fic | thor (2011) | paper planes & playground games (2/2)

[mekosuchinae]

previous.

9

The other thing about being friends with Loki was he took great pleasure in antagonizing people who didn't like him.

She cut through the orchards to save time on the way to the practice yard. Father had wanted her fitted for a new wardrobe. There was no accounting, he'd said, for how tall she'd grown, "or how big your arms are getting." Under his gaze, she had felt small and clumsy and thick with anger. Her mother had watched from the door as the tailor clucked over Sif's strong shoulders.

The orchard smelled of autumn and late-season fruit. Rounding a bend, she heard a cut-off shout and stopped.

Sif knew the sounds of a scuffle: a boot scraping over dirt, a grunt, the fleshy crunch of a fist striking someone's jaw. She backtracked and followed the trail around the corner and deeper into the orchard. Dark hair showed between the trees; light shone off it. She turned to it.

"Is that all you've got?"

She stopped abruptly and ducked behind the nearest tree. Loki. He laughed, then someone struck him and he gasped, breathless. She heard him fall back against a tree.

Sif made to step out, then she heard Thor's fighting instructor telling them, "Don't ever run into a fight without knowing who you're going up against." She grit her teeth but waited, as she thought of Loki bent over and scraping for breath.

"You can't even take one hit." That was Hallormr. She knew the voice now and the face to go with it. Tall and mean, older than them but not by much. "Look at you. I bet your father's embarrassed--"

"Not as embarrassed as your father," Loki said loudly. "How angry was he when you came home without his seal? How much did it cost him to replace it?"

"Shut up, you little snake!"

Another blow, an awful one. Loki choked and made a sound, a wet one deep in his throat. Something hot and cruel opened inside Sif.

"Where's Thor?" Hallormr taunted. "Who's going to protect you?"

Sif came charging out from the trees, fist cocked and teeth bared, and said, "I am!"

He began to turn toward her, the idiot. She drove her fist into the side of his head. Hallormr stumbled sideways and clapped a hand to his ear.

"Get out of here before I break your face," Sif shouted.

"You think I'm afraid of you?" Hallormr scoffed. He straightened but still held his ear. "I'm not afraid of Thor," he said, though she knew full well he was, "so why should I be afraid of some stupid girl?"

He was cocky, so sure of himself he'd left absolutely everything open: his chest, his face, his knees, his groin. Sif went for his throat. He fell to the ground, gagging.

"Get up!" She kicked him hard in the ribs. "You coward! Get up so I can break your nose!"

He cursed at her, so she kicked him again, harder.

She looked around then for Loki and found him leaning against a tree to her left. He'd fingers to his nose, blood showing red on his knuckles, and his green eyes were huge. He stared at her. Light through the branches cast shadows on his face, shadows which shivered and broke apart and came together as a wind shook the leaves. Dirt showed on his vest and he held one of his legs as if he couldn't put weight on it. When he drew breath, he sneezed blood into his hand.

Fury filled Sif; it made her half-mad, made her want to break Hallormr's arms so he couldn't fight again, made her want to box his ears so he couldn't hear. He struggled to rise. Sif dropped to her knees and struck him hard across the face so he fell back.

"Don't you touch him again!" she snarled.

"You can't tell me what to do," Hallormr shouted. His voice caught in his throat and he coughed. Still, he glared. "You're a girl, and he deserves it, the little lying--"

His nose broke under her fist in two places; she heard the snap and felt it on her fingers. Hallormr screamed. Blood gushed over his lips. Shocked, and like all bullies, he began to cry. She felt calm, so strangely, oddly calm.

"If you touch him again," Sif said, "I'll throw you off the world's edge. You won't have to worry about Thor."

She stood and brushed the dirt off her knees. Loki looked up to her as she approached.

"I'll tell my father," Hallormr swore. "I'll tell my father what you did."

Sif rounded on him, but it was Loki who said, "You'll have to tell him why she did it, too," through a nose and mouth thick with blood. "Surely your father would be proud."

Hallormr, struggling to rise, colored and took a half-step forward before faltering under Sif's gaze. She squared her shoulders. His blood cooled on her hand.

"Run away," Sif told Hallormr. "Before this girl changes her mind."

"Listen to her," said Loki. He said this as if in confidence to a friend. "If you've ever feared my brother's wrath, then you should learn to fear Sif's, too."

Hallormr turned, but he wasn't done.

"Coward," he shouted. "Letting a girl fight for you."

Sif made to follow him, but a light touch on her shoulder stopped her. "Sorry," Loki breathed near to her, then he fell against her. Sif stumbled beneath his weight. She threw an arm around him and lowered him to the ground. Her fingers curled against his nape. His skin was cool but slick with sweat.

"Thank you," he said. He grimaced. "I twisted my ankle on the root. Stupid."

She helped him straighten his leg. Loki made a little pained noise. Sif pulled the lines of his trousers even around his shin before she looked up to his thin and bloodied face.

"I thought he'd kicked your knee."

"He did that, too," Loki admitted.

"Why was he beating you?"

She felt his ankle, testing it. Gently, she began to rotate it in a shallow circle. Loki winced but only said,

"Oh. Well. It's sort of a boring story."

"Does this hurt?" She pushed his foot forward.

A muscle in his cheek fluttered. His eyelashes fell black over his eyes, then he met her gaze.

"A bit."

Sif let go of his foot. "I don't think it's sprained. What's the story?"

A silverfish smile darted across his wet mouth. She'd learned to brace herself when he smiled like that. Loki was far too clever for his own good and often too clever for anyone else's good.

"He was showing off his father's seal last week," Loki said, "which he'd taken without permission. I thought he needed a lesson, so I borrowed it." He spread his hands, one of them red with his own blood, as if to say, And that was that.

That was too simple for Loki. She poked his ankle.

"And then what did you do?"

He moved to scratch his nose, flinched, and thought better of it.

"Hm," he said. "It's a little hazy. I do so many things. But. There may have been an accident, and it might be at the bottom of the reservoir."

Lords, she thought. Save Asgard from its second prince.

"And how did it get there?"

"I suppose," he said slowly, "it fell out of my hand."

If he weren't so hurt and so very pathetic, she would have punched him in the stomach.

"You idiot," she said, disgusted.

Of all things, he looked offended. "Thor's the idiot."

"You're both idiots! You knew he'd get mad at you."

"Yes," Loki said patiently. "He's beat me loads of times before. But now he'll be too afraid to beat me."

Sif considered Loki, smiling with his hair a dirtied mess and blood drying on his chin, blood staining his collar. Too clever by far.

"Didn't you hear?" she asked him. "Hallormr isn't afraid of anything."

Loki laughed, then choked on the blood in his nose. Without really thinking of it, Sif rose onto her knees and leaned forward to cradle his face. Loki startled. His eyes were green and very close. Her face went hot, and she pretended she hadn't noticed.

"Don't move," she said. She ran her thumb beneath his nose, cleaning the blood away. It smeared across his cheek and she frowned.

"I can take care of it."

"Don't be stupid," she said. She dragged her nail over his cheek. "You can't even stand."

He was quiet another moment. Sif touched her fingers to his lip, which had split against his teeth. His breath was warm on her knuckles. He was very slender, almost delicate; he'd always been so. She remembered how he'd looked when she first saw him, and she was unsettled to realize how much taller he'd grown. The hollow in his throat held a shadow now. She drew her hand back. Loki licked his lip.

"I'm glad it was you who found me," he said, "and not Thor. Thor would have thrown him off."

"I would've thrown him off," she snapped. "He shouldn't have hit you."

Loki smiled at her. His lips were cherry red, shining with blood.

"You hit me."

"That's different," she said.

She didn't know if it was. Something about the way his eyes showed, all dark and soft as he looked right at her, made her want to pick him up and shove him against a tree so the branches shook and the leaves fell down on him. He was smiling still.

"Is it?" he wondered. "In what way?"

She showed him the blood on her fingers, some of it Hallormr's, most of it Loki's. "I don't hurt you!"

He caught her hand between his and brought her hand down to his chest that she might feel his heart fluttering against his ribs. He'd worn a thin, white shirt, and his skin burned her through it. Her hair fell dark along his breast.

"Oh," he said softly, "but you do. You hurt me very badly."

Sif snatched her hand back. "Stop it! I don't want to play any of your stupid games." She brushed irritably at her hair, but still it fell before her ear.

Loki reached for and tugged a lock; he wound it about his finger. Lightly, smiling, he said, "But I'm not playing."

Everything was a game to him.

"Yes, you are," she snapped. "You're always playing with people." She batted at his hand.

He let go of her hair. Sif stood and rubbed her hand on her trousers. Loki watched her as she cleaned her fingers off on her thigh. She couldn't get the blood off her knuckles.

Hesitantly, he said, "Thank you. Sif."

She wanted to say, "I didn't do it for you" - she still felt his finger stroking down her hair, winding in it, pulling as he smiled, his bloodied lips twisting, her hand warm where it had rested on his chest - but: how he'd looked at her as she beat Hallormr into the ground for him.

"Don't make me have to do it again," she said.

"I'll do my very best," he assured her.

His knees bent; he tried to rise. Sif caught his hand and pulled him up. He staggered against her.

"Sorry," he said.

She wound her arm about his waist.

"Idiot," she said again. It came out kinder than she expected it to. "Come on. Let's get you inside before you piss someone else off."

Gingerly he touched his nose. His fingers fluttered over the swelling bruise.

"Let's," he agreed.

10
"Sif."

Her father filled the doorway, blocking the morning light. His mouth was creased, his eyes narrow. Mother's hands stilled in Sif's hair then she began again to work the plait. When Sif made to turn, Mother pulled on her hair and said, "Shh. Be still."

So she looked at her father from the corner of her eye and asked, "What is it? Am I in trouble?"

He remained, a shadow in the door.

"I have just had a very illuminating talk with Askrðr."

"Who?"

She craned to look at Father's face. Mother yanked one of the folds tight. Sif hissed and touched her scalp where it ached most. Mother slapped her hand away.

"I've just told you to be still. So be still."

"I am being still!"

"Not still enough by half," said Mother.

The door slammed and they both of them jumped. Sif turned then and Mother, whose fingers had gone boneless, allowed her.

Father rose like a thunder swell. Light from the window at Mother's back threw his shadow against the far wall, and it danced like one of Loki's hands behind a lamp, a long and spindly thing that moved weirdly in the light.

"Answer me truthfully," said Father. "None of your lies. Have you been fighting?"

"No!" Sif said hotly. It was the wrong thing to say.

Father banged his hand against the table. Mother's things, her brush, her comb, her box of ribbons and pins, leapt. The box turned over, spilling pins across the table; three fell to the floor.

"I said I wouldn't have your lies!" Father shouted. "Would you know what Askrðr said? You fought with his boy, Hallormr. You broke his nose!"

She wished she'd broken more than that; she wished she'd cracked his jaw open so he couldn't talk.

"He was beating on Loki!" she cried.

"That doesn't matter!" Father smacked the table again. "You are a lady, and it isn't your place to fight on behalf of the prince."

She gaped. "What-- Then who would? No one else was there! I couldn't just let him break Loki's thick skull!"

"You will not talk of the prince like that!" her father thundered.

"He's not a prince!" Sif shouted. "He's just Loki! And if I hadn't stopped him, Hallormr would have crushed his nose!"

"So you crushed Hallormr's nose," said her father. "You could have gone for a guard, someone whose duty it is to protect the second prince, and instead you--"

Sif tore free of her mother's hands. Her mother gasped - her fingers ghosted across Sif's shoulders as if to hold her - then Sif screamed, "I fought! I broke his nose! I'd do it again if he tried to hurt Loki! He's a bully and a troll, and I wish I'd broken his arm, too!"

"You are my daughter--"

"I wish I weren't!"

Her father fell silent then. Mother touched Sif's elbow. Sif shook her off.

"I'm not a lady," Sif said. "I don't want to be! If another girl wants to be a lady, then fine, but I don't. I want to fight!"

"Like a boy!" her father scoffed.

"No!" she snarled. "Like a girl!"

Her father's face was like winter. His mouth compressed.

"You will go to your room," he said, "and you will stay there."

Sif drew breath to shout that she would not go to her room and she would not stay there. But her mother took her wrist very firmly and pulled her down.

"No," said Mother. "Sif is not going to her room. I am going to finish braiding her hair and then she will go to the palace. The princes will be expecting her, and," said Mother, who had washed and mended all Sif's dirtied clothes and clucked over her bruises and her scabs, "I suspect the swordsmaster expects her, too."

Then she began to unpick what she'd plaited of Sif's hair.

"You," said Sif's father, his voice shaking. "You would encourage her to cast aside propriety, to, to--"

"Someone must," said Mother. She parted Sif's hair into three long hanks. "Won't it be nice to have a warrior in the family?"

"A maiden cannot be a warrior," said Father quietly, cruelly.

"Perhaps," said Mother. "Perhaps not. Now be still, Sif."

11
Loki came upon her in the gardens. A small, shallow pool filled a basin of white stones which shone many colors if looked at under the right light and at the right angle. It was the sort of thing she thought he'd like, tricky Loki who pretended one thing and meant another.

"Where's Thor?"

He crouched beside her. His trousers were clean and neatly pressed. Dirt and grass stained the knees of her own trousers.

"Exercises," she said shortly.

"Ah," said Loki. "The famous temper. Better him than you."

Sif stared hard-eyed at her reflection. The Loki who showed in the water looked at her reflection as well. She supposed he saw the same thing she did: a lean girl, taller than most, her face long, her mouth narrow, not much to look at though she'd promise somewhere in her nose, the shape of her eyes. Oh, but her hair! So long, so dark, how it gleamed so even coated in sweat and dirt.

Loki clasped his hands between his knees.

"You're upset. Should I be worried?"

She looked away from her reflection. Her braid was heavy at her back; it pulled on her scalp. A maiden never cut her hair, Father said.

"It's not your fault."

"How relieving," he said. "I feared for my life. Has Thor said something stupid again?"

"Thor always says stupid things."

"It's his curse," said Loki agreeably. "To be so brave and so strong and so very dearly loved by the whole of Asgard, and so stupid besides."

For a time they were both quiet. Sif reached to her ear, to tuck a loosened strand back into her plait. Her fingers stilled at the root of her braid.

Loki rolled up on his toes. He leaned nearer.

"Is there anything I can do to keep you from breaking whatever it is you're thinking of breaking?"

"No," Sif said.

He settled on his heels.

"Then is there anything I can do to help you break it? Assuming," he added, "it isn't me."

Sif felt her braid, thickly woven. The fluff at the very end nearly touched the small of her back. Her scalp itched, run over with grime.

"Do you have a knife?" she asked him.

He did, tucked in his sleeve, a little silver one with a fine edge. Sif eyed it critically then returned it to Loki.

"It'll do," she said.

"For what, exactly? I'd rather not kill anyone," he said.

Sif turned her back to him and bent her head so her neck showed. She heard or thought she heard his breath catch minutely.

"I want for you to cut off my hair," she said. She stared fixedly at her thighs, at the tiny red flowering weed crushed beneath her left knee. "I don't care how high. I only want it gone."

For a moment, he did not touch her.

Then his fingers swept up her nape, light as a kiss, and he caught her braid. The blade bit into her hair. A little rip sounded. His thumb pressed to a knob in her spine. Sif held herself still, so very still, and closed her eyes as Loki took her hair from her.

When the last of her braid separated, she felt as if she'd fly from her feet, so unweighted, so light, so bare. She began to turn. His fingers spread over her neck; his thumb, bent, touched her throat.

"I'm nearly finished," Loki said.

Ghostly wisps tickled her neck, her shoulders. The flat of the knife brushed her skin. She shivered beneath it. Loki made soft noise behind his lips, and another delicate length of hair slithered down her back. If she had felt bare before, now she knotted her fingers in her trousers.

The blade withdrew. Loki ran his fingers down her neck then up again through her cropped hair. Hairs showered down upon her neck. She felt his breath on the back of her ear.

"There," he said.

Sif turned. Her lips nearly touched his jaw. Loki smiled and held her braid up between them.

"Your hair, my lady."

A sword was heavier. She had thought, with how it had pulled on her head for so many years, it would weigh more in her hands. It shone, still, apart from her. Sif touched her thumb to the ragged ends where he'd cut it from her head. Loki stood; she did not watch him go.

What had she expected? She thought of the lightness she'd felt when it had fallen from her. Now she felt dizzy and unrooted. But it was only hair. It was only hair. How silly was she to mourn something like this? She tightened her hands about the ends.

A shadow passed over her, then Loki knelt before her. He touched her wrist. His fingers were light.

"I have a gift for you," he said. "One fit for the mightiest of Odin's warriors. A golden headdress enchanted that only Sif may wear it."

He held out a string of yellow flowers, knotted in a circlet. Sif laughed. She bowed her head.

"I'm not a little girl," she said. "I don't wear crowns made of flowers."

"But it isn't a crown," he insisted. "Think of it as a token of my esteem for you."

She huffed, amused. "Oh, well, then by all means."

And Loki cast the ring of flowers about her head. She reached for it, and her fingers touched her cut hair.

"It'll grow back," Loki said. "In time."

Sif dropped her hand. "I don't care what it does. It's only hair."

He smiled then, and sitting there by the pool with Loki's golden headdress light upon her brow, her neck truly bare for the first time in all her memory, Sif thought--

"Here you are!"

Thor bounded down the hill. A bird shot out of one of the manicured trees, shrieking its surprise at his approach. He laughed, astonished, when he saw the braid in Sif's lap.

"What happened?"

"I got my hair cut." Sif touched the short hairs at her ear. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know," Thor said. He smiled. "But it looks good. You should have cut it sooner."

She turned her nose up. "I didn't want to cut it sooner."

"Fair enough," he allowed. "Loki! Did you see Sif's cut her hair?"

Loki looked to Thor and then to Sif, who pursed her lips to say, Really, how stupid is he? Loki blinked owlishly, and it was as if a great distance had spread between them, as if Loki were no longer kneeling close enough to touch her brow. He considered her with interest.

"Has she?" he asked. "I hadn't noticed."

12
Mother said only, "I wish you'd let me do it. Such a mess!"

Father said nothing at all.

Sif washed the dirt, the sweat, and the clipped hairs out. Her nails dragged down her neck. She thought of Loki at her back, his fingers in her braid, then she washed that, too, from her hair.

In the morning she woke to find her head was still light; her hair was dry all through. Sif dressed and touched her nape again and again, the little hairs there coarse. The ends of her hair turned up behind her ears.

At the palace that afternoon, when she next saw Loki, she shouted up to him from the training yard. He paused and looked down to her. She'd dirt on her nose and her hair stuck up wildly from her hands; she couldn't stop running her fingers through it.

"Thank you," she called.

Then Thor jogged over to her, his sword over his shoulder, and said, "Ho, brother! What are you thanking him for?"

She smiled at Thor and touched her hair again at her ear.

"Nothing," she said. She slapped his arm. "Let's go. I bet I can knock your sword away in four moves."

"I bet I can knock yours away in three," Thor boasted.

He knocked it away in ten, but Sif caught his arm and flipped him over into the dirt.

When she thought to look again, Loki had gone.

13
The queen, in raiment of gold, came to the yard another afternoon, as the instructor shouted out steps. Sif bit her lip and rose through the stances unmindful of the sweat stinging her eyes.

He cut off. Sif blinked the sweat away and followed the direction of his bow.

Frigg stepped out from the stairwell. Her hair shone like sunlight, and the hem of her golden dress dragged through the dust. For a heartbeat or two, Sif was so surprised to see the queen here in such a dirty, violent place she forgot to kneel.

Then Thor said, "Mother! What are you doing here?" and it was too late to bow her head to the queen.

The queen smiled. She nodded to their instructor, who bowed again and stepped away. Frigg folded her hands together.

"I had heard from Lieff Hoffson of his daughter's aspirations," said the queen. Her slippers showed beneath her skirts. Delicate beadwork decorated the toes. "To be truthful, he requested a boon of me: that I would speak to his daughter, Sif, of her course."

Sif colored under the queen's warm gaze. Frigg's smile deepened. What could she say to the queen? Frigg was not like Thor, nor was she like Loki. She was queen of Asgard; she was sovereign, her word second only to the Allfather's.

Thor set his hand on Sif's shoulder and said, challenging, "Sif is the finest opponent I've ever faced. She has as much right to train as I do." Then he ruined it all by saying, "Her father's a fool."

"Shut up," Sif hissed at him.

"What?" Thor looked indignant. "He is. If he can't see you're a born warrior, then he's an idiot."

"Thor," said the queen.

He grumbled but held his tongue.

Queen Frigg turned to Sif alone then. The queen's eyes were soft. She smiled, still, and the corners twisted in upon themselves, like Loki with a secret.

"I told him it wasn't my place to tell Sif she was wrong," said the queen. "I told him, too, I thought her very brave and very skilled if she can best my firstborn son in swords."

Thor cut in: "Not always!"

"And I thought," the queen went on, "I'd like to see this young maiden warrior myself." She held her hand out to Sif. A great ring on her finger flashed, the band gold, the gem a dark emerald. "Would you show me?"

Sif thought her heart might burst from her throat.

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes. Of course. My queen. Your majesty. Thank you. Thank you." She bowed once, twice, again, and stood dizzily.

"And when you've finished," said the queen, "perhaps you could join me and my sons for dinner in my hall," which offer Sif could hardly decline.

14
The queen's hall was splendid, a vast, fine thing which gleamed like the heart of a star, and still Frigg shone brightest of all. Sif felt filthy and ragged to stand in such a grand hall of high ceilings and glimmering crystal facets, but Thor, who walked beside her, also carried in dirt and the stink of sweat.

Loki joined them at Frigg's little table on the balcony. His hair was perfectly coiffed, and the high collar of his tunic framed his throat well. He bowed slightly to his mother and to Thor said, "When did you last bathe?"

"I don't remember," said Thor. "It may have been last spring."

Loki looked to Sif. With that collar nearly at his jaw, he looked terribly narrow and very sharp. He bowed his head. His eyes lowered.

She thought to ask him what he was playing at, but the queen drew out her chair and said, "Everyone sit, please."

Sif sat. The chair was beautifully wrought. She felt a horror sitting on so lovely a thing.

"Relax," Thor whispered to her.

"I can't relax," she whispered furiously back. "I'm dirty!"

Thor leaned closer. His breath was hot at her ear. She wanted to scrub it and then dig her finger in his ear to teach him a lesson about keeping his breath to himself.

"The chairs are enchanted," he told her. "You could dump them in mud and they'll come out fine."

He said this as if he were the one who enchanted them, all smug and full of it. Sif dug her thumb into his side. Thor flicked at her, but whether it was for his mother's sake or not that he didn't pursue a more thorough revenge, he sat back. He gave Sif an evil look, though. She crossed her eyes at him.

"Children," said the queen, amused. "Please, behave yourselves. Loki, dear, would you mind filling my goblet?"

"Not at all," Loki murmured.

He rose, took the wine pitcher in hand, and leaned across the way. His collar parted, drawn to one side. The hollow in his throat deepened. Tucking one hand beneath the other arm, to keep his sleeve from trailing through the dishes, he poured his mother her wine. The tendons in his long wrist tightened.

Sif turned to her own goblet, sipped, and choked. Coughing, she covered her nose and rounded on Thor.

"What is this stuff!"

"My mother's wine," said Thor. He grinned hugely and drank easily from his own goblet.

Her eyes stung, her tongue, her nose. "Is it watered? At all?"

"Oh, yes," said the queen, "quite severely. Three parts water to every part wine. Thank you, dear."

Loki bowed his head - Sif had never seen him so amenable as he was to his mother - and set the pitcher down again upon the little stand beside the table. When he looked up, his eyes passed over Sif then Thor, who leaned to Sif and, mocking, asked, "Would you like water instead?"

"Would you like me to beat you in front of your mother?" she retorted.

"You could try," Thor laughed.

"Oh, no," said the queen. "I'd rather you not. This meal looks so lovely. It would be such a shame to ruin it."

Thor subsided, still grinning. He looked sidelong at Sif and said, "Of course, Mother. I would have won anyway."

"And Loki's a pig," Sif snapped.

"Leave me out of your little contest of brutes," said Loki. He stared steadfast at his plate and cut neatly through his meat. The knife flashed between his fingers. This he set aside. His eyelids flickered once, then he turned to the queen.

The back of Sif's neck itched; her skin prickled. Loki smiled at his mother, his cheeks creasing. Sif could not account for how she wanted to throw her spoon at him. Her head felt naked, her neck bare, her ears too large.

"Oh, thank you, Loki," said the queen fondly. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thor, please pass the bread to Sif. She hasn't any on her plate."

15
Then:

At practice, Thor wouldn't look at Sif. She'd more pressing concerns at the time.

"Bring your sword up!" the instructor shouted. "Don't drop it! Again!"

His blade rapped her knees and Sif stumbled. She landed on her hand and pushed up, and turning, she swung wildly. He knocked her blade back once, twice, and struck her across her ribs. The breath burst out of her.

"Cover yourself!" he yelled at her as she bent over. "Your neck is exposed. What should you do?"

Sif snarled and lashed out at his ankles. The instructor leapt back, skipping as she lunged again. Her sword slashed across the dirt. He laughed, rumbling. Sif scrambled to her feet.

"Yes! Creative! Drive me back. But--" His foot snapped down on her sword as she raised it. "Keep track of your weapon."

His sword smashed into her arm. Her fingers numbed; her wrist spasmed. Sif swore.

The instructor picked her sword up and tossed it to her. Her fingers ached, but she caught it; she held it.

"Try again," he said.

So she brought her sword about again and fought until he kicked it out of her hands then kicked her, too, to the ground, where she lay gasping upon her back. Her chest twinged. She'd caught him twice, though, on his thigh and again low across his abdomen. The soreness in her ribs did not seem quite so terrible.

"Very good." He held his hand out to her. "You're improving. Young prince," he called, "it's your turn now."

Sif sat up slowly, wincing as her gut pulled.

"Good luck," she called to Thor as he passed her, but he did not acknowledge her. Instead his shoulders drew up; his head turned fractionally, not toward her but away.

And what was that about? she wondered. Then she made to stand and the pain in her side blossomed so she gasped and fell over again and wished she were dead.

"Rat bastard," she swore. She clutched her side. Her fingers twitched.

She did not think of Thor's strangeness again till he staggered toward her and sank to the earth. He, too, held his side as if to keep his guts in. Their instructor turned his sword about and tsked at them.

"I'm going to smash his face in one day," Sif said darkly.

Then Thor, who she expected to offer to break his legs for her that they might seek out their vengeance, turned from her. He rose clumsily. His shadow fell over her; he looked away. Thor had never done so before.

"What is wrong with you?" she demanded, but of course he wouldn't answer. Thor wouldn't answer, and she found the thought of Thor avoiding her so comically strange she nearly forgot to be angry at him for it.

Sif sat upright. He made to leave her there, and she grabbed for his ankle. Thor staggered - she pulled hard at his leg - he fell to his knees. Sif crawled upon him before he could roll over onto his back and make another go for running. She stuck her hand between his shoulders and shoved him flat into the dirt. He tried to grab for her.

"Sif! Let me go!"

"So you remember I'm here?" she asked sweetly. "You didn't forget my name?"

Thor tensed beneath her. Sif drove her knee into the small of his back to prevent him bucking. His hand slapped against her thigh.

"Sif, I'm warning you," he snarled. "If you don't get off me--"

"Oh, I'll get off you," she said. "But only if you tell me why you're being such an ass!"

"Fine," he gritted through his teeth. "All right!"

Then his hand closed around her knee and he twisted his shoulders so they both turned. Sif kicked at him and Thor cursed, and they fell, fighting, into the dirt again. Thor got his arm around her neck and pinned her against his side.

"Give!"

"No!"

She hooked her fingers in his hair and yanked his head back viciously. Thor shouted. His arm tightened around her neck.

"Why," she shouted as she struggled to drive her knee between his legs, "are you--being--an ass!"

"You know why!"

"Because you're an ass!"

"That's not why!"

She got her leg up. Thor groaned. His arm squeezed her throat painfully tight, then it relaxed and he fell away from her, curling about his core.

Sif punched him hard in the shoulder. "Then why? What's got into you? You're acting like a little coward."

"You dare!"

He rolled over and threw a fist at her, but the blow was weak; his hand glanced off her arm. Thor grimaced and bent again. Still, he wouldn't look her in the face.

"Why?" she demanded. "I'm your friend! You could at least look me in the face."

Thor scrubbed at his face then, his fingers thick in his hair. He groaned again and right as Sif thought she'd have to knee him again to get him to stop being so mystifyingly stupid, he dropped his hands and said,

"I don't like you like that."

"What?" For a moment the world greyed around her - not his friend, he didn't think of her as his friend - then Sif blinked and the sun was shining in Thor's flaxen hair and he was staring down at her feet.

"Loki told me," he said to her shoes. "That you--" His mouth screwed up. Color rose in his face. Thor swallowed and said, hushed, as if he were repeating a hideous curse: "That you were in love with me."

"That I what!" The roar of it shocked her. Then she took a breath and said: "Are you mad!" and that, too, tore out of her.

Thor winced and said, "You told Loki to tell me, because you were afraid--"

"Afraid of what!" she shouted. "I'm not in love with you! Are you stupid? Why would I be in, in love with you?"

"Why wouldn't you?" he asked, stung.

"Because you're Thor," she said witheringly, "and you're stupid. What? Do you want me to love you?"

He looked suddenly, thoroughly ill. His mouth drew down. A shudder ran through him.

"No," he said.

"Is that why've you been acting stupid? Because Loki told you I loved you?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you," said Thor.

"Good job," she said. "That wasn't embarrassing at all."

"At least you aren't in love with me," Thor said encouragingly, and he clapped her on the shoulder.

"Who would?"

Sif tried to think of the person who would look at stupid, proud, goofy Thor and think him handsome and romantic and dashing instead of all the things he was, really. She couldn't imagine it.

Thor leaned back beside her. Their shoulders brushed. They lay there, arms touching, their elbows sticking with sweat. Then Thor nudged her. He reached into his trousers pocket.

"He gave me this," he said, "when he told me yesterday. He said it was a token from you."

He pressed a pin into her hand, a small hairpin with a decorative head in the shape of a flower.

16
She broke through the doors to the library. Her heart pounded to deafen. A roaring had come over her, and she felt both terribly, cruelly calm and incandescent with anger.

"Loki!"

He turned to her. His fingers wandered along the spines of books. In the shadows cast by the shelves, he was pale and slim and dark, too, in his black coat with his hair so carefully slicked behind his ears.

"Sif," he said politely. "To what do I owe this timely interruption?"

She threw the pin at his head. It struck him above his eye and he flinched, his lashes swinging low over his cheeks, his lips compressing. The pin clattered on the stones and was silent.

"What in all the nine damned realms is wrong with you!"

Her voice filled the deep vaults of the ceiling; it echoed, ringing off the lamps. Loki opened his eyes. He'd gone very still. His eyes shone, pale as green marbles. He smiled; there was no warmth to it.

"You'll have to be more specific," he said. "Is there a particular reason why you're threatening me, or is it just how you've chosen to show your gratitude?"

She caught his collar in her hands and slammed him back against the shelves. A book tumbled loose and fell with a thump to the ground by his foot. A wisp of hair trembled against his brow. Loki's face did not change.

"You're welcome, my lady," he said.

Sif leaned against him, her weight bearing him harder still back upon the shelves. The corner of one of his pale, cold eyes pinched. Her breath was ragged; it caught on her teeth.

"Why," she said, "in the fuck would you tell Thor I was in love with him? Is that one of your jokes?"

"Did you laugh?" he asked, interested. "I did think it funny, but only for the thought of you and my brother. You must love him dearly. Were you planning to tell him yourself?"

Her hands tightened in his shirt. His chest rose and fell more quickly than the unwavering, amused distance in his smile would suggest. She wanted to pull at his shirt until it tore, until the seams ripped, so the buttons popped free and Loki fell apart in her hands.

"If you don't shut your stupid mouth--"

"You'll shut it for me?" he drawled.

"You stole my pin!"

At this, his eyes flickered. A muscle in his long, smooth throat shivered.

"I found it."

She shook him. Loki danced with the motion, swaying forward and back again. His head lolled. His throat flashed, white behind his collar.

"You stole it," she said, her tongue thick, her teeth hard, "and you lied to me."

He looked up at her through his dark lashes. His eyes rounded. Such innocence he dripped.

"That's a very serious accusation."

"And then you lied to Thor," she snapped, "and I want to know why you did it!"

"When did I lie to Thor?" he wondered.

She shook him again, and this time Loki put his hand on her arm and did not roll with her. His fingers, so long and cool, tightened on her wrist.

"You told him I was in love with him!"

Loki laughed. It was an ugly sound, and it made her want to stick her fingers behind his teeth and make him silent.

"But you are in love with him," he said mockingly. "You're so obviously in love with him. Oh, I've seen the way you stare at him. The way you turn to him. How you smile at him. It makes me want to puke."

"How could you tell?" she shouted in his face. "You're so stuck up in yourself you can't see anything past your stupid nose."

"Oh, please!" he shouted back. His fingers bit into her arm, and Sif wound her hands more tightly in his shirt, so tightly he rose on his toes and leaned toward her. "I don't have to look far to see it. You care so much of what he thinks of you--"

"Of course I care! He's my friend," she said, "he's like a brother to me."

Loki rested his head back against the shelves. His eyes lidded. A little sneer pulled his lips back from his teeth. He said, "Oh, but he isn't your brother. You should thank me. I've done such a great kindness for you."

She wanted to shake him until his head rolled forward. She wanted to push him back against the shelves until his eyes closed and he gasped. She wanted to stop his tongue, his games, his lies, the things he wove about himself; she wanted to strip it all away until only Loki stood before her.

"You've never thought of anyone but yourself," she said. Her throat hurt with it.

"You don't have to pretend anymore," Loki said poisonously. "You should take the pin back to him and tell him how ardently you love him, and when my brother is king then you will be queen."

"You idiot," she said, "you stupid, selfish idiot. I don't want to be queen."

His lips parted - she saw his tongue rising behind his teeth - and Sif pushed him back against the shelves so they shook, and she mashed her mouth against his. Loki's hand closed about her wrist like an iron band. He stared at her, his eyes huge, and his breath fluttered hotly on her lips. Sif turned her head and kissed him again, harder, and fitted clumsily to him, her leg between his legs, her hands crushed between their chests.

She leaned back. Her lips ached where she'd smashed them against his teeth. Loki stared at her. His tongue flashed; he licked his lip.

"But what of your love for Thor?" he asked. His voice trembled. He did not look away from her. "Sif. I wouldn't have thought you fickle."

"Stop it," she said. "No more of your games."

His hand slid up her arm. His fingers stroked her elbow, lightly.

"Why do you think this is a game?" he asked her softly.

"Why," she asked in turn, "would you ever think I wanted to do this with Thor?" and she kissed him again. Her tongue caught on his teeth.

Loki shook against her; he laughed. Sif clung to his shirt. He pressed to her. His hand rested on her shoulder, and his mouth opened, and Loki, at last, surrendered.

Notes:

"But why Sif/Loki?" Because everything Rawles said in the notes to her AMAZING PERFECT SIF/LOKI FIC WHICH YOU NEED TO SHUT UP AND READ RIGHT NOW. In brief: Sif, specifically, singles Loki out repeatedly throughout the film not only to speak with but to stare intensely at him, and when Loki addresses her and the warriors three, he doesn't address the warriors three at all, but Sif directly. Also, um, they totally banged in the myths, sry2say. (I ALONE KNOW, AS I THINK I DO KNOW, / YOUR LOVE BESIDE THOR, / AND THAT WAS THE WICKED LOKI.) (Thank you, Carolyne Larrington, you beautiful scholar, you.)

I could go on in greater depth but honestly, you just read a 14,000+ word fic about Sif and Loki. I doubt you want me to get started.

The title is taken from "What Starry Eyes Know (Two Door Cinema Club vs Ellie Goulding)" by Neon Hitch.