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‟I haven’t seen you in the feasting halls before this night.” Thor said leadingly, eyes on his guest and her-
‟You would not have.” Oddrún’s thin mouth curled, her shimmering green eyes sweeping over his face as though she were still evaluating whether coming with him had been a mistake. Her sharp tongue and playful barbs had kept Thor on his toes all night - on his toes and enraptured. ‟I spend most days in the halls of knowledge with the Queen and her ladies; in learning, not in fluttering about foolish warriors spilling ale as they peacock over their wounds.”
Thor’s lips twitched. Rude, but he had suffered worse, and her eyes glinted a tease rather than insult. ‟You study the use of seiðr?”
Oddrún sniffed. ‟Of course. It is what drew you to me, is it not?” she asked, running her fingers through her long, raven’s-wing hair, sending the silvery stars that glimmered there swirling around her like moon-bound fireflies.
It was a show of power none but the strongest in seiðr would have chosen - even they few unlikely to do so here. Mother did not approve of waste; decoration such as they were used sparingly, mainly when they had some deeper purpose.
Such as displaying strength in comely guise when walking to negotiation tables; it was not Thor’s choice of sport, but Loki had soaked up the lessons as he did all their mother’s lessons.
‟Perhaps.” Thor admitted, moving closer, brushing his fingers lightly from her hip up her back. They were eye-catching and bright, but he could not say if it had been those glimmering points in the night-dark hair that drew his eye first - or the bright eyes, green as spring, the exasperated purse of lips that curved prettily with amusement.
‟Ever you are subtle as a rampaging boar.” Oddrún said, turning away, and Thor stilled, hand in the air.
She ran her fingers through her hair again, flicking it out loose, and the silvery lights swirled as it . . . shortened smoothly, and she turned back, meeting his gaze with sea-glass green eyes and a far more familiar exasperated look as his hand slid over a slim hip.
Thor jerked back from his brother, spluttering. ‟All-Father blast it, Loki, what reason have you to sport with me this way!” he snapped, and Loki’s lips curved with amusement, sharp and pretty.
It soured Thor’s temper yet further that it was the exact curve he had admired on Oddrún’s sharp, pretty face.
‟What reason have you,” Loki returned, startlingly soft, ‟to sport with every slim, dark-haired or green-eyed seiðkonur who will have you?”
Thor opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, face heating as he realised uncomfortably swiftly that Loki was - as so often - entirely correct.
‟What reason,” Loki repeated, laying his fingers over Thor’s lips to quiet him when he began to protest, ‟might I have to sport with you, indeed, brother.”
Thor’s eyes widened, fingers flexing on Loki’s hip. Loki’s sharp mouth curved and his eyes glinted.