What The Water Gave Me
Prompt: A storm setting
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor.
It rained the night before their wedding and it made her ache for home when she carefully stepped out into the garden, letting the rain destroy the elaborate hairstyle that had forced her to be still for a good part of the morning. She wondered if her mother would come, stand at the edge and shout for her to come inside immediately.
"You'll catch your death."
Her mother's words rang in her ears. She glanced back, imagining her mother there for a second, arms curled around her chest, dark hair swept back.
"Good."
She walked forward, letting the rain ruin everything, her dress, her hair, her make-up. Her mother had frankly outlined her future once, her hands on her daughter's shoulders. She would be expected to be a wife and a mother. All the excitement and adventure would come to an end.
"You're to be a bride now," she had said, quite calmly.
There would be no more running off, no more life, she thought dismally. Like a trinket, she would belong to her husband and be his to do with what he pleased.
She knew that preparations were occurring for the wedding, that long into the night servants would be making everything perfect for the formal uniting of two lands. She wandered through flowers, letting her bare feet step gingerly across the wet grass. She hated to be considered a pawn, something for purely political moves.
"There was nothing we could do," her mother had said, slipping her arms around her daughter's shoulders. "I'm sorry."
She used her sleeve to wipe off the remainder of the paint on her face, glad to see the stain on the fabric rather than her skin. She had yet to speak to her bridegroom, angry that it wasn't considered necessary for them to actually speak. It was considered acceptable for them to be seated across the room from each other, catching occasional glances.
She had not been sure of what to make of him. He was quiet, the dark haired one, a second born prince. That had driven her mother into a rage. "They cannot even give their precious heir." He had not become intoxicated, had not joined in the crude humor that the other men engaged in. She decided that either made him dull or refined.
She paused when she heard the sound of someone coming. She turned, expecting her mother and the lecture that would follow. Yet, the smile she had prepared disappeared when she saw him there.
"What do you want?" She asked, turning back, letting the feel of the rain engulf her.
"We are to be married."
"And it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," she said, turning to look at him. The anger that had occupied her chest throughout the feast faded when she met his gaze. She had heard it and could see it in his eyes; he had the same reservations.
"I know but we should discuss the arrangement we will enter into."
She frowned, focusing gray eyes on him. The rain had made his hair stick to his face, lose the clean look that he always had. It stained his clothes like it had hers, making it blacker, if such a thing was possible, like it had dyed her pastel dress, a shade of deeper blue.
"I understand quite clearly what is expected of me," she said, turning on her heel, refusing to look at him. "I am to be your wife, bear your children, be there."
He stood still while she walked away. "I came to speak with you," he said. "I would prefer to know you."
She stopped, looking back at him. "What?"
"I did not ask for this. I am sure you did not either." They face each other for, what she imagines, are hours. Her wet hair drapes over her shoulders, her dress beyond saving, she is sure. When thunder cracks, he holds out his hand. "We should go inside."
She nods, taking his hand. The halls were quiet when they walked, neither speaking. He stopped at her room, dropping her hand. Her hand grasped the handle when she made a decision and looked back at him. "You wanted to talk," she said suddenly. "Please, come in."
For the rest of the night, they sat, both soaking, talking about everything. She told him about her childhood while he talked about his interest in magic. He left when the clouds were gone and the beginnings of a sunrise were spotted on the horizon.
The entire ceremony had her hiding yawns, the dark lines under her eyes hidden by excessive amounts of make-up. She was thankful when they let her go, taking refuge in her own room. She was about to finally sleep when he walked in, partly on his own accord and partly pushed. However, before she has time to say something, he collapsed beside her on the bed.
She turned, looking at him, already seemingly quite asleep. "Why would you be so kind?" She whispered, accepting sleep.
"Because you are not property," he said, voice thick with sleep, eyes still closed.
Author's Note: Because in my mind, I've already worked out how Sigyn/Loki could be completely and utterly canon.