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bookishwenchOut of the Ashes
She stood outside the door of Loki’s room with her hand ready to knock, but she couldn’t quite make herself do it. It was a distant chance at best. Still, it was the only one she could think of. She glanced up and down the hallway again, but no one else was in view. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her cloak more tightly around her, gritted her teeth, and rapped on the door. She heard his footsteps approaching and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved he was there or not. A moment later, the door opened.
“Oh. Sif,” he said, looking puzzled. “It’s nearly midnight. What are you doing here?”
“May I come in?” she said, and without waiting for an answer, she squeezed her way inside. “Shut the door, would you?”
“Coming to my chambers at night and bidding me shut the door? How very indecorous of you,” he said teasingly, but when she didn’t turn with a witty reply but only walked to the far side of the room and faced the window, he frowned.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she said, still facing away from him. She thought she might spontaneously die if he did.
“Alright,” he said slowly. “What’s happened? And why are you wearing that cloak? It’s high summer, aren’t you ho—ly shit.”
Loki rarely swore, so she knew it was as bad as she thought. She had turned to face him and pushed back the hood of her cloak to reveal her butchered hair.
“What in the realms of Hel happened?” he said, his eyes huge with shock. “Who did this?”
She pursed her lips together tightly and lowered her gaze to the floor before getting the nerve to look him in the eye.
“I did.”
About two dozen expressions cycled through his face, thankfully none of them amused, and he said nothing for almost a minute. Then he closed the distance between them, standing close enough to run a hand gingerly over the uneven strands.
“Why?”
She took a deep breath, intending to explain, but to her mortification it turned into a sob instead. Clenching her hands into fists and burying them in the folds of her cloak, she began shaking with the desire to gain control over herself, but the sobbing wouldn’t stop. She felt herself crumple, her back and shoulders bending forward, almost as if she were going to be sick.
Arms went around her gently, and she found her face pressed against the soft fabric of the prince’s tunic. Hands smoothed carefully over her back, soothing her, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming. She felt humiliated, ashamed, ridiculous, but she didn’t try to break free of his embrace because it would mean having to face him again. Instead, she let him continue to hold her until she quieted, allowing herself to take comfort in his presence.
“I apologize, my prince,” she said when she finally felt herself back in control. “I had no intention of becoming so emotional.”
She carefully stepped back from him, and he let his arms drop to his sides without trying to hold her in place.
“No apology is needed,” he said, “but I would like an explanation.”
She took a deep breath, searching for the right words to explain. In the following silence, he walked to his desk and took out a handkerchief, then handed it to her. She used it to mop up her face and discreetly blow her nose, which was a mess, but was at a loss what to do with the soiled cloth until it disappeared on its own.
“Have you ever had a bad day?” she said, realizing it sounded completely inadequate. “Just a very, very bad day?”
He nodded, obviously waiting for more.
“It was one of those,” she said, feeling tears sting the corners of her eyes again.
“What happened?” he said, gesturing towards one of the two chairs in front of the fire in his room. She sat in one and stared at the flames, feeling exhausted, but she began speaking.
“When I woke up this morning, I overheard my parents discussing how much they wished that they had another son instead of a daughter. That they were embarrassed by me. That I was a disappointment. I don’t think they gave a thought to how thin the walls are at home.”
Loki, now sitting in the other chair, said nothing.
“I’ve always suspected that was how they felt, but to hear it was a different matter,” she said.
“It is.”
That had sounded like a confession.
“Sif, you have met my family,” he said. “I am no stranger to being openly declared a disappointment. Did you say anything to them?”
“I did. They looked shocked at being caught, but they didn’t deny it and gave me a long explanation of why any parent would feel the same in their place. Apparently, I am head-strong, willful, spoiled, and delusional, adding that, had I been a man, my faults would be excusable, but not for a woman.”
The fire popped with sudden force as a log exploded, and Sif looked at Loki again. He appeared calm, but she noticed that his lips had become a thin, tight line. She was certain the fire had not been coincidental.
“And then?”
“I left,” she said. “I wandered the streets for a while before I ran into Johann the bladesmith outside of the Yellow Ox. He was behaving strangely, and he finally admitted that he would prefer I not inform anyone where I had purchased my sword the next time anyone asked due to my failure in the most recent tourney.”
“Failure? As I recall, you came in second out of over five hundred Einherjar.”
“Second is apparently a loss and a black mark upon his business, as he put it. Granted, Fandral was removed earlier than I by several dozen, but he did not ask the same of him. I am not permitted simply to be a good warrior or even an exemplary warrior; I am required to be the best because unless they are given proof that I am perfect, they assume I am the failure they have always both silently and loudly predicted I must be.”
“No one is perfect.”
“No, but it is still what they expect me to be to be considered tolerable,” she said bitterly. “The ideal I am to fulfill is impossible, which is the point. I handed him back his sword without a word. I have others, even better ones, but I will not use one made by him again even if it were presented to me by your father himself.”
“Nor I,” he said quietly. “I will not allow a fool to arm me.”
She felt a rush of gratitude for his loyalty wash over her.
“That was quiet enough, I suspect, to be labeled as a ‘bad day,’ but was there more?” he asked.
She considered whether she should add the last detail. It had been small in comparison, but it had also been as painful as a sharp slap across her face.
“That was most of it,” she said, but when he continued to listen, quietly waiting, she added, “except for one little thing.”
“Which was?”
“I don’t know if you know Solveig.”
He squinted into the fire, and she could almost see him flicking through his mind.
“No. I have no memory of that name.”
“There is no reason you should. When I was a little girl, her family lived in a house across the road. She was everything I suppose I am not: quiet, obedient, gifted in all the arts considered comely for a woman.”
“Then I am glad we never met,” he said. “She sounds boring enough to cause death through torpor.”
In spite of herself, Sif nearly choked on a laugh.
“She wasn’t a bad person,” she said, “but she was always held up to me as someone to model myself on, that I should emulate her ways. I hadn’t seen her in years, or even thought of her.”
“But today you did.”
Sif nodded, taking a breath before adding, “Yes, dressed in her wedding gown, her new husband leading her in the opening dance of their marriage festivities in the square.”
“You envied her.”
“Yes, but not the husband or the marriage, not really. I have seen enough poor choices of a spouse to know marriage is no guarantee of bliss. But I did envy that everyone there regarded her as having done precisely what she should do, that they approved of her.”
“And she will probably never be heard from again,” he said. “Having achieved her only accomplishment, namely getting a husband, she will disappear into the throngs of the ordinary, live a life of no particular note, and evaporate from memory.”
“Perhaps,” Sif said, looking into the fire. “But then perhaps someday I shall as well.”
“Sif, when the bards write their epics two thousand years hence, tales will still be told of your brave exploits,” he said. “I’d wager my last coin on it.”
She felt far less certain than he did.
“It was the last grain of sand that toppled the whole fortress,” she said. “I just felt unutterably alone, different, useless. I found myself wandering down a country lane of farms that I’d never even seen before. Someone had left a sharpened wheat sickle leaning against a fence post, and I just felt so angry, like I needed to destroy something, so—”
Her voice drifted into silence.
“So, you cut off your hair,” he finished. “Did it help?”
“Not particularly. I’m still furious and miserable. It’s just I also look stupid now on top of it.”
She wondered if she should say the next part, the reason she had come, or not, but squared her shoulders and realized that as petulant as Loki could be, he was the only one who might be able to help.
“I don’t suppose you could… fix it? With magic?” she asked, feeling ridiculous saying it. “I know I made my own problem, but I’d rather not give the neighbors a reason to gossip about me being out of my mind on top of everything else if I can avoid it.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning, and she wasn’t sure if it was from disappointment or perhaps anger. She suddenly worried that he might think she was using him.
“It’s fine if you can’t, or won’t. You don’t have any obligation to help me, and while I was hoping you might be able to, I still appreciate you listening to me,” she said quickly.
“No, it’s not that,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the ability to regrow your hair. I could use a glamour, but those don’t work for very long unless the subject is right in the same vicinity of the one casting it, so that wouldn’t be practical for something like this.”
“Right,” she said, feeling herself blushing with embarrassment. “Yes, of course. I apologize to have bothered you so late.”
She was halfway to the door when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“You don’t need to feel awkward with me,” he said. “If anyone understands a bad day, I’m the one.”
“That’s the other reason I came here,” she said, turning back towards him and attempting to smile. “I needed to tell someone, and I knew I could trust you. For that, I thank you. That’s better than any magic spell.”
“Still, it does look rather dire. Mother’s hairdresser may be able to help you tomorrow,” he said. “She’s quite good. But I’m afraid she’s also rather a gossip. I could try to bribe her, but there’s no guarantee she’d keep her mouth closed even then, and as Mother’s fond of her, I couldn’t even threaten to have her sacked.”
“That’s kind of you,” she said, “but I suppose I’ll just have to deal with yet more wagging tongues. I’ve had enough practice.”
“I could try to even it out for you first, if you want,” he said. “It wouldn’t fix it, but it might look less…”
“Less like I took a wheat sickle to my hair in a fit of despair while standing in a farmer’s empty barnyard?” Sif said.
“I was going to say chaotic, but that’s… accurate,” he admitted.
“Well, it’s not like you could make it any worse,” she said, sighing. “Fine. Have at it.”
She sat at his desk chair, accidentally tossing her head to flip her hair out of habit only to have nothing move and feeling like a fool again. Loki rummaged through a drawer and eventually produced scissors and a comb.
“I’m only going to try to make it straight,” he said. “I can’t swear I’ll even do that well, but I’ll try.”
She felt weirdly vulnerable as he started at the nape of her neck. When she heard the sound of the scissors closing, of her hair falling again, she was reminded of her feelings of failure about almost everything, and tears began to prick the corners of her eyes. Angrily, she dabbed them away, and Loki stopped.
“Are you alright?”
“Some of the trimmings went in my eye is all,” she said. “Keep going.”
He worked with almost ludicrous caution, at one point pulling out a ruler to use as a guide, at another actually kneeling behind her to work at eye level.
“It’s odd the Midgardians turned out to be right in their myths for once,” she said, feeling awkward in her silence.
“No offense, my lady, but if one of them had to come true, I’d rather it was this than my giving birth to a horse with eight legs,” he said. “Eight hooves. That sounds horrendously painful.”
She was surprised to find she was laughing.
“There. As good as I can do, at any rate,” he said, eyeing it critically. “Now it looks like you might have tried cutting it short on a whim to keep it out of your way while fighting and just made some slips.”
He handed her a mirror, and she peered into it critically. It did look better, but it was still odd to see herself. She supposed it would be for a while.
“Thank you,” she said, twisting around to see him. “It’s much less horrible. And it will grow.”
“Well, at least I wasn’t completely useless for once,” he said, putting the scissors back in the drawer. “I can’t bear doing nothing when someone I love is upset.”
He stopped dead.
“I did not just say that out loud,” he muttered, shutting his eyes and gripping the edge of the desk with both hands. “Can we erase that?”
She thought her eyes were going to fall right out of their sockets and roll away on the floor because she had them opened so wide.
“I phrased that badly. I meant, I don’t want you to think no one cares about you,” he said, quickly walking to the other side of the room and putting as much distance between them as he possibly could without opening the door and running into the hallway, which he seemed to be contemplating. “I do, of course. Care about you. So does Thor! And, ehm, Volstagg! Volstagg adores you. And Mother. And your brother Heimdall. And that old woman who sells those atrocious fried apple rings at the market whom you insist we go to every Tuesday for lunch so she can babble on about her early years. And the postman, he likes you. And… Norns, I’m not helping this at all.”
He quietly banged his head against the wall twice then turned back to her.
“Fine. Somehow, truth came spewing out of my lips. How very unlike me,” he said, trying to laugh, but there wasn’t a drop of humor in the sound, and he stopped at once. “Forgive me. I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. You have more than enough bothering you now. You reached out to me as a friend for help, and I did not mean to make this about me. It was an accident, not deliberate. I apologize.”
She was still utterly stunned, but she knew she had to do something, say something. Anything at all would be better than sitting here looking like a fish with her mouth open and her eyes bulging as Loki practically writhed with embarrassment. She stood up shakily, brushing the tiny bits of hair from her neck and realizing they were now annoyingly stuck to her sweating palms.
“You’ve no need for apologies,” she said, moving towards where he stood.
“Can you please just forget this happened?” he said, almost begging. “Please?”
She’d never seen him look so terrified. She opened her mouth to tell him it was already forgotten, not to worry about it, that she was willing to blame the late hour and a long day as making him say something he didn’t mean. But she realized in a blinding flash that she couldn’t. That she didn’t even want to. That finally, this horrible day had produced one unutterably wonderful thing in it.
“No,” she said, coming closer.
His eyes flicked from the floor to her again, his expression horrified until she lifted one hand gently to his face and smiled up at him.
“Sif?” he asked, seemingly baffled.
So she took away his questions by bringing her lips to his and softly kissing him, then drawing back again. Watching a smile slowly grow on his face was like seeing the dawn rise in all its glory after a very long night.
“It’s very late,” she said a few moments later. “I should go home.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” he said.
“I’m not looking forward to it either,” she admitted, “but I don’t have anywhere else.”
“Here,” he said, clasping her hand in his. “Stay here. I’ll sleep on the sofa, you take the bed, and we’ll sort out a permanent place for you in the palace tomorrow.”
She worried her lip between her teeth, then finally nodded.
“Fine,” he said, smiling again and letting go of her hand only to touch her cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Technically, it’s already morning,” she said, and the clock did indeed read well past one.
“Then here’s to a much better day than the last,” he said, kissing her once more before they parted.
Sif slept surrounded by Loki’s scent that night, her dreams tinted in gold and green. When she opened her eyes the next morning, the realization that she was somewhere she was wanted and loved slowly formed in her mind, and happiness spread over her. Her fingers rumpled through her short hair, and she found herself smiling as it reminded her that the past was gone and something new was beginning. Later that day a group of Einherjar were dispatched to move her belongings from her parents’ home to one of the palace’s spare bedrooms that was now her own. However, long before her hair grew back even to her shoulders, she was in Loki’s bed again. This time, she was no longer alone.
