marvelbox | Flashbacks

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Sif slammed the lid of her small jewelry box shut with a decisive click, a scowl crossing her reddened lips as she started sorting through the mess cluttering the surface of her vanity, looking for her favorite pair of hairpins. She’d been certain she’d left them in her small box before heading out to her morning training, but now they were nowhere to be found and it was one more annoyance to add to her lengthening list of the day.

“Blast,” she hissed out, slamming a fist against the surface of her vanity as she sank down on the bench, frustration welling up within her with a suddenness and a force that for a moment, she couldn’t think. It was such a little thing, but the little things had been adding up over the past few days and this was almost the straw that was her breaking. Struggling with her emotions, she gritted her teeth, rubbing angrily at her eyes before she caught sight of the door across the room in her mirror’s reflection. It was cracked open, just as it had been when she’d returned to her room after training, something she’d taken no notice of at the time but now made her suspicious.

Her gaze narrowed as it turned on her jewel box once more, her lips twisting downwards for a moment in speculation. “Dammit, Loki,” she hissed after a moment, pushing herself to her feet and stalking out of her room once more. She knew she’d put those pins in her box, she could remember it clearly. If they were not there now, it was through no fault of her own.

Her strides were determined, almost angry as she left her own home and crossed the square, returning to the palace she’d left a short time before. She was still dressed in her training gear – a simple bound corset adorned with bronzed mail and soft leather breeches with a belted sash of deep scarlet, the colors of her father’s house. Her pale blond hair was drawn back in a braid to keep it out of her face while she practiced. She’d had no more plans for the rest of the morning beyond taking a long soak to ease her sore muscles – training had been especially brutal this morning. It always was when she was partnered against Brull. The older boy was a brute, and a strong one. What he lacked in wits and speed, he made up for in sheer strength and he’d managed to get the best of her today. She’d been distracted and slower than her usual self and she was going to sport several vibrant bruises on her ribs and arms before the day was out.

The fact that she had to postpone her bath to search out her own missing possessions was not improving her mood any.

No one was foolish enough to interrupt her – Sif within the palace walls was as common a sight as one of the royal family. Not to mention that most people were wise enough to get out of her way when they caught sight of the expression on her face. She stalked through familiar halls with a purpose, only pausing when she came to the entrance of the library that the younger son of Odin had been haunting recently. The doors banged against the walls when she stormed in, but she didn’t care as she started off down the shelves, searching for the source of her ire.

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Loki relaxed, just a little. He huffed out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know what a right impression would look like then, since you're certainly Thor's favorite friend." There was just a hint of mockery in his tone. Then his eyes widened and he let out a sharp, surprised laugh. "Oh no! You mean to say your father wishes you to... oh my. Like those horrid, boring girls at the feasts that are always preening and cooing like idiotic doves?" He burst out laughing.

"'Oh Thor! Oh Thor! So bright and handsome! So strong!'" He cooed that in a simpering parody of some of those girls. The sad thing was, though, some of them had caught Thor's attention. Mostly the ones that wore their necklines the lowest. It annoyed Loki to no end, though a little part of him had to admit that it was because no girl would be trying to shove her assets under his nose. Not that he would be interested in those idiots, none of them could hold up their end of even a simple conversation. But it would be kind of nice if they tried. "Only promise that you'll not put on scent and hitch your bodice so low as that, because it would look ridiculous and I don't think I'd be able to keep a straight face, let alone eat in your presence."

And the thought of Sif even in that position made him feel very strange. Mostly because she'd look utterly stupid and he didn't have the heart to laugh at someone when it was that easy. But also because the thought of her fluttering at Thor just... made him feel sick, and angry, and he wasn't quite sure why.

"Really, though, is your father mad? He looked alright the last time I saw him at a feast, but some madness can be well hidden." His grin slowly went down to something sly again. "And what do you wish of this?"

Edited 2011-12-04 21:27 (UTC)

The book was flying for his head before she acknowledged the desire to punch him. "You're horrid," she hissed out, temper flaring again in her dark eyes, more at the fact that he was laughing at her than for what he said. She couldn't be angry for what he'd said, for he'd done no more than voice her own thoughts aloud. Her father was a fool, although she could never speak those words aloud. He'd been so thrilled when his only daughter had struck up a friendship with the princes, hoping that Sif would bring the connections he feared lost to him when his wife had failed to give him a son.

Sif had been thrilled that she might actually accomplish something in his eyes until she realized that not even in this could she live up to his expectations. This dinner tonight only further cemented that knowledge and she seethed that even Loki laughed at her for trying.

Not to mention he'd brought up one of her sorer spots, that of her flat chest. It was a good thing she didn't wish to be a maiden, for she was sure she'd have no luck at it. The times Loki had compared her face to that of a horse were beyond number and while she appreciated the fact that she hadn't gained any womanly curves yet while she was fighting and cinching into armor, it was something she was self-conscious of whenever she was near other girls her age, like Amora and Lorelei and Brunnhilde. Or whenever her father pointed out her lack.

"I wish you to return my hairpins," she snapped, fingers curling into fists at her side once more as she barely restrained the urge to punch him. "Leave my father out of this. If you're going to return them, then do so. If not... Forget it. I don't know why I bothered. I will see you tonight, Prince." Her voice was filled with temper and disdain as she shot him a look that, had it been a dagger, would have caused him most grievous injury. She spun on her heel, blond braid bouncing against her spine as she stalked back towards the door, fuming with anger and humiliation.

Edited 2011-12-04 22:21 (UTC)

Loki tried to dodge the book, so it hit him in the shoulder instead of in the face. He scrabbled the book up from the floor as it fell, his face a picture of wounded dignity and outrage. "This is why warriors shouldn't be allowed in a library!" he shouted. "You're horrid! Look at what you did to my book!" A few of the pages were a bit bent. "It never did anything to you!"

And then she called him Prince, but in a tone that made it a slap in the face. After which she tried to storm out, which was just not going to do. Loki was the master of dramatic exits. He wasn't about to let Sif steal a march on him, not when he hadn't even done anything.

He stalked after her, able to catch up because his legs were just that much longer than hers. The book was still held in one arm like a shield. With his other hand he grabbed her by the arm. "Now look here--" he started.

And then he caught sight of her eyes. And tears. Which he could only presume he'd been the cause of, somehow, and that felt like being stabbed in the heart. Because he was used to needling Sif until she yelled at him and punched him, and that was alright. That's how he dealt with Thor as well. But tears meant that something was truly wrong, that wounds had gone from imaginary to real.

His face went pale, eyes wide. Lightning fast, he tried to work out what was wrong, but he didn't have enough information and he didn't know how her mind worked quite well enough. Though he could at least think of a few possibilities. "Your father is a fool," he said, voice gone quiet and intense. "And you'd be a fool to listen to him. And I know you're not a fool, at least not when it counts. And if I took your bloody hairpins - and I'm not saying that I did! - it would be because I know you don't really want to wear them at all and I think you are prettier without them."

His lips snapped shut. He really hadn't intended to say that last thing, it had just sort of escaped with all of the other words. He hastily released her arm.

Sif's mouth dropped open and for a moment, she stared at him, her brain having stuttered to a stop at his words. Disbelief and surprise stained her features and she felt a rush of warmth, feeling her cheeks heat faintly.

Until she remembered this was Loki and this was not at all like him and if this was another of his games...

Her fist connected with his shoulder - she curbed the urge to break his nose at the last moment because she could just hear her father's reaction to that the night of his big important dinner.

"So I'm a fool, it's hardly the worst you've called me before this and I might have believed that if you didn't take every opportunity to compare me to your mount," she snapped, shaking off his hand, angrily rubbing at her eyes, cursing the fact that she felt wetness there again. "I know its stupid and pointless. For all the hope I have of doing half of what my father expects of me. I'd have better luck if I had you dress up in my place. If I could think of any other way out of it, don't you think I would have? Just... Shut up, Loki. Leave me alone."

The last was almost a whisper and she took advantage of the moment to sweep past him, fleeing the library before he could say anything more that could possibly make this worse.

Edited 2011-12-05 00:16 (UTC)

"Hey!" He clutched at his shoulder. Any sympathy that he'd been feeling dried up in a surge of wounded pride. He'd been trying to be honest, and nice and had even told her more than he intended, and this was how she thanked him? "Maybe I would look better in a dress than you! At least I wouldn't look like a horse!"

And then she stormed off. He was too angry to follow.

Grumbling to himself, Loki went back to his shaded little alcove, opening the book he still held. He stared at the page, but the words seemed to be escaping him today. The diagrams made no sense, because all he could think about was the hurt in Sif's face, and those tears. And the thing was, he didn't want her to be angry with him, and he didn't want to be angry at her. He wanted things to continue as they had, with Sif a constant presence in his life, always bouncing between him and his brother.

She'd punched him, he realized, because she couldn't punch the people or the things that were really bothering her. She was helpless against them, so she'd blamed him.

But what was she really angry about? Sif knew that she didn't belong among the ranks of the ladies. She was a warrior. But her father kept trying to push her in that way, and she couldn't think of a way out of it. Perhaps because she was too close to the problem, for there were many potential solutions that Loki could see.

He cupped his hands and the air between his palms shimmered for a moment. Sif's hairpins fell from the pocket in space he'd hidden them in, falling haphazardly into his hands. He examined them dispassionately. They were pretty, delicate, and useless. Which was exactly what Sif didn't want to be and wasn't, but perhaps that just needed to be more clear to all. These were a symbol of the problem's root.

Loki closed his hands around the pins and vanished them again. She had asked for them back and been upset. He'd return them. And see what else might be accomplished in the meantime.

Sif fled from the palace without a care for who she brushed past or bumped into. She heard her mother call for her when she thumped up the stairs to her room, but she didn't answer, escaping to her room and bolting the door behind her. Her mother didn't follow and she was grateful.

There was already a tub of steaming water awaiting her, yet another reminder, and that sparked off an entire new tantrum as her training clothes were tossed about the room as if she'd become one of the tumultuous storms off the sea that she'd always so loved to watch.

When her temper was spent, she dropped into the tub, muttering under her breath, still indulging in a sulk, but the heat of the water drained even that away. Her movements were methodical as she un-plaited her braid and began washing the dirt and grass from her blond hair. She lost track of time as her muttered curses and rants faded away into silence.

Finally, she rose from the tub, feeling the water slide down her sun-kissed skin. Turning to grab her towel, she caught sight of herself in the large mirror across the room, staring at herself for several long moments in silence. Her form was still as thin and lanky as any boy's, her height too tall, her shoulders too broad. Her arms were not the pale dainty limbs of the ladies at court, but the muscled arms of someone who spent hours training at sword, axes, and bows. A slender scar marked its way over one collarbone, an old wound long healed but the most prominent of her imperfections. The vibrant bruises she'd attained this morning were already coloring her ribs.

She ran her hands down over the faintest curve of breasts on her chest, barely enough to require a binding beneath her clothing. There was no sensual curve to her hips, merely the sinewy muscle that matched everywhere else on her lean form. Her blond hair hung in limp strands around her face, making her look like a bedraggled urchin. She clenched her fist around the dripping cloth she still held before flinging it at the mirror, hearing the quiet splat before the bathwater drizzled down, distorting her reflection.

Turning away, she dried herself off before grabbing a dressing gown, wrapping it around her and tying it off with a simple sash. Fingers combed through her hair as she sank down on the edge of her bed, but she had no temper left to sustain her. Instead, fat teardrops splashed against one skinned knee, then another.

Giving a broken curse, she turned, hating herself for this weakness, hating everything and everyone. Flinging herself down on her bed, she buried her face in her pillows, giving a wordless shriek that was muffled in the down before her tears soaked the familiar fabric.

She didn't know how long she drenched her pillow, but she was even less aware of slipping off into an unhappy slumber when all her tears were at last spent.

Loki prepared carefully. He used a spell that he had recently learned but already excelled at, which allowed him to wrap shadows around his body. It wasn't as good as true invisibility, but he still hadn't quite mastered that spell and didn't want to risk it failing at the most inopportune time - because that was always when spells failed. He cast the spell in the safety of his room. Once he was satisfied that the spell was secure, turning Loki into an inkblot with no visible form inside.

Loki knew where the shadows ran long around the palace. He used the hidden ways he'd discovered - and in some cases improved - to leave the palace, creeping in the shadows. From there, he also knew the best ways to Sif's house, since he had often had occasion to go there for various tricks. Not that she knew most of them.

He climbed the tree outside of Sif's bedroom, to peer into the window. He needed to know the situation before he could decide what to do next.

She was in the bath. And naked. And this is the part where you should look away Loki dear god what are you doing lookawaylookawaylookaway SHE'LL KNOW AND SHE'LL SMELL IT ON YOU SOMEHOW AND THEN SHE WILL KILL YOU. But he couldn't look away. Because she really was the most beautiful thing that she'd ever seen. He felt like he couldn't breath, throat working uselessly to swallow.

And then she threw her towel at the mirror, and that broke the spell. He looked down so fast her almost fell off the tree branch. Thankfully, she seemed too upset to notice the movement of the leaves. But then he heard her crying. The sound hurt to hear, and he wanted to do... something, though he didn't know what. He clenched his teeth, clutching the tree branch so hard the bark cut into the palms of his hands. But he refused to look up until everything had gone quiet.

He glanced in the window tentatively, ready to look away again if necessary. But she was... sort of... dressed now, and apparently asleep. Silently, Loki crept along the branch and slipped into her room. He slipped a dagger into his hand from his sleeve, coming to her bedside.

He paused to whisper a few quiet words into Sif's ear, just to ensure she'd keep sleeping as long as he didn't do something stupid like cut her. Carefully, he gathered her hair up and sheered through it with the dagger. He kept the blade so sharp - and a little bit of magic besides - that it cut through her hair like a hot knife through butter.

Loki held the silky mass in his hands. It felt so strangely heavy. He wondered if he should burn it, or throw it away, but even if Sif had hated that hair, it was part of her. It didn't seem right. He dug two bits of string out of his pocket and used them to tie off the ends of the hair after he had woven it into a braid.

He looked back at Sif, at the graceful curve of the back of her neck. He'd never seen it before, it looked strange and vulnerable when nothing about Sif should seem vulnerable. His mouth suddenly dry, he leaned down and caught the scent of clean skin, the special spicy something that was Sif even when she was filthy and sweaty, but even more so with her hair still damp from the bath.

His breath shuddered. He snatched his hands back and tucked them into his pockets, so he wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid.

But then he did something very stupid anyway, and he didn't know why other than he wanted to do it more than anything. He kissed her like a whisper on the back of her neck, and then once, more firmly, on her freshly-shorn hair. "You a beautiful no matter what you do," he whispered. "But you are most beautiful when you aren't being a fool."

He needed to go; she would wake soon, and he was starting to get a headache from too much magic, though he couldn't bring himself to regret anything he had done. He went to her jewelry box and opened it. All but one of her hairpins, he returned to the box. The last one, he kept for himself. Because he wanted to. Because it was the reminder of what Sif wasn't, and what he'd decided he'd help her escape. Whether she liked it or not.

Then he slipped out her window, still cloaked in shadows, and returned to the palace.

The kiss he had placed on her head was a black smudge of shadow that soaked into her freshly cut hair and spread, until everything had been dyed black as the shadows worn by Loki.

Sif awoke a short time later with a sudden jolt as a cool breeze slipped down her spine. Blinking groggily for a moment, she rubbed her knuckles against tear-swollen eyes as she blinked around her darkened room.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but maybe it had been for the best, since she felt a little better now after her cry, although the rest of the evening still loomed dauntingly ahead of her. Heaving a sigh, she pushed herself out of her bed, bare feet padding across the thick fur rug that covered her floor. She went through the motion of picking up her strewn clothing without any real thought, dropping them into the chest at the bottom of her bed before turning towards the wardrobe to retrieve the gown her mother had selected for her to wear tonight.

That was when she caught sight of her reflection again and froze in the middle of the room, as if there were some stranger there with her, staring back at her in shared shock at being spotted. One hand lifted to brush trembling fingers against the shorn ends of her long hair, only now noticing the lightness of its weight, falling in unruly spikes about her ears.

Gone was the pale golden hue she'd inherited from her mother, the silken shade her father always said he'd loved most. Instead, what was left of her hair was as black as night, silken shadows reflecting the flickering candlelight, swallowing them. The spikes curled around her face in tousled disarray, framing her features in a way she'd never noticed before with her hair long and drawn back. Still, it was unheard of for a noble lady to cut her hair short, although she'd seen some of the Valkyrie do such a thing. Then again, the Valkyrie were a law unto themselves and a people apart, not at all like the rest of the Aesir.

Sif sunk slowly to her knees on the white fur rug, her legs suddenly unable to hold her as she stared at her reflection. Her fingers touched the shorn ends of her hair, smooth and straight, while her mind tried to comprehend what she was seeing. She didn't need to ask how; she knew. Just as she'd known where her hairpins could be found. This sudden change was too overwhelming to understand all at once, however.

"Loki. What have you done?" she whispered, staring at herself in the mirror, too numbed with shock to tell if she was furious or elated by his audacity.

"Sif?"

Her mother's voice floated up the stairs, urgency in her tone. "Sif, are you ready? We must go or we will be late. We cannot keep the royal family, it would be unaccountably rude."

The sound of her mother's voice awoke a sudden panic in her as she leapt to her feet, fingers clutching at her hair. "I am almost ready, mother!" she called back, hoping her voice sounded normal. "Go on without me! I will meet you there! I promise I will not be long. I just have a few last minute touches."

There was a hesitation before her mother's voice came again, no closer, thank the stars. "Don't tarry, dear one. Your father is most impatient. We will meet you at the dining hall."

For several long moments, Sif didn't move, waiting for her racing pulse to stop deafening her. Then she sprang into action, mind already spinning up explanations, excuses. But most of all, steeling herself for the dinner to come.

Things had just gotten far more interesting.

Loki couldn't say he regretted anything that he'd done over the past afternoon, but he could have lived without the utterly foul headache that resulted. Once he made it home, he'd spent the rest of the afternoon in bed with a cool cloth over his eyes, but that hadn't helped all that much. He felt dizzy and sick when Thor pounded on his door to remind him it was time for dinner.

The sound was so loud it almost made him throw up.

Loki crawled from his bed and dressed himself carefully. He would at least look well-groomed, even if he could do nothing about being particularly wan. Then again, with Thor sitting near him, he didn't expect anyone would notice even if he was stark naked and dancing on the table. While he wasn't looking forward to hearing Thor's loud voice, at least he would be good cover.

He kept an eye out for Sif without looking like he was searching for someone. And she wasn't there, but her parents were. Something worse than that headache made his stomach into a knot, and he wondered if he'd made a very, very bad mistake.

Sif hurried down the corridor, her slippers whispering on the cool marble tiles as she made her way through the familiar maze of halls to the room where she knew she'd find her family and that of her princes'. Butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach and her pulse raced as if she'd just run a marathon.

She paused just outside the doors to smooth any lingering wrinkles from her gown, the pale lavender satin falling in waves to the floor while the corseted top laced up the front. Simple silvered straps crisscrossed over her shoulder - one thankfully covering the old scar over her collarbone.

Her dark hair remained much the way it had been when she'd awoken, falling in short dark spikes at the nape of her neck and around her face. She'd swallowed her near-hysterical laughter when she'd found most of her hairpins returned to her jewelry chest and had taken two of them to hold her bangs back from her face. The gems in them sparkled against her dark locks, accenting it much better than they ever had the pale gold.

Taking a deep breath and gathering her courage, she pushed the doors to the dining hall open and stepped inside.

To Loki, the doors opening sounded like a gunshot, though no one else seemed to notice. It was probably because he was so keyed up, looking for Sif, expecting to see her.

And then she walked in.

His eyes widened slightly, though he fought to keep his expression under control. Her hair was short, as it should be. But why was it black? Had she dyed it? Had he made some sort of mistake?

But also, it was quite striking. And he liked the effect, though he was surprised she'd bothered with the dress. Though the juxtaposition of short hair and feminine dress did strange things to his insides, because it made her look so different from the other fluttering girls in the hall, so dark and bold.

He couldn't help it. He smiled. It was a thin, sickly one, but a smile nonetheless. Though he quickly directed his attention to something other than Sif, since he didn't want to be caught staring at her.

She saw all his reactions because she'd been watching for them, and his seat across the far side of the table, beside his mother, had put him directly in her line of sight when she entered. The Allfather was seated at the head of the table, the queen at his left, Thor at his right, currently with his back to her. There was an empty seat beside him - obviously left for her, placing her directly across from Loki. Her father and mother had the next seats down, her mother sitting beside the younger prince.

Sif hesitated in the doorway a moment, giving herself time to watch the surprise flicker across Loki's face in the subtle widening of his eyes. That confused her momentarily, for she knew him responsible. Had he thought she wouldn't come at all? Or that she wouldn't display his prank so prominently? But then she caught sight of his smile, a real smile, despite the pale strain in his face - another telling sign that he'd been up to mischief of the magical sort. Still, his smile shifted something inside her, calmed the butterflies for a moment as something seemed to settle into place, as if this was right. When he averted his gaze without meeting her own, her chin lifted slightly, projecting a confidence she felt more with each passing heartbeat.

There came a quiet clink of silverware and she felt eyes on her. The Queen, who'd gone carefully still, her eyes widening slightly before her napkin was pressed daintily to her lips, as if to hide a sudden laugh or something else equally inappropriate. Her mother had seen her as well and those dark eyes so like hers were widening in surprise and something else, but they were still warm, which gave Sif the strength to move forward, gliding with a grace she rarely felt outside the training fields.

Thor and her father noticed her at the same time and she heard the quiet hissed intake of air on her right as her father's fingers gripped the arm of his chair in a white-knuckled grip. She almost faltered then, but she felt Thor's bright gaze on her, surprised, curious, narrowed in a speculation she was unused to having fixed so intently on her. She expected an outburst from him, some laughing comment or mocking jest, but he surprised her, sliding out of his seat without a word and pulling her chair out for her, acting the prince for once, although the politeness of the move was ruined by the wicked wink he cast her. She subtly rolled her eyes where her father couldn't see and carefully sat, relieved when she managed it without a fumble.

"There you are, Sif," Thor retorted as he took his seat once more, his tone easy and carefree, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred and her life had not just taken the strangest tilt on its axis in the past few hours. "We were beginning to worry you weren't coming. It was terribly disappointing. Loki was worried there would be none here who understood his jokes. Look at him, he's near tears."

Loki shot Thor a look that should have killed his brother, had there been any justice in the world. He hated it when Thor drew attention to him, particularly when it was like that. "Hardly," he drawled. His voice thundered in his own head, but he made himself talk at a normal volume no matter how much it hurt. "My eyes are watering from having nothing more comely than my brother to look at. I'm glad to see the situation has now been remedied before blindness could descend fully upon me."

He was relieved, that Thor seemed to show sense for once toward Sif. He hated his brother, just a little though, because Sif was at his side and all Loki could do was look at her. They were too far apart to really talk. Then again, it was probably best Sif was far from him, since he still wasn't sure what she might want to do to him.

Or what he might want to do to her in return. He gave Thor one last disdainful look before returning his attention to his plate. He couldn't help himself from snatching another look at Sif, however. The black hair looked so right; it made her stand out as she deserved.

She was watching him when his gaze stole up in her direction once more, her head cocked slightly to the side, fixing him with an inquisitive look that was almost birdlike in its intensity. Conversation had picked up around her, her father was speaking with the Allfather, but she paid no attention, not even when Thor interjected his opinion.

Instead she studied Loki, a slightly puzzled frown marring her brow as she studied him, as if the longer she watched him, the better chance she'd have of understanding him and what he'd done.

Thor only grinned maddeningly in response to Loki's sardonic smile. He stood, raising his goblet. "Then a toast, to the jewels of Asgard. At least if my brother is to be blinded, it will be with beauty."

Loki met his brother's eyes, and he smiled at what he found there. Thor had his brilliant moments. Loki rose as well, raising his own goblet. "Rather, to the blades of Asgard, as I think they shine more brightly today. My poor eyes may never recover."

Whatever they thought of the words, the rest of the court had little choice but to follow along. Loki risked one last glance at Sif as he sat. He felt strangely clumsy and awkward, though it certainly didn't show in his movements. Normally he was better at things than this. He frowned down at his plate as if the food had personally offended him. Maybe it was the headache, but he felt unguarded and clumsy. Even his tongue felt thick and strange, like he'd have to try to come up with glib things to say instead of just producing them like magic.

And looking at Sif definitely was just too distracting. So Loki spent the rest of the night studying his plate, or speaking politely to his mother, or inspecting the table in front of him. Toward the end of the evening his headache grew even worse, his hand wobbly enough that he actually spilled a little wine as he picked up his goblet.

It was embarrassing, but it was also a good excuse. He excused himself from the table, saying that he felt unwell, and made his escape before the final two courses. It had the added advantage of meaning he could avoid any possible interaction with Sif entirely for the evening, when he was already off balance and would probably make some horrible mistake.

Sif's cheeks had flushed a deep red when the princes' toasted her, feeling unaccountably awkward at having such attention dropped on her at Thor's side, though she hid it behind a blank expression and a cool smile. At her side, her father seemed to puff with pleasure at this and it made her want to kick him, but she restrained herself, taking this for the boon it was. She caught Loki's gaze for one brief moment when he sat, but he spent the rest of the night studiously avoiding looking at her again.

Luckily, Thor at her side maintained an avid conversation, both with her and their fathers, although she slipped more and more into silence as the evening progressed, a small frown marring her brow as she watched Loki with increasing concern. When he excused himself early, it took all her will not to go after him, but she bided her time instead, especially when the Queen and none of the others seemed to notice anything amiss.

The rest of dinner was torture, but she survived it. There was no chance to slip away from her parents afterwards, and her father's firm hand on her shoulder as he steered her out left no room for discussion. She suspected she was in for it the moment they returned home but somehow her luck held and her mother stepped in, interfering long enough for Sif to flee to her room once more.

She feigned sleep when her mother came to check on her, and from there it was only a tense impatient wait for the household to settle into sleep. On silent feet, she scrambled from her bed and dressed in her training clothes once more, dark leggings and simple tunic. She'd snuck in and out of the palace for years now, ever since she'd befriended the princes. Her fingers absently touched the ends of her hair with a crooked smile. She wouldn't need to worry about this giving her away this night.

Then it was a simple task of scuttling down the tree outside her window, creeping her through the long shadows back to the palace and slipping once more along the back corridors where no one wandered at this late hour.

She didn't bother knocking at Loki's door, slipping inside on silent feet. There were still lamps lit, although they were dim, just enough to illuminate her way and show his form on the bed.

"Loki?" she called out to him softly, her voice a whisper. Had he already fallen asleep?

Loki wasn't quite asleep; he'd been napping off and on since leaving the feast, just laying on his bed with a cool cloth over his eyes. He'd intended to dress for bed, but had only gotten as far as taking off his boots and pulling off his tunic, and then the rest just seemed like far too much physical effort.

It was annoying, since he couldn't read without making the headache worse, though he could at least think about things. And he determinatedly thought about fields and calculations and other bits of magic technique and theory that would help him develop his mental muscles a bit better so he wouldn't get headaches quite so easily in the future. He was not thinking about Sif.

He refused to think about the pale skin of her neck, or the way the now black-hair framed her face, and how striking it was, and... damnit.

Magic. Fields. Calculations.

Except then there was Sif's voice, and he had to wonder if maybe he'd started hallucinating again. Though he'd only driven himself to that point once before, and he hadn't thought this time was even a tenth as bad.

He slipped the compress off his face with one hand and sat up in bed, looking toward his windows. And there stood Sif, now dressed much more normally. He hadn't thought she'd be quite angry enough to come murder him in his bed, but there was no telling some times.

He sighed quietly, though he did sit up a little straighter. "Yes? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked, tone sardonic. Then he shifted effortlessly to something far more plaintive. "And could it possibly wait until the morning, when I will hopefully feel less foul?"

"I knew it," she stated, crossing the room on still-silent feet, her voice quiet so as to not carry beyond the room, just in case there were guards passing in the night. She stopped beside his bed, staring down at him with a small frown, her intent gaze taking in everything.

"You overdid it, didn't you? What were you thinking, Loki?" There was no accusation in her voice, not beyond the concern at seeing him pained and pale, at any rate. If anything, it was pure confusion.

She was far too calm and that actually scared him a little. In his rather diminished state, he was still prepared to deal with a bit of rage and arguing so long as the volume didn't creep too high. But calm?

He was starting to wonder if he really had gone too and he was about to be knifed by a madwoman. While he wasn't determined to die in glorious battle like Thor - he abhored the idea actually - knifed in his bed during his tender years was definitely not a better alternative.

"I might have had a little more excitement this afternoon than I should have," he admitted with a very measured tone. "Though that is not necessarily a concern of yours unless you feel I ruined your dinner with my early departure. Though I somehow doubt that is the case, since you were seated next to my brother and he seemed to be entertaining you more than sufficiently." The last statement eas delivered a bit more snappishly than he'd intended, but he wasn't at his best.

"Idiot," Sif muttered under her breath, shaking her head at him. "Don't you start that, I've had to hear enough of it from my father tonight, and will no doubt hear more on the morrow. As if Thor needs to be more smug about anyway. Even he picked up on my father's 'subtle' hints."

She climbed up beside him, settling against the headboard before dropping one of his pillows on her lap. "Lay down. You look like you're about to pass out."

"My brother is smug like he breathes. He can't help it." That those implications Sif mentioned were only making Thor smug rather than disgusted only confirmed some of Loki's unacknowledged irrational fears and did nothing to lighten his attitude.

He looked ay Sif suspiciously, eyes widening as she made it plain he was to lay gis head in her lap.

And disturbingly, he rather liked the idea on principle.

"Is this the part where you lull me into relaxing so it will be easier to snap my neck?" But he laid down anyway because it sounded nice. "At this point you'd only be doing me a favor anyway."

He looked up at her and swallowed hard, then resolutely closed his eyes. Looking at her made him feel strange.

"Of course he is, that doesn't mean I want to give him more reason for it," she retorted, waiting patiently while he eyed her with suspicion before finally laying his head down on her lap. She retrieved the compress, folding it until she could rest it over his brow, noting that his eyes were closed. he looked... different like this. Unguarded. It was strange to see him such and her eyes searched his face for a moment before her fingers drifted to brush through his dark hair, the touch soothing, knowing his head pained him.

"I should be furious with you, you know," she stated calmly, still combing fingers through his hair, ignoring his ridiculous statement. Well. Mostly ridiculous. She hadn't decided yet if she was actually furious at him or not.

"But he doesn't need a reason to begin with," Loki pointed out, sounding amused. His eyes snapped open when she touched his hair, brows drawing together in puzzlement. But he didn't see any answers immediately evident in her face, and it seemed inadvisable to keep looking. He closed his eyes again, sighing.

It was soothing. Nice, even.

"You're often furious with me, so I fail to see how anything has changed. It's probably unhealthy to spend so much time angry, really."

Sif made a quiet noise of exasperation and lightly tugged on one dark curl before going back to combing her fingers through his hair. "I would have to agree. Now if only we can endeavor to make you less of an annoying brat, that might even be possible," she retorted wryly. "As Thor is smug, you are perverse."

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