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Sif was in a particularly bad mood. It wasn’t because her sword got a chink in the blade while training the yards earlier nor was it because she found a hole in the seam of her favorite green dress so she couldn’t wear it to the feast tonight. Perhaps Fandral’s reckless lingering on the line between adult humor and blatant harassment could have something to do with it, but mostly it was because that woman was at the dinner tonight. She could hear her now: her silvery voice captivating people with her tales of travel and her musical laughter sailing over the song of the fiddles and fifes. Sif happened to love the song the band was playing but that woman’s incessant giggling made her skin crawl.
She sat at a table, momentarily forgotten, drinking pink whine and nibbling idly on slices of pears. She was hardly aware of her snacking—she developed the habit of eating when she was bored or stressed when she was a child. Naturally, she blamed her mother from whom she picked up the habit. Usually she tried to control herself, but tonight she didn’t care. She needed to keep her hands busy and something to sink her teeth into.
Fandral had waltzed by, offering the lady a rather hammy apology before asking her to dance. She waved him off, citing her foul mood and a few choice words when he persisted before he finally left her in peace. A chorus of laughter fluttered over the general din of the party. Sif glanced up to see the woman captivating a rather large audience, all seemingly hanging off her every saccharine soaked word. A perfect flush kissed the woman’s cheeks making her look positively radiant. With the woman’s perfectly coiffed sanguine hair, perfect blue dress draping her perfect curvy body and her perfect feminine laugh charming the hearts of every Odin-forsaken soul in the room, Sif was perfectly blood thirsty.
It was definitely not because Loki was as charmed by her as everyone else was.
Sif rolled her jaw in agitation before taking a long drink from her goblet, her eyes never leaving the sweet little troll. So focused was she that Thor’s sudden appearance by her side startled her.
“It’s not like you to select the role of an observer, Sif,” he said as he plopped down on the bench. He grabbed a sweet roll from the center of the table and took a vicious bite out of it.
“Can’t I enjoy some time in my own company,” she asked rather coolly, sparing him a rather irate glance.
He shrugged and took another bite of his dessert. Sif noticed that the group had mostly dissipated, leaving Loki and the woman alone. She glared down at her plate and selected a plump strawberry to throw in her mouth. Who really cares if Loki was standing so close to her? She didn’t.
Thor must have followed his glance, for he asked his next question slowly. “Have you greeted Sigyn yet?”
Sif harrumphed, selecting another delicious strawberry to devour. “Her attention appears to have been taken all night.” She didn’t miss Loki brushing away a loose strand of hair from the woman’s face. “I haven’t had the chance.”
“Well you’ve been over here ignoring everyone,” Thor said. “Come, she’d be happy to see you again.”
“No.” Her voice was frostier than Jotunheim.
“At least come dance.” Ah, Thor—ever persistent, ever irritating. “Just one with me. You love dancing.”
Her patience was running thin, and unfortunately for him, she didn’t start out with much tonight. “Go away, Thor. I’m in no mood to be pestered for a dance.”
Perhaps she was crueler than she intended, for she felt like she had wounded a puppy when Thor quietly rose and left her alone. Loneliness settled on her, followed quickly by a sense of vulnerability. Looking around she realized she was the only one choosing to spend the evening isolated. Everyone was either competing in drinking contests, chatting cordially together, or dancing around the marble floor. She stole another glance at Loki. He was still talking with Sigyn, still standing very close to her. Judging by the grin on his face and the way his hands helped articulate, he was sharing one of his passions with her. Possibly about the new research he had assisted Eir with on the healing properties of purple kelp found deep in the bay beside the palace. The entire story had gone over Sif’s head, causing Loki to politely end the conversation when he noticed her eyes begin to glaze over.
Feeling far too self conscious for her liking, she pushed herself away from the table and left unnoticed. When she finally got back to her chambers, she heaved a heavy sigh. She catches her reflection in the corner of her eye and turns towards her mirror. Nobody would say that Sif lacked confidence: she was an inspiration to all warriors and a leader on the battlefield. With a sword in her hand, she felt as strong as a mountain and everybody respected and trusted her word. But she had her moments where she wished she could crawl into a snail’s shell and hide.
She studied her reflection in the mirror and couldn’t help but notice how sharp her shoulders and arms appeared in her silk gown. Her hair was plain and she couldn’t help but notice that gold washed out her complexion. Visions of Sigyn and her impossible beauty haunted her: her artfully done hair, the way that gown hugged the dangerous curve of her hips, how she seemed to glow like one of the stars hanging above Asgard.
She looked so feminine—so womanly. Of course Loki took notice of her. How could he not? Sif wasn’t entirely sure why she thought Loki wouldn’t pay any attention to her, but she felt disappointed he had. After all, it had been he who expressed zero interest in his betrothal to the noble lady. He once had said that she didn’t have an interesting thought or valuable opinion in her head. Yet the moment she floated into the hall as if she danced on clouds, he excused himself and spent the rest of his night inching closer and closer into her personal space. Sif didn’t care for any reason other than he betrayed his words. If he wanted to spend his evening (and probably his night) with this delicate doll of a woman, that was his business, not hers.
She kicked off her slippers and sank onto the end of her bed beside her torn green dress. She looked at it longingly, her fingers skimming the soft fabric fondly. The hole in the seam was small but would have been noticeable on her waist. She considered ripping the hole: just destroy the dress and get rid of it, but she couldn’t bring herself to ruin just a beautiful garment. Quietly, she crossed the room to her wardrobe and gently hung the dress among the others. She took one last look at it, wondering how becoming she would have looked in it, before she gently closed the doors.