for: agile

[treachery]

[ Where the seeress Gullveig, thrice-burned by Odin's flame and thrice-reborn by Vanir seiðr, first infiltrated the Æsir borders and precipitated the Æsir-Vanir War, a great golden statue now resides. Protected by Æsir and Vanir spellwork alike, it stands eternal vigil before the ancient defensive walls, proud and untouched by time.

As a child, Loki had been drawn to the statue. Not only did his teachers and his peers alike treat the memory of Gullveig with both revulsion and respect (a duality to which Loki had been acclimating, even then), the site itself is girdled with spells cast by the finest magicians of the realms. He had spent hours testing the potency of his seiðr against the magics protecting Gullveig's statue from harm.

The night that Thor had received Mjölnir, Loki succeeded in blasting the statue to pieces. He'd been punished severely for it; even so, Loki had taken a disproportionate amount of pride in the destruction.

Time has passed, the statue has been reconstructed, but Loki continues to haunt the clearing about the statue. This morn, he stews in a dark mood. Sif's shorn hair has been scattered to the winds over Ægir's seas, only a thin plait of it left amongst his spell-things, and yet his mind will not quiet. The sun has already risen into the sky; by now, the silver shears left at Sif's bedside must have been identified as Loki's. Thor will be looking for him, perhaps flanked by the Warriors Three and the Lady herself. Or perhaps she will choose to come alone to defend her lost honor, per the mandate of her defiant self-reliance.

And she will find him here, as all of Asgard knows of Loki's fondness for this spot.

It would require only a thought to disappear from Heimdall's sight into the magewoods of Álfheim or the caves of Svartálfaheim for a time, and yet Loki remains as he is. He cannot stand victorious over Thor nor Sif if it devolves to blows, but the Silvertongue has ever yet been more than the sum of his flesh and blood and bones.

The sun climbs higher in the sky. Loki stands at Gullveig's feet, his shadow indiscernible from hers. ]

Comments

[agile]

[ sif has never been quite fond of red. the moment she awoke and felt her hair floating loosely around her pillows changed sif's entire colour palette from soft greens and gold to blood red.

her hair was the only remaining tie to her father's good grace. she refused to follow in the footsteps of the women in her family, past and present, and instead followed the footsteps of an oaf for a prince. the traditional role she was meant to fill was void. it would always remain empty and forgotten. sif was never quite good at following rules.

sometimes sif likes to pretend she doesn't know loki as well as thor. her loyalty will always be to her dear friend. even if he is wrong, she'll always side with him. she knows thor's tics, his habits, when it's him creeping up behind her in an attempt to scare her. she knows thor like the back of her own hand, but she knows loki like the back of her small finger. she knows where to find him, even when he wishes to be alone or to not exist, because she might be oblivious to him on most occasions, but she observes him when he's not looking. she doesn't know his footsteps, since he's too quiet, and she doesn't know when he's angry or joking as well as she should, but she knows where loki likes to hide when he's feeling proud or spiteful. he tries to hide in the shadows, but she sees him. it's only now that she chooses to let him know she can. ]

Loki.

[ her voice is as sharp as his tongue can be. in her hand is the shears she knows are his. even though she slipped through the steps of denial, she knew it was he who cut her hair and rid of her honour. it's a betrayal she can't quite shake; there's an anger in her bones that wishes to be released against that of his skull. ]

I believe I have something of yours.

[ she didn't hold the shears out for him to take, but she held it as if she were dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. to her, he was one in this very moment. ]