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She had wanted to cut it the minute she’d discovered the change. She had wanted to sheer it all off all over again. But he’d stopped her, of course, held her by the wrists as she shouted and tried to pull away. She was supposed to be a field goddess. Field goddesses didn’t have black hair. They were blonde, with hair like wheat. He had told her she was beautiful anyway, and she hadn’t listened, thrown things around the room while he told her it would be alright. Stopped her when she went to break Loki’s fingers.
Sif carded her comb through that black hair now, gazing at the refection in the polished brass plate settled before her on a vanity table. It wasn’t that she hated the color; she did hate it, but it wasn’t that. It was that her hair had been taken from her. By Loki. A passionate hate welled up in her at the thought of his name and she threw the comb she held down against the vanity with a clatter before putting her face in her hands. Damn him, damn him, damn him. Damn that god.
She felt his big hands on her shoulders, and they tightened in defense to whatever he was going to say before he even said it. She was tired of his pity (even if he didn’t think that’s what it was), and she was tired of his reassurance.
“It does not look bad.” He said reaching around to take one of her hands. Sif sighed and gave him one, squeezing his hand in hers as he sat behind her at the vanity. Her eyes flicked over his features. Kind eyes, soft lips, the slightest crook to his nose from breaking it. Golden hair. She sighed.
A soft kiss was pressed to the back of her neck and he set his chin on her shoulder, looking into the brass mirror with her. “You would not have been fit to be a field goddess.” He said softly, brushing the hair over her shoulder. “You burn too brightly.”
“What do you know about burning brightly?” She said with a half smile, looking at herself still. She was the same still, even if an awful curtain of black fell around her shoulders. Thor just chuckled and kissed her neck again, running his hand through her hair. He leaned forward, to reach for the comb, and his chest pressed into her back and she could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady.
“I think you hair looks beautiful. I think it suits you very well.” He whispered beginning to brush her hair for her, running the comb through thick black oil that fell from her scalp and pooled down around her shoulders and elbows, running into the shadows her feet created and following her as she walked. She didn’t answer him, she just sighed a thousand sighs and stared at the reflection.
“Why?” She asked looking at his mirror self as the comb tugged through her hair. “Why do you think it is beautiful?” Thor looked up and then back at her hair running through his fingers.
“Because it’s like the black at the horizon at night, like the deepest, darkest water, like things no one can know, because it’s unusual, because it’s different, because it means something else, because it mean someone took you power and you took it back. You took it back and you grew stronger.” He said softly, running the brush through her hair as he did, softly pulling out any tangles she’d inflicted at some point, his rough hands trained on the task at hand, slowly beginning to braid it for her as she watched through the mirror.
“Really?”
He nodded and tied off a braid, smiling at her a little in the mirror. “I think it suits you. I think the only thing Loki did was make you stronger.” She smiled a little and remained silent as he finished her hair. His braids were not the finest, not the neatest, but he had done them for her and that was all she wished. It meant more than the neat braids a handmaiden could do.
“Thank you.” She murmured, reaching out and taking his hand. Thor smiled and pulled her up from the table. Thor kissed her hands and pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her forehead.
“You will be an amazing goddess, Sif.” He smiled and held her hand. “And I am glad to know you.” She laughed and laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly. They stood like that for a good long while, and Sif just kept her head on his chest, finding comfort in his heart and in his words.