Loki saw her, standing before her mirror in her scuffed armor, the crimson fabric of her skirt stained dark, her hair matted with dirt and flecks of blood, her eyes bright and terrified as she traced her own reflection, gaze flickering over the scratch marks on her chest plate. The sunlight was dying outside her window, and it cast her silhouette in shadows, her fingers trembling as she carefully ran a comb through the tangled strands of ebony.
He'd heard the story countless times now, was all too aware of why she was so coated in blood, of why her lips shook as she sighed heavily.
Coming up behind her, his shadow cast tall in the evening light, her eyes widened when she saw him, and she frowned sadly as he placed gentle, feather-light fingers on her hips, carefully pressed to the armor there, a spot oddly free of blood. She stared at him in the mirror, and he saw the pain shining brightly in her gaze.
"He left me no choice," she murmured hoarsely, her voice worn as if from crying, and he caught notice of the small dots of blood littering the skin of her face, his brow drawing together. She set the comb down on the glass top of the vanity counter, and he ran his palms up her waist to soothe her, watching her throat bob as she glanced down, dark lashes kissing her pale cheeks.
"And so you acted. You can hardly be blamed for protecting your own life, Sif," he offered in return, but her shoulders only lowered.
"Is this how it will always be?" He shrugged, moving his hands up to rest gingerly upon her slim shoulders, skin pressed to her cold armor.
"A warrior's life is not one free of sin, I'm afraid-nor of blood."
As if on instinct, she absently brought a hand to touch her neck, where a thin line of red trailed down to stain her collarbone, and she blinked away the tears burning her eyes. Behind her, the sun cast a golden halo about her head, the orange, fading rays making her grey eyes glow brightly in the mirror, the blood on her skin and armor gilded with light.
"Perhaps the first is the hardest?" Loki asked softly, lightheartedly, even, and she raised her arm to lay her hand flat upon his, squeezing his fingers. He'd never known a strength so profound, so innate, as the one in both her weary grip and burdened eyes, and he watched the shadows overtake her room just as they were climbing into her heart, and wrapped his arms around her waist to shield her from them as best he could.
Based on a prompt given by meowdejavu over on Tumblr
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