rightfulprince:
siffed:
rightfulprince:
siffed:
That particular incident was not on Sif’s mind just now, and for that they were both lucky.
“They do not suit you,” she mused, coming to the end of her braid, staring in consternation at where the strands came together. She had no ribbon or band with which to tie it off, and after a time, twisted it at her nape and into a knot. There. It would impede her vision no longer this day, at least.
Loki looked away towards the trees, smirking slightly. ”I did not realise I had such fashion-conscious friends,” he bantered. In the darkness that shadowed the trees, he could see a stag grazing in a clearing. It was lucky to have survived this long, Thor made it a habit to have venison on the table regularly. Head tilted, the prince watched it sway through the trees, the antlers gleaming gold in the occasional pools of sunlight.
“Shh,” she chided, hearing the stag before she saw it, knowing that it would most likely startle at the sound of Loki’s voice. She followed his gaze, peering into the darkness, smiling brilliantly when she saw the noble creature. Sif appreciated the hunt as well as any of the boys, but there was no hunt today. Crouching, she inched closer to Loki until her mouth was near his ear.
“A beauty,” she murmured appreciatively, cataloging its every move with keen blue eyes.
He froze at the closeness of the voice, caught off guard. Tearing his green eyes from the beast, he leaned back and looked at Sif. His eyes instantly found hers, and he couldn’t help but stare into the tranquil blue abyss. He was only just aware of how close they were, how their faces were just centimetres apart. If only her mother could see her now, he thought, bringing a half-smile to his face. He reached up with his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his finger.
”Very much so,” he replied in a husky voice, his eyes drinking in every detail of her face.
If her mother could see her now, she would find fault in the dirt that smudged her cheek, in the haphazard knot of gold hair at her nape, with her style of dress, and not least of all with the Prince who touched her face so familiarly.
Even now, all at court murmured that one day Sif would be Queen, one half of Thor-And-Sif, as if she were not already a key component. Even Loki looked away from the truth that was Thor-And-Sif-And-Loki, took himself out of the picture most days, or thrust her toward his brother maliciously.
But sometimes, sometimes, like now with his finger so gentle on her cheek, with green eyes like the forest she called home, Sif knew that were she to prophesy her own future, it would not be full of blue and gold, so much like herself, but green and brown and earth and mischief, danger and unpredictability.
For herself, she had no interest in safe.
The rasp in Loki’s voice confused Sif, blinking against the brilliance of his eyes, for there was a heat in her that seemed to answer, unbidden. Slightly uncomfortable, she laughed, breathy — any other maiden might have blushed, but not Sif. “I mean the stag,” she said, breath warm on his cheek, wary and yet utterly fearless, “Is it not majestic?”
