antics as he acts out the battle.
“Of course, my lady,” he says, smile in place. It’s so rare to see him smile so freely nowadays when it does not involve one of his tricks or victories. She thinks it suits him. She thinks to tell him she likes it. But the mere idea of it makes her flush and she turns the thought away, focusing on the merriment around her.
He reaches her side and slides into the empty seat next to her. Briefly she wonders where had Fandral gone, but she notes Freya is gone as well and that answers that.
“Here you are, Lady Sif,” he says, overly formal, as he passes her a goblet overflowing with mead. Their fingers brush. Stray drops spill over the cup’s edge fall on her fingers like little sticky rivers drifting down her hand and wrist when she grabs hold of it.
“Thank you, my liege,” she laughs, playing his game, switching the goblet from one hand to another, and it’s telling to how she is not thinking at all, because starts she sucking the spilt mead off her fingers. She doesn’t think about how close she is pressed to his side or how his head is bent towards her.
That is until his long fingers are at her wrist, her teeth pressing against her thumb. Suddenly, it was as if all sound had been sucked out of the hall and all she can hear is the blood pumping her wrist, lips, and thumb. Her gaze flickers from where his fingers are cool against her heated skin to his eyes and, Odin’s ravens help her, there is no coolness there. Sif swallows, throat thick. Her stomach tightens as her thighs do. Loki does not look away and for once she can see no games in them.
“Loki,” she says, and her voice does not sound her own.
He releases her. His hand drops from her wrist and he pushes back from his seat.
“Tell my brother I’ve retired for the evening,” he says, his cloak like a dark shield around him as he sweeps from the room, and for a minute Sif can not move.
And then it is all movement. She stands and rushes out the hall, her hasty retreat unnoticed in the celebration, and follows him down corridors she knows all too well.
It is near his chambers she finally catches up with him.
“Loki!” she half yells, half whispers, not waiting to call attention to themselves. He does not stop, the bastard.
“Loki Odinson! If you do not stop right now I will show I do not need a spear to hit a mark.” She pulls one of her gauntlets off and holds it in her hand, ready to throw.
He stops. She slips her gauntlet back on.
Near one of the pillars that rise high into the ceiling he stands looking like an ink blot in the lowlights of the corridor, and it is then looking at him, suddenly still and silent, that Sif realises that she does not know what she meant to do once she reached him. Her feet still take her forward.
He stands, waiting, half in the light of the torches, half in the dark of pillar looking at her in a way she had never seen from him before. He is waiting for her and she knows not what to say.
What can she say? What can she say that will not ruin the friendship they share and she treasures? What can she say that can express the feelings churning in her gut along with the mead they just drank? She is not the one they call Silvertongue, that is him, and he is just standing front of her, saying nothing.
And then as if he is tired of waiting for her, she sees his mouth move and knows it would be worst idea in all the Nine Realms to let him speak.
So she doesn’t; she’s been called impulsive all her life and yet she’s never felt more reckless than in this moment.
Her hands fist in the opening of his high dark collar and she lowers his lips to hers. His lips are thin and dry under hers and she can feel the way his jaw tenses. The muscles around her shoulder feel tight.
Pulling away, Sif cannot believe she has just done that. This is Loki, of all people. This is Loki, who teases her and plays games with everyone. This is Loki, Shadow Prince, who cut her hair and made her a crown out of gold ribbons and flowers so long ago. She looks at him, sees the way he’s still tense under her white knuckled hands, the way his eyes have widen as if mystified at the look of her and feels sick. How idiotic has she been?
She uncurls her hand and begins to step away, her mouth already moving to issue him a warning that if her ever spoke about this to anyone she would kill him, when his hands come up and curve under her elbows.
There had barely been had a moment between thought and execution in the previous kiss, for that’s how Sif is: movement, instinct, and feeling. This second one however is different; it is steady, considered, knowing, for that is how Loki is.
Sif watches as Loki’s eyes soften, feels the way his hands slide up the back of her arms, and how the space between them seems to quietly fade away. His lips are soft and yielding now, opening to hers readily and she grins against his mouth, fingers pushing against his vest, pressing him back against the pillar. In the half light of the palace’s corridors with Loki’s arm curling around her waist, her tongue pushing past his teeth is when Sif feels the last strings of tension from the battle leave her body.
-
Once the grand palace of Asgard had two sons. Now it only holds their reflections in its glided walls.
All the corridors of the palace hold memories. She finds it funny how she never thought about it too much before, but in truth she never had reason to. Never would have she been able to consider this place, so vast and incandescent, with even the idea of Loki and Thor being gone from it. To her, they had been as much part of it as its tapestries and glided corners. Now she thinks too often about it as she walks the corridors, still shining golden and bronze, no laughter or hidden smiles accompanying her. Her boots click on the floor and their sounds echo lonely without its companions.
She spends more time with her Queen now. Frigg, who was always a quiet, knowing and calming presence in Sif’s life now seems quieter, her gaze often looking out towards sights only she can see, looking out to the Bifrost. Some days Sif catches her coming out of one her sons’ rooms. She never says anything, but sometimes Frigg smiles and extends her an invitation to lunch with her.
Sif remembers: Frigg would always try to share a meal with her sons every day.
Sif remembers: Thor’s winks and smiles at formal events even when his mother would twist her lips into a smile and nod discreetly, silently asking him to pay attention.
Sif remembers: Loki walking with his mother, her arm curled under his, as he would tell of her his lessons, his books, his day.
Now Sif joins her queen on her balcony where the two empty chairs next to them sit heavily, as if waiting for their owners. Frigg fills the silence with stories Sif never knew. Antics the princes got up to before her time with them or when she was not around. Sif laughs at all the appropriate places and more than a few inappropriate ones. She listens, watching Frigg’s eyes slide to the empty chairs and sips her wine, and she can easily imagine Thor coming home covered in scrapes and bruises and smiles because he has wanted to fight a dragon, or Loki shadowing his brother with a smile on his lips knowing he was the one to dare Thor in the first place.
She can imagine them how they used to be when they were only boys dreaming to grow up and be as fierce and wise as their father. If only they had known - if they all had known - what growing up would mean.
Later in her room, she’s undoing her plait, pulling the pins out and setting them in small silver box that was given to her long ago, she looks into her mirror and gasps.
Immediately she turns only to see her empty room and is unsurprised. Her chest hurts, hands curling into the leather covering her thighs.
When she turns back to her vanity, her teeth bitting into her bottom lip and looks down to the small silver box that houses her pins. There used to be lock of golden hair wrapped in an old ribbon nestled in the velvet.
It is no longer there.
Her eyes blur with unshed tears.
-
The first time she broke Thor's nose she had been eleven summers old. It had been a proud moment for everyone involved. For Thor who had grinned around the blood staining his lips and declared that the fight was not over. For herself who had laughed and agreed. And for Loki who had popped his brother's nose into place and murmured some words over it so it would keep until their fight finished.
Since then they have both have suffered injuries either at each other's hand or in battles they have fought together. They know all of each other’s scars.
Ducking the punch that is coming her way, she makes a fist and connects with his ribs, and twists to slip behind him. He turns and grins, advancing on her.
She widens her stance, ready for him and when he’s close enough, she crouches and sweeps at his leg. Thor sees the move coming because it is rare when they truly surprise each other when sparring anymore and moves to avoid her leg. She grins, steadying her hold on the ground and changes the direction of her legs, windmilling her right leg up to hit his thigh while her left holds her steady.
His hands grabs hold of her right knee. Sif winces at the grip as he goes to throw her over his shoulder.
Now her left leg moves and her shin cracks against his skull.
He grunts and jabs an elbow into her back.
Her own grunt is lost in the impact of their bodies as they tumble to the ground with a loud thump. Her back hits the sand hard next to his. A dust cloud floats around them. Thor groans to her left and she feels proud that she can still best him. This is familiar, this feeling. Comfortable; even with her muscles burning from exertion. Sif smiles up at Midgard’s sun and closes her eyes.
They lay in the sun as the sand settles around them, catching their breath, and she hears Jane and Darcy's voices drifting through the open windows as they discuss calculations and data.
Her eyes drift open and she looks up at the sky. It’s so different from Asgard’s and she wonders if Thor misses seeing familiar stars in the sky.
She turns to him.
Thor, forever her brother in her heart and dearest friend, looks back at her and his grin is for once is not in place.
"You have seen him too,” he says.
Sif laughs and it sounds like sob straggled in the throat. Somehow she is not surprised.
“No, I have not seen him. He haunts the shadows of the palace and shies in the corners of mirrors," shaking her head, she brings a hand up to her forehead and leaves it there. "It was foolish to think I was the only one he haunts."
Thor shifts, disturbing the sand around them, as he sits up and pats her stomach a little too hard, "No, not foolish, Sif.”
“Well, I feel foolish.”
He grins down at her, “Some days so do I, but you’ve always been the one to never suffer his pranks and games."
She’s huffs, angry. “Is that not is what I'm doing now? What you're doing here? Suffering his games and ploys in the hopes that for once he is serious about them."
She sits up, legs bent in front of her, and rests her chin in the groove her knees make. She feels unsure and young and ten steps behind. It's frustrating and she's never wanted to throttle Loki more.
Thor's arm, warm and tan, wraps around her shoulder and pulls her to his side. "I fear, my friend, that we were mistaken to think he was never not serious about them. Some days I wonder how I missed so much when I loved him so."
Such words shock her and it's shameful to admit that it’s partly because they're coming from Thor. He was never one for wisdom, he always left that to Loki and maybe, Sif thinks sadly, that both brothers never felt they were taken seriously enough. Thor because he rushed into everything and Loki because he would step back and wait.
It does not help that his words too closely resemble thoughts she’s had herself.
Thor must sense some of her shock because he turns to her, thick eyebrows quirking on his ridiculous face, and suddenly he’s back to being the goofy boy who would sneak her into his training sessions knowing his teachers could not say no to him.
"What?"
"I'm sorry but you have shocked me with your words. Have you hit your head recently, for you sound far too wise?"
Thor glares at her, but the false threat in his eyes does not last long his laughter fills the air. He tugs on her hair and shoves her away smiling. She smiles back and socks his shoulder. They wrestle with no malice like they used to as children. When they head back inside, Sif looks back towards the sunset and thinks on Thor's words. Midgard calls Loki the God of Mischief, but she knew Loki, the younger prince, Shadow Prince, and she loved that Loki. Loves him still.
She cannot help think, though, that Thor's words have never been more right. Loki had always been the most serious of them. They had called his antics games for it was what they saw them as, but what had Loki seen them as?
Sif sighs, going back inside.
It's when she passes one of the many windows and the sun glints on its surface that she thinks she sees a flash of green. It makes her chest tighten in anger and sadness.
"Stop it. Stop hiding your intentions in these games," she whispers angrily to the wind. “Come back.”
The wind whips around her, blowing her loosened hair into her face and she can feel the chill in its answer.
-
The next time she sees a shadow in her mirror she makes a fist. The mirror splinters under her the force of her punch, cutting her knuckles, and breaking two fingers too. Her tears are hot on her face and she cannot bear for him to see them.
Cannot bear knowing that as much as she misses him, he lingers still, silent and in the dark, never once speaking her name.
(crossposted)
Fandom: Thor (2011)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Sif/Loki, Thor, Frigg, The Warriors Three.
Spoilers/Warnings: post film, kinda post Avengers; I only say this bc Thor is back on Earth.
Disclaimer: not mine, or The Avengers and any Thor sequels would be different films.
Summary: Sif is well aware she shaped her own life but at times it feels like Thor handed her the hammer and Loki the chisel. Post-film, mainly dealing with Sif back on Asgard.
note: so many thanks to little_giddy who basically held my hands through the breakdown I had writing this fic and then doing beta duty on it.
Enveloped In A Sad Distraction
The palace feels empty these days. Its corridors still gleam their bright gold, the marbled floors have not lost their shine, and the throne room is still as majestic as ever. Yet they are all dulled in Sif's eyes. She walks paths as she has for years. They are familiar and comforting and she does not have to think as her feet guide her.
Night is falling and she looks out to the edges of the realm where Heimdall keeps his watch. Her thoughts immediately turn to Thor on Midgard. His decision to return had been hard for all to bear, including Thor himself. He had warred with himself for days after Jane Foster had shocked them all and opened the Bifrost. Now it overlooks the edge of Asgard as if it had never been gone. As if it had not been broken by Thor's Mijonri and Loki's spear, cracked at the edges for too many days.
His decision to return had not surprised them in the end. Frigg had smiled and kissed his cheeks, the Allfather had looked on as another son left him. Sif had pressed her palms to his bread and had told him to not be stupid. Thor had laughed.
She thinks of Thor on Midgard and the good he is doing, protecting one more realm. She tries not to think of Loki.
They know of the whispers. Thor says nothing of it, but that always was Thor's nature: to protect his brother when he was not teasing him.
Heimdall sees the shadows of magic and whenever pressed Thor is silent on the matter.
In the end Sif cannot question Thor’s wish to return to Midgard. Sif wonders if there was a choice hidden in the past somewhere that they missed to change how things turned out.
She stops at a doorway, arched and tall, opening to the last place she stood with Thor and Loki in the palace.
Her feet have taken her to their warrior's chambers. Her hands touch the edges of the entrance and she pauses before stepping in. The table is no longer upturned, the fruit bowls need filling, and the fire is out. The room is bathed in soft light of dusk and torches. She feels as if she tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes she could imagine them all in this room once more.
She doesn't do this for it is silly and childish.
Laufey's death and the near destruction of Jotunheim has staved off the threat of war, but there are survivors -- there always are -- and they bear ill will towards the realm. Thor and Loki both, in the end, brought chaos on the Nine Realms and sometimes part of her can’t help but think: of course they did.
As different as they always were, it was together when they were always at their best, and as she knows all too well, their worst.
Her eyes sweep the room looking for something she knows is not there. The shadows fall heavily from the pillars and she walks out towards the balcony. Her hand curls over its edge.
There were days when she would look down from here and see two brothers -- silver and gold -- as they would train and tease and fight and love each other. Now she sees the shadows of the trees, glint of torches flickering and making the shadows dance. Her chest feels heavy with the memories.
She wants to hear the whispers of years gone by but she cannot allow herself. She had a duty here. It is why she chose to stay when she wanted to tell Thor she wanted to join him when they first heard the whispers. Leaning on a pillar she closes her eyes and wills herself strength to not walk to the Bifrost. The past has only served to hurt the house of Odin.
When she opens her eyes, the realm is dark, the edges of it tinted in violet. She moves back into the chamber, lets her fingers drift along the ancient wood of the table, sturdy enough to suffer Thor's fits or hold Loki's books. Yet neither will use it any longer.
The thought makes her frown.
Moving to the door, tired of the memories, she tenses, feeling the air shift around her. In the corner of her eye green flickers and then it is gone like a ghost. She spins, hand going to the short blade she keeps sheathed at her side when not in full armour, but there is nothing in the room but her. Her eyes squint at the corner of the balcony where she had just been, where shadows feel darker. Stop it, she thinks to herself. She cannot let her thoughts stray down that path and dismisses her suspicions as the night, fully fallen over the palace like a heavy gown over legs, and maybe a little wishing.
Feeling foolish, mind chuckling at her, she leaves the room with no backward glance. That is giving in.
Sif walks away.
The palace is unchanged, still golden and vast, yet it feels empty. What is worse is that she can still hear their echoes. Thor's booming laughter and Loki's sly chuckles following her with every step. She doesn't turn for she knows that neither is there.
The echoes grow louder.
-
Missing Thor is different to missing Loki. She let herself admit that much.
Missing Thor doesn't involve much missing in the first place because one trip down to the Bifrost and she could be sparring with him in the desert behind Jane's home with Darcy sitting on the outskirts watching, grabbing images of them with this device called a camera, and missing Thor would be no more. His laughter would follow her to Asgard where it would seep into the palace walls and reflect its comfort back to her.
Sif never had siblings--and Hiemdall doesn’t count--something she is reminded of every time she visits her mother and father, and her father eyes her breastplate as if he is imagining a son donning it.
-
The first time she came upon them it was by accident one afternoon while her mother visited with the Queen. Two boys playing in the garden, dancing around each other like shadow and light.
Sif tries to sit and wait, like she was supposed to, but the sounds of wood hitting wood and laughter lure her out of the Queen’s antechamber where her mother told her to stay. Soon she finds herself in the corner of an outdoor practice area where two boys fight each other with wooden swords.
Both are small, skilled, but it’s clear that the one with the pale hair is the better sword-wielder. The other, slighter but not smaller, is quick on his feet but slow with his swings. It’s as if he did not even want to make them at all and when he does make them he stares too long, thinking about it, and telegraphs his hits.
She eyes them with longing. Her fingers are itching to hold one of the swords.
It is the slighter boy who first notices her first, calling her out of her hiding place near the wall telling her she was being rude for spying. She yells back at him at she is not spying and his companion laughs and asks her if she wants to join them.
Sif does so without question, feet practically spiriting across the practice area, her hair flying out behind her like a cape.
By the time her mother's business with Frigg had been done she has muddied her dress and ruined her hair. She learns she’s been sparring with the princes and flushes bright red. Thor laughs and tells his mother that Sif is almost as good as him to which she snaps back that she’s better and he goes from being the prince to just being Thor. Loki stands at his brother other side smiling at her when Thor sticks his tongue out at her and his mother grabs his ear.
When her mother leads her away Thor waves back and Loki bows his head. Sif sends them a wide smile and does not care that her father will not be please at all that she’s been play fighting again, because she had beat Thor three out of five times all the while snapping at Loki as he laughed at them both.
Soon after that Sif more or less forgets what it is to be an only child, running into the woods to pick up sticks to practice in secret. Loki and Thor become her dearest of friends, greatest supporters, even though they call her Jarnsaxa and Loki steals pins from her hair.
-
She can picture her life had she never met them and knows it would have been far more boring, she thinks fondly.
Missing Thor is like that. Remembering what it was like to be awkward in her solitude for she did not act like was she was supposed to like before they entered her life, and yet it is like knowing that they had been there. That Thor was still there in a quiet town, waiting for her to bring her no longer wooden sword to Midgard and fight until they were muddied and tired.
-
She doesn't let her thoughts dwell on missing Loki.
Missing Loki is...
trees, green, the smell of spilt mead, cool fingers
She doesn't like to think on it.
-
Once when she had been younger she had found herself alone in the gardens of the palace, holding her slippers in her hands, as she walked across the paths Queen Frigg had built. The stones were warm under her feet and the grass cool and wet.
The Queen sees her waiting, hands neatly folded on her lap as her parents always taught her, on one the couches near the princes' antechambers. They had not been there when she arrived to see them and while strange, as Frigg would always send a missive to Sif's mother if the princes were unavailable, she knew they would be along at some point.
They never keep her waiting long, even if she did always berate them for keeping her waiting in the first place.
Today though, she’s been waiting for near half past the hour, her fingers fisting in her dress forcing herself not to run the halls and call for them. It would not be the first time Loki has convinced Thor to hide and have her come seeking. Not to mention it would be un-lady like and she’s on thin ground with her father who already berated her for wrestling with Baldar last week and winning.
When the Queen happens upon her, she sits next to Sif, hand drifting over Sif's shoulder pushing Sif’s hair back.
"Sif, my dear girl, have you been sitting here alone all this time?"
Sif’s lips fight to grimace because yes, clearly she has, and the princes are stupid, but controls her face for this is the Queen and Sif regards her as highly as her own mother, “Yes, my queen, the princes do not seem to be available."
Frigg's lips flicker into a frown that disappears as quickly as it came, turning to look down the hall, her eyes seeing something that Sif cannot. Sif dares not ask what she is seeing even though she wants too.
"My queen?"
Frigg then smiles at her and stands, extending her hand, "Yes, my sons seem to be with their father at the moment. They will not be long, but let us not wait here in this empty, drafty hall."
Sif blushes at the offered hand for before this day she has never touch the Queen in such a familiar manner, but takes it like a gift, following Frigg through the corridors.
"The gardens are lovely today, dear Sif. You are welcome to them and I shall inform my sons where they can find you."
“Thank you, my queen.”
That’s how she finds herself walking the palace gardens for the first time alone, letting her feet sink into the cool grass. When the boys find her she is laying in the sun, slippers by her head, pins tucked in them for safe keeping, watching as the clouds drift by, thinking that despite what her father says she is proud that she beat Baldar. No one has beaten him in wrestling before, not even Thor.
She hears Thor first, his steps are never quiet and neither is he, Sif thinks, smiling.
"Loki! I found her. She's over here!" He comes forward and grins down at her, his face filling her vision like sun. "Why were you hiding!"
She rolls her eyes, propping herself up and snarls back, "I am not hiding! I was waiting for near an hour, and you two had forgotten about me!"
“As if we could ever forget you, Sif," Loki's voice comes from her left and she watches as he slips through the hedges like a snake, never once making a sound. She has the strangest feeling that he has been there for far longer than Thor, but pushes such a silly thought away. Why would he find her and keep quiet about it? He walks up to her and Thor and sits by her side, his fingers brushing her the bone of her elbow. She narrows her eyes at him but Loki had pays her no mind. "Father called us to him."
"Oh?"
"He wanted to show us something," Thor says, sitting down at his brother's other side already pulling off his shoes, wiggling his feet in the grass. "Something important, something amazing."
"He wanted to teach us a lesson." Loki adds, seemingly correcting Thor and as always Thor brushes off his brother’s critical tone.
She thinks to ask what it was that the Allfather has shown them, but then Thor has the brilliant idea to see who could climb the highest on the trees and all thoughts of important lessons are lost to the challenge.
She wins, for once her ever growing limbs and speed giving her advantage over Thor's tenacity and Loki's agility. When they reach her they all sit on the tallest branch that will hold them and Loki picks a pear from the tree and gives it to her. The pear is pale yellow and she smiles, thanking him, as her fingers curl around it.
After they finished three pears each they raced back to the palace, another challenge, and Loki's hand pulls at her wrist when they have to switch directions to avoid some guards. His fingers are cool on her wrist. Thor’s laughter rings out in front of them.
-
The gardens are still as lovely as ever and Sif sits in the shadow of the tree she once bested. She looks up through the leaves and the next thing she knows she's half way the tree, hands and feet moving up through the branches with practiced eased until she gets to a point where they will no longer hold her weight. It is much lower than before. Laughing at herself and her impulses, she rests her forehead on the trunk, feeling its grooves bite into her skin.
Her breath is coming in quick and not from exertion. Her hands curl around the bark and grip with a force that has snapped enemies’ necks. The tree holds steady under her hands and she tries to control her breathing.
It is foolish to feel this way. Foolish and silly and were he-no, no, they, it is easier this way. Were they here they would laugh and mock her for being reduced into such a state.
(There is part of her that knows this is not true. Thor would muss her hair and hug her in his giant bear arms. Loki would just look her, his eyes soft and lidded. He would say nothing with Thor around but later he would press his fingers to her cheek and she would know: it is not foolish to feel this way at all.)
The leaves rustle in the wind and it is as they are laughing, and for all the foolishness she feels she would welcome back his thin chuckles and sly eyes easily.
She would punch him and curse at him first, but she would welcome him most of all. The thought weakens her, that she can forgive him so easily for all he’s done, and she hates him for it.
There is a truth that no one knows but her:
Sif has not said Loki's name since he fell with the Bifrost. Fear of calling him forth, fear that he might not respond, she does not know.
She whispers it now, “Loki.”
The leaves shudder with it.
Letting herself rest against a tree they once climbed together and he once touched her under, she closes her eyes and curses him for making himself as important as Asgard in her heart.
A branch snaps and a leaf falls to her lap. In the snap of the branch she thinks she hears her name whispered.
She jumps from the tree and retreats to her chambers.
-
Missing Loki is…
a fist clenched around her heart.
-
He had pulled her into the shadows one time.
She leaves the training area alone. The sword master told Thor it was time to go to the blacksmith and get fitted for a new breastplate and off he went, cracked breastplate and smile in place. Her friend does not grow steadily like his brother but rather in spurts that have her reeling from the fact he was now taller than her. Never once before has either prince been taller than her and now it was as if they themselves are Yggdrasil, ever expanding.
She's walking towards the library, heading to the dark sections where Loki knows he should not be and she knows she will find him. She has a mind to ask him about his training. He’s so quick, sometimes even too quick for her, or even Hogun, who is the fastest of them. She’s considering asking him to start sparring with her. She rubs at her shoulder where it’s aching from where she had been too slow for Thor's swing. Training with Loki would improve on her speed and it is fascinating watching the younger price fight. He moves like water but strikes like a viper, precise and deadly. She is thankful she will never meet him battle, though of course, she does not tell him that. He may be unlike his brother in many ways, but both princes share one very tiresome trait:
They can be smug gits about victory. Thor’s grin still floats in her mind’s eyes over that strike; annoying prat.
The library stacks are now long familiar to her so she pays no mind to her surroundings when suddenly there are hands at her waist pulling her back into a shadowed alcove.
Surprised freezes her reaction for a second before she lowers her shoulder and shoves her elbow into her attacker’s side. There’s a soft groan and she moves her fist back to strike their ribs only to have quick fingers stop her.
"It is only I,” he whispers in her ear.
His breath brushes at her neck and Sif sucks in her stomach at the sensation.
"Loki, what do you think you are doing?" she hisses, forcing herself to relax her shoulders and half turns towards him, nose uncomfortably close to the high collar covering his neck.
His answer is to pull her deeper into the alcove and she blinks at the realisation that he is manipulating the shadows. Once she realises this she can sense the differences right away. They feel darker and from her vantage point she can see they extended farther down than they should at this time of day. She knows enough about the ways of magic, because unlike Thor she does listen to Loki when explains things, and she knows that Loki’s shadows should not extend at all, but as he pulls her further back they even out with the rest of the shadows cast in the library.
“Shh, we are not supposed to be down here,” he says.
She can feel his chest move where it is pressed against her back. Her teeth bite into her lip and then she’s twisting and shoving her hands against his sides wanting him to loosens his grip on her waist. "It's never stopped you before. Now shove off," she whispers back.
His hands fluttered away from her hips.
Sif swallows. There’s an itch she feels where his hands had been.
From her periphery she can see his lips twist into a smile, "Yes, but we're not alone. Now hush." One long finger presses to his lips before he points forward.
He’s pointing to one of the Masters of Magic that stands near the stacks his eyes roaming the shelves. Sif recognises him as one of Loki's tutors from the few instances she, Thor and Fandral have peek into the windows where Loki's lessons are held and make faces at other boy, hoping to break his concentration to no avail. Glancing towards Loki, who has his lips pressed tight in concentration, she wonders why he’s hiding from his tutors.
Her lips open to ask just as Loki turns his glance towards her and puts his fingers to his lips again. Sif rolls her eyes but complies, leaning back further into his shadows. Her side presses against his arm and neither says anything. They stand there in the dark for minutes, Loki's brow furrows in concentration, eyes closed and his lips are a thin line on his face. She’s close enough to see beads of sweat gathering at this temple and ignores the urge to brush them away.
At one point he reaches out and grabs her forearm, making her jump, her eyes falling to where his hand is pale against her skin. She thinks to yell at him for grabbing her again but he looks so pale. It worries her.
“Loki,” she whispers, her eyes taking in how the corner of his lips look so white they seem pale blue.
His fingers tighten on her arm and he lowers his face to hers, “Quiet, please.” The words are almost dragged out of his throat and Sif can only nod. She moves her free arm and curls her hand to his crease of his elbow. Holds him there as his eyes close again and she watches as the edges of the shadows waver green.
He was straining himself, keeping them both hidden for this long, and she wants to hit him. He thinks he’s so much better, brighter, cleverer than everyone else that he forgets he’s just a boy. A stupid boy that looks like he’s going to collapse. She turns to where his tutor is still loitering and she wants to lash out and hit him too because he is the reason the Loki insists on hiding them. Then the Master leaves the room and Loki practically drops to the ground. She still has hold of him, guiding his weight to rest on the wall behind them. She steps in front of him, feet planted in between his spread legs.
"Loki, are you well?" Her hands go to his jaw, titling it towards her so she can see clear into his eyes. His colour is back and his lips no longer seem to be tinted with blue. Relief floods her.
His eyes are half lidded and he smiles with the corner of his mouth. "That was a challenge." He sounds so bloody proud, she curbs her urge to hit him. Does he not see what toll this took on him?
"Pardon?"
Loki sighs as if bored, and she knows it’s an act. "He was stalling, waiting to see if he could catch me here. I'm sure he thought I could not hold an illusion for so long."
"Are you telling me this was a test?" she says, livid at his dismissive tone, at the fact it feels this is all a game to him.
He shakes his head, "Not as such. He was not sure he was testing me.”
"Loki," she sighs, "you near collapsed."
His eyes are bright and wide when they look at her, "Yes, well, I did not expect to have company." He pauses, his tongue peeking out to glide over his lips. She follows its movement and shakes her head when she realises this. His words become clear and suddenly feels awkward and tense, like her skin is being pulled tight over her back. She wants to kick him.
“Sorry, I did not mean to be a bother during your game,” she bites back, looking away.
“Yes, I believe I’ll forgive you,” his says, his hands moving to her wrists where her fingers still lingered on his jaw. “I am well, you need not hold my head up any longer, Sif.” The way he looks at her makes her feel as if she has not cleaned all the mud from her face. Her hands want to brush at her cheeks and she does not let them.
“Clearly, though I do not know how you hold it up seeing as it filled with lead. It was incredibly stupid to play at your tutor in such a way. He’s much more advanced in the magical arts than you.” She scoffs at him.
He cards his hand through his hair, regarding her, “I won, did I not?”
She shakes her head, “You and your games, Loki. Will you ever learn?”
“According to you and my brother it does not seem to be the case,” he answers, pushing himself from the wall. “So what has brought you this way today, Lady Sif? Aren’t you supposed to be playing in the mud with my dear brother?” He moves smoothly away from the alcove, leaving her blinking.
"Lessons ended early, Thor’s breastplate broke,” she says. She steps back, turning as he moves further away from her, and swears upon Odin’s ravens the air suddenly feels different. Pushing her shoulders back, she decides not to let it affect her.
Loki goes towards the stack his tutor had just been at, his hands swiping at his trouser legs. "Did his ego finally break it?"
"No, I did." Sif smiles and leans against the one of the shelves.
“Proud, are you?”
She laughs, for she was, “No prouder than you, Loki Odinson, Shadow Prince.”
Loki turns his head in a small nod of acknowledgement and she feels doubly proud for the curve of the lip she spies on his face. She’s won two victories against Odinsons today.
-
Training with the Warriors Three is different now. They used to move as a unit. They used to be six. A warrior made of twelve arms and twelve legs, now it is as if they are wounded in battle. Limbs amputated, eight and eight missing four and four. Now when Fandral ducks there are no daggers thrown over his head, and when Hogan swings his mace or Volstagg his axe there is no sound of a hammer swinging in time with them. When she rolls and spins her glaive there is no second shadow following her.
There are no more sounds of laughter when at the end or clever words to guide them.
Back in Jotunheim was the last their mighty twelve and twelve limbed warrior fought whole. They fight strong as ever, they train hard as ever, but phantom limbs weigh them down.
Watching as Fandral’s sword clashes with Hogun’s blade a second too close to injury, Sif sighs.
Volstagg turns his gaze on her and drops a thick hand on her shoulder. “We will find our footing again, friend.”
“Yes, but I fear it might not be soon enough,” she says.
Volstagg pats her back and Sif bites back a wince from where it hit the ground earlier during their sparring match. Something that hardly ever happened before, and the knowledge that her mind was not focused on the match but rather on the shadow she misses fills her with annoyance.
“It will, Sif, it will.” Volstagg moves towards Hogun, his axe swinging and Fandral jumps out of the way. The look and curse he throws Volstagg makes her smile.
From behind she hears a chuckle, feels the ends of her braid brush something, and whips her head around. There is nothing, as always, but her eyes narrow at the corner of the training area where light meets dark.
Fury bubbles up in her at her thoughts and she stalks forward, brandishing her glaive, calling Fandral to arms. She can’t hit phantoms or shadows but she can hit something.
-
It had been a feast to honour Thor’s first win in battle. Her first win too, for she had walked right into that battle head held high next to him, and walked home alive, now forever with the knowledge her father had been wrong to say she would never be a warrior.
It had begun with her asking for some mead, not him, as some stories have said.
“Loki, some more mead!” She grins, happy and full, shaking her head at Thor’s antics as he acts out the battle.
“Of course, my lady,” he says, smile in place. It’s so rare to see him smile so freely nowadays when it does not involve one of his tricks or victories. She thinks it suits him. She thinks to tell him she likes it. But the mere idea of it makes her flush and she turns the thought away, focusing on the merriment around her.
He reaches her side and slides into the empty seat next to her. Briefly she wonders where had Fandral gone, but she notes Freya is gone as well and that answers that.
“Here you are, Lady Sif,” he says, overly formal, as he passes her a goblet overflowing with mead. Their fingers brush. Stray drops spill over the cup’s edge fall on her fingers like little sticky rivers drifting down her hand and wrist when she grabs hold of it.
“Thank you, my liege,” she laughs, playing his game, switching the goblet from one hand to another, and it’s telling to how she is not thinking at all, because starts she sucking the spilt mead off her fingers. She doesn’t think about how close she is pressed to his side or how his head is bent towards her.
That is until his long fingers are at her wrist, her teeth pressing against her thumb. Suddenly, it was as if all sound had been sucked out of the hall and all she can hear is the blood pumping her wrist, lips, and thumb. Her gaze flickers from where his fingers are cool against her heated skin to his eyes and, Odin’s ravens help her, there is no coolness there. Sif swallows, throat thick. Her stomach tightens as her thighs do. Loki does not look away and for once she can see no games in them.
“Loki,” she says, and her voice does not sound her own.
He releases her. His hand drops from her wrist and he pushes back from his seat.
“Tell my brother I’ve retired for the evening,” he says, his cloak like a dark shield around him as he sweeps from the room, and for a minute Sif can not move.
And then it is all movement. She stands and rushes out the hall, her hasty retreat unnoticed in the celebration, and follows him down corridors she knows all too well.
It is near his chambers she finally catches up with him.
“Loki!” she half yells, half whispers, not waiting to call attention to themselves. He does not stop, the bastard.
“Loki Odinson! If you do not stop right now I will show I do not need a spear to hit a mark.” She pulls one of her gauntlets off and holds it in her hand, ready to throw.
He stops. She slips her gauntlet back on.
Near one of the pillars that rise high into the ceiling he stands looking like an ink blot in the lowlights of the corridor, and it is then looking at him, suddenly still and silent, that Sif realises that she does not know what she meant to do once she reached him. Her feet still take her forward.
He stands, waiting, half in the light of the torches, half in the dark of pillar looking at her in a way she had never seen from him before. He is waiting for her and she knows not what to say.
What can she say? What can she say that will not ruin the friendship they share and she treasures? What can she say that can express the feelings churning in her gut along with the mead they just drank? She is not the one they call Silvertongue, that is him, and he is just standing front of her, saying nothing.
And then as if he is tired of waiting for her, she sees his mouth move and knows it would be worst idea in all the Nine Realms to let him speak.
So she doesn’t; she’s been called impulsive all her life and yet she’s never felt more reckless than in this moment.
Her hands fist in the opening of his high dark collar and she lowers his lips to hers. His lips are thin and dry under hers and she can feel the way his jaw tenses. The muscles around her shoulder feel tight.
Pulling away, Sif cannot believe she has just done that. This is Loki, of all people. This is Loki, who teases her and plays games with everyone. This is Loki, Shadow Prince, who cut her hair and made her a crown out of gold ribbons and flowers so long ago. She looks at him, sees the way he’s still tense under her white knuckled hands, the way his eyes have widen as if mystified at the look of her and feels sick. How idiotic has she been?
She uncurls her hand and begins to step away, her mouth already moving to issue him a warning that if her ever spoke about this to anyone she would kill him, when his hands come up and curve under her elbows.
There had barely been had a moment between thought and execution in the previous kiss, for that’s how Sif is: movement, instinct, and feeling. This second one however is different; it is steady, considered, knowing, for that is how Loki is.
Sif watches as Loki’s eyes soften, feels the way his hands slide up the back of her arms, and how the space between them seems to quietly fade away. His lips are soft and yielding now, opening to hers readily and she grins against his mouth, fingers pushing against his vest, pressing him back against the pillar. In the half light of the palace’s corridors with Loki’s arm curling around her waist, her tongue pushing past his teeth is when Sif feels the last strings of tension from the battle leave her body.
-
Once the grand palace of Asgard had two sons. Now it only holds their reflections in its glided walls.
All the corridors of the palace hold memories. She finds it funny how she never thought about it too much before, but in truth she never had reason to. Never would have she been able to consider this place, so vast and incandescent, with even the idea of Loki and Thor being gone from it. To her, they had been as much part of it as its tapestries and glided corners. Now she thinks too often about it as she walks the corridors, still shining golden and bronze, no laughter or hidden smiles accompanying her. Her boots click on the floor and their sounds echo lonely without its companions.
She spends more time with her Queen now. Frigg, who was always a quiet, knowing and calming presence in Sif’s life now seems quieter, her gaze often looking out towards sights only she can see, looking out to the Bifrost. Some days Sif catches her coming out of one her sons’ rooms. She never says anything, but sometimes Frigg smiles and extends her an invitation to lunch with her.
Sif remembers: Frigg would always try to share a meal with her sons every day.
Sif remembers: Thor’s winks and smiles at formal events even when his mother would twist her lips into a smile and nod discreetly, silently asking him to pay attention.
Sif remembers: Loki walking with his mother, her arm curled under his, as he would tell of her his lessons, his books, his day.
Now Sif joins her queen on her balcony where the two empty chairs next to them sit heavily, as if waiting for their owners. Frigg fills the silence with stories Sif never knew. Antics the princes got up to before her time with them or when she was not around. Sif laughs at all the appropriate places and more than a few inappropriate ones. She listens, watching Frigg’s eyes slide to the empty chairs and sips her wine, and she can easily imagine Thor coming home covered in scrapes and bruises and smiles because he has wanted to fight a dragon, or Loki shadowing his brother with a smile on his lips knowing he was the one to dare Thor in the first place.
She can imagine them how they used to be when they were only boys dreaming to grow up and be as fierce and wise as their father. If only they had known - if they all had known - what growing up would mean.
Later in her room, she’s undoing her plait, pulling the pins out and setting them in small silver box that was given to her long ago, she looks into her mirror and gasps.
Immediately she turns only to see her empty room and is unsurprised. Her chest hurts, hands curling into the leather covering her thighs.
When she turns back to her vanity, her teeth bitting into her bottom lip and looks down to the small silver box that houses her pins. There used to be lock of golden hair wrapped in an old ribbon nestled in the velvet.
It is no longer there.
Her eyes blur with unshed tears.
-
The first time she broke Thor's nose she had been eleven summers old. It had been a proud moment for everyone involved. For Thor who had grinned around the blood staining his lips and declared that the fight was not over. For herself who had laughed and agreed. And for Loki who had popped his brother's nose into place and murmured some words over it so it would keep until their fight finished.
Since then they have both have suffered injuries either at each other's hand or in battles they have fought together. They know all of each other’s scars.
Ducking the punch that is coming her way, she makes a fist and connects with his ribs, and twists to slip behind him. He turns and grins, advancing on her.
She widens her stance, ready for him and when he’s close enough, she crouches and sweeps at his leg. Thor sees the move coming because it is rare when they truly surprise each other when sparring anymore and moves to avoid her leg. She grins, steadying her hold on the ground and changes the direction of her legs, windmilling her right leg up to hit his thigh while her left holds her steady.
His hands grabs hold of her right knee. Sif winces at the grip as he goes to throw her over his shoulder.
Now her left leg moves and her shin cracks against his skull.
He grunts and jabs an elbow into her back.
Her own grunt is lost in the impact of their bodies as they tumble to the ground with a loud thump. Her back hits the sand hard next to his. A dust cloud floats around them. Thor groans to her left and she feels proud that she can still best him. This is familiar, this feeling. Comfortable; even with her muscles burning from exertion. Sif smiles up at Midgard’s sun and closes her eyes.
They lay in the sun as the sand settles around them, catching their breath, and she hears Jane and Darcy's voices drifting through the open windows as they discuss calculations and data.
Her eyes drift open and she looks up at the sky. It’s so different from Asgard’s and she wonders if Thor misses seeing familiar stars in the sky.
She turns to him.
Thor, forever her brother in her heart and dearest friend, looks back at her and his grin is for once is not in place.
"You have seen him too,” he says.
Sif laughs and it sounds like sob straggled in the throat. Somehow she is not surprised.
“No, I have not seen him. He haunts the shadows of the palace and shies in the corners of mirrors," shaking her head, she brings a hand up to her forehead and leaves it there. "It was foolish to think I was the only one he haunts."
Thor shifts, disturbing the sand around them, as he sits up and pats her stomach a little too hard, "No, not foolish, Sif.”
“Well, I feel foolish.”
He grins down at her, “Some days so do I, but you’ve always been the one to never suffer his pranks and games."
She’s huffs, angry. “Is that not is what I'm doing now? What you're doing here? Suffering his games and ploys in the hopes that for once he is serious about them."
She sits up, legs bent in front of her, and rests her chin in the groove her knees make. She feels unsure and young and ten steps behind. It's frustrating and she's never wanted to throttle Loki more.
Thor's arm, warm and tan, wraps around her shoulder and pulls her to his side. "I fear, my friend, that we were mistaken to think he was never not serious about them. Some days I wonder how I missed so much when I loved him so."
Such words shock her and it's shameful to admit that it’s partly because they're coming from Thor. He was never one for wisdom, he always left that to Loki and maybe, Sif thinks sadly, that both brothers never felt they were taken seriously enough. Thor because he rushed into everything and Loki because he would step back and wait.
It does not help that his words too closely resemble thoughts she’s had herself.
Thor must sense some of her shock because he turns to her, thick eyebrows quirking on his ridiculous face, and suddenly he’s back to being the goofy boy who would sneak her into his training sessions knowing his teachers could not say no to him.
"What?"
"I'm sorry but you have shocked me with your words. Have you hit your head recently, for you sound far too wise?"
Thor glares at her, but the false threat in his eyes does not last long his laughter fills the air. He tugs on her hair and shoves her away smiling. She smiles back and socks his shoulder. They wrestle with no malice like they used to as children. When they head back inside, Sif looks back towards the sunset and thinks on Thor's words. Midgard calls Loki the God of Mischief, but she knew Loki, the younger prince, Shadow Prince, and she loved that Loki. Loves him still.
She cannot help think, though, that Thor's words have never been more right. Loki had always been the most serious of them. They had called his antics games for it was what they saw them as, but what had Loki seen them as?
Sif sighs, going back inside.
It's when she passes one of the many windows and the sun glints on its surface that she thinks she sees a flash of green. It makes her chest tighten in anger and sadness.
"Stop it. Stop hiding your intentions in these games," she whispers angrily to the wind. “Come back.”
The wind whips around her, blowing her loosened hair into her face and she can feel the chill in its answer.
-
The next time she sees a shadow in her mirror she makes a fist. The mirror splinters under her the force of her punch, cutting her knuckles, and breaking two fingers too. Her tears are hot on her face and she cannot bear for him to see them.
Cannot bear knowing that as much as she misses him, he lingers still, silent and in the dark, never once speaking her name.
(crossposted)