Sif's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Sif stood at the golden doors of Vingólf and watched the man she meant to destroy walk in wearing gold. Loki cut off her hair once. He shaved her scalp bare while she slept and laughed about it. The dwarves gave her new hair, real gold that grew from her own head, but the shame never washed out. She had sworn to pay him back so fully he could never mock her again. Now here he was, home in Asgard, and she had no way to hurt him. That was the trouble. She knew Loki. Every threat she made, he would twist away from. Draw a blade, and he became a fly. Corner him, and he talked his way loose. She had spent months hunting for one weakness she could press. She had found none. He saw her and smiled. "Sif. Your hair looks well. Better than the last time I saw it." Her hand went to the long gold braid at her waist. "You should not have come back." "And yet." He spread his arms. His golden cape swept the floor. "Odin still calls me brother. What can you do to me here?" Nothing. That was the answer he wanted, and it was true. She could strike him and he would slip loose, and then he would tell the tale for years. The god's wife who lost her temper and her hair both. Sif made herself smile back. "You're right," she said. "I can do nothing." The words tasted like ash. But saying them changed his face. He relaxed. He thought he had won, and a man who thinks he has won stops guarding himself. "Sit," she said. "Drink. Tell me how you crossed the bridge past Heimdall." He liked that. He loved to be admired for his cleverness. He sat and poured himself a cup and began to boast. He told her about a black dust that blinded the watchman's eyes and ears. He told her how he walked across the rainbow bridge while Heimdall groped in the dark. He told her he had gone hunting for something precious. A weakness, he said. The one weakness of the one god no weapon could touch. Sif kept her face still. She had come for his weakness and he had just handed her someone else's. Loki had found the flaw in Baldr, the shining god, the son of the Queen. If she carried that to Frigg, the mother would tear Loki apart to protect her child. She stood and set down her cup. "You've helped me," she said. "More than you know." His smile faltered. Too late. She was already at the doors. She still had no way to wound Loki herself. But she no longer needed one. She had his secret, and she knew exactly whose ear it belonged in.