The night of the ball had finally arrived. Loki had been dreading the occasion for a fortnight, and his demeanor clearly conveyed that to all who had the misfortune of coming across him within that time. When he finally arrived at the great hall (after taking the long, long way), he briefly stopped to look himself over in one of the full length mirrors lining the walls. He had never been one to care much about his looks; he was hygienic to a fault, but much more interested in books and magic than he was on his appearance. Tonight however, Loki felt differently.
The corridor outside the hall was empty excluding several servants, too pre-occupied with their trays of food and tripping over one other to notice the young prince watching them in the shadows. He was neither shocked nor insulted by this revelation, for he had lived very much in the shadows all eighteen years of his life. He was known around Asgard as the "odd prince" when frequently compared to his conventionally handsome, well-loved brother, Thor. The shadows were no stranger to him.
He turned back towards the mirror, running his fingers carefully through his long raven locks and smoothing down the leather of his dark green tunic. His thick layers of hair, which fell an inch below his jawline (more or less), insisted on repeatedly falling across his eyes no matter how many times he tried to push the slicked back tresses behind his ears. As he looked over himself, he caught sight of the stark contrast between his light eyes and the heavy dark circles underneath them; a reflection on how little sleep he had gotten in the past few weeks.
Tonight was the night that Thor was to officially propose to the warrior maiden, Lady Sif. The kingdom had been buzzing about the occasion for weeks, and Loki had been avoiding the realm in its entirety since then. He wasn't daft. He knew of his brother's affection for his best friend for years; what no one else knew was that Loki shared the same affection, and had since they were children. He knew she had been searching the kingdom for him for weeks looking to seek his advice on the matter, but he wanted no part in it. She had clearly made her choice.
"Well don't you look charming," a snakelike voice whispered.
Loki didn't turn or speak, but continued to stare indifferently at the figure behind him that was now (too comfortably) sliding her arms underneath his, holding him around the waist. He shifted uneasily at her touch, shrugging her off coldly. She recoiled momentarily at his rejection but quickly regained her composure, bumping him aside to look herself over in the mirror.
Lorelei was stunning; there was never any question of that. She had long, dazzling red hair, porcelain white skin, and big, glistening eyes as green as the aurora. Her fitted gold sequined dress barely covered her sizeable chest and long legs, leaving very little to anyone's imagination. She held the attention of many men at court, but unfortunately the only man she pined after clearly had his sights set elsewhere.
Despite the fact that Loki didn't even remotely reciprocate Lorelei's feelings, or care much for her at all, he was momentarily grateful for her presence. To say he was relieved that didn't have to enter the hall alone would be a gross understatement; also, he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit some vengeful joy in knowing that his choice of date would cause a bit of an uproar. Lorelei had a reputation for being the "Harlot of Asgard" – and the rumors weren't exactly false (even if Loki himself had never shared his bed with her). Anything to make the time a little less enjoyable for everyone, he thought bitterly.
As the two entered the bustling hall, Loki's stomach dropped. His eyes immediately flickered to the far end of the hall where the head table was, but there was no sign of them yet. He sighed in relief, quickly regaining his composure in time to take in the stares and whispers all around them. As they approached the head table a sudden rush of satisfaction hit him when he glanced up to find the look of shock and revulsion on the face of his father.
"Good evening, father, mother," he nodded smugly, passing behind the table to take his seat to the right of them.
"Good evening Loki, Lorelei," Frigga smiled, squeezing Loki's hand as he sat down beside her. She beamed up expectantly at her son until he bent down to kiss her cheek, which he did, though reluctantly. Frigga had the patience and good will of a saint, and Loki loved her dearly, but deep down he knew she wasn't thrilled about his choice of date either.
Lorelei curtsied to Odin and Frigga before sitting down, pulling her skirt down her thighs as she did. It was obvious that even she, in all her excessive vanity, was a little uncomfortable at being so underdressed in front of the king and queen
Odin, in his normal fashion, nodded curtly at the two of them, but said no more. Ultimately, it didn't matter who Loki brought with him to the ball, for he would never have the approval of his father. He loved his brother tremendously, but so did everyone else, and much more so than they loved him; a fact that he was quickly growing tired of.
Thoroughly agitated by his thoughts (but nevertheless lost within them), Loki snapped his fingers in the air, nonchalantly waving a hand to track down the closest servant. Moments later, one appeared.
"My lord?"
"A glass of reisling for the lady," Loki mumbled, thinking over his own choice carefully. He was not one to drink under normal circumstances, but tonight he felt there would be an exception. There needed to be one. There was no way he was going to make it through this particular evening sober. He didn't hate himself that much.
"And, for you, my lord?" the servant asked nervously. Most of the help were apprehensive of Loki; ever since he was a boy, he loved playing tricks on them. Harmless tricks, but nevertheless irritating. Tonight however, mischief was far from his mind.
"Akvavit," Loki replied, without continuing to give the question any further thought. Akvavit was a Norse grain alcohol, the strongest of its kind. Just a glass or two of it and even the heaviest set man would be close to inebriated in less an hour.
"Would you like a short glass or tumbler, my Lord?"
Suddenly and without warning, the doors to the hall opened and the crowd began to murmur loudly. Loki slowly looked up from the table, feeling the blood drain instantly from his face. Standing there on the opposite side of the room, arm in arm with his brother Thor, was Sif. She was dressed in a long, flowing lilac colored dress with a plunging neckline and short sleeves that fell gently off her shoulders. Her long dark hair was braided back loosely in a low up-do, her porcelain skin glimmering in the dimly lit hall. She looked painfully beautiful.
"My lord?" the servant asked again carefully, fearful of setting him off.
"Make it a bottle," Loki swallowed, his temper rising along with the bile in his stomach. "And be quick with it."
Lorelei sniggered, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her date. "Getting a bit smashed tonight, are we Loki?"
He didn't respond and Lorelei frowned at his blatant disregard for her. She glanced up as the fanfare officially announced the presence of the guests of honor, and suddenly, Loki's callous demeanor made perfect sense to her.
Frigga, trying hard not to notice, peered over at her son. Something was very wrong. For one thing, he hardly ever drank, and if he did it was not hard liquor. She watched curiously as his eyes darted back and forth between the floor and what looked like the Lady Sif. He was rubbing his fingers across his mouth nervously, clearly deep in thought, his knee bouncing restlessly against the table. He looked as if he were about to be sick.
"Darling, are you alright?"
He nodded without speaking, in fear that if he did he might retch. He couldn't help it. The more he fought it, the more his eyes wandered to her. She was magnetic. The way the crowd received her was easily comparable to the way the Asgardians adored Frigga. She already looked very much like a queen. For some reason though, she didn't look entirely happy. Maybe it was all in his head, or maybe she was nervous; but that wasn't like Sif.
The servant appeared moments later with the bottle, uneasily placing a tumbler glass beside it and scurrying off as quickly as possible as though a bomb were about to explode.
As if his life suddenly depended on it, Loki grabbed the bottle vigorously and hastily poured the foul liquid into the glass until it overflowed, freely spilling some onto the table. He knocked back the entire drink quickly, wincing as he did so, the warmth instantaneously spreading throughout his body. Frigga and Lorelei eyed each other nervously.
"By the Norns," Loki coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why the Hel does anyone drink this vulgar stuff?"
"Oh, I can think of at least one reason why," Lorelei boldly mumbled underneath her breath, nodding in the direction of Sif.
"Hold your tongue," Loki spat, whirling around to face her. "I am in no mood."
Before Lorelei could retort, Thor appeared alarmingly quickly behind Loki, slapping him heartily on the back and nearly knocking him off of his seat.
"Brother! What an evening this is!" Thor beamed so enthusiastically at Loki, he couldn't help but smile back (even if was forced).
Loki noticed a trace of purple fabric flowing behind his brother and moments later, Sif stepped out, standing timidly before him. Her radiance was blinding. At that moment, Loki was certain there was nothing more beautiful in all the nine realms, though he had been certain of that fact many times before. She glanced up from the ground and for the first time in weeks, their eyes met.
He clumsily leapt to his feet, suddenly feeling a bit more lightheaded, and bowed nervously. A few weeks ago, Sif would have laughed at his etiquette, but now, to Loki, it felt as if they were strangers; meeting one another for the very first time.
"Lady Sif," he nodded, abruptly feeling extremely embarrassed on a number of levels. He felt stupid for bringing Lorelei, for drinking, and most of all, for ignoring her the past few weeks. Clearly it had changed things between them; the last possible thing Loki wanted.
"Good evening, Loki," Sif spoke softly, her eyes kind. Her expression pained once she saw who he had brought with him, but she quickly covered her disapproval by smiling as warmly as she could. "Good evening, Lorelei."
"Lady Sif," she raised her glass, winking at Thor as she did so (ever the lady). "A toast, to the two of you."
"Yes, a toast," Loki burst out (rather loudly), whirling around to quickly pour himself another glass while Sif looked on, stunned. Thor merely stood there laughing, as if there was suddenly nothing more amusing in the cosmos than his own brother drinking a glass full of grain alcohol.
"My girl," Frigga smiled widely, proudly standing from her seat to greet Thor and Sif with hugs and kisses and two glasses of champagne for their empty hands. "You look lovely. And my son, my handsome son…"
"A toast," Odin came up from behind, placing an arm around Frigga and holding up a glass of mead with his free hand. "To the two finest warriors in all of Asgard. A proper match."
They all raised their glasses, sipping their wine and mead and champagne merrily, laughing as they did so.
No one seemed to notice that Sif instantly chugged all of her champagne, without giving it a second thought. No one except for Loki.
The two locked eyes again, and for a moment, despite the bustle of the great hall, despite the aching in his chest, it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. He wanted nothing more than to run far away from this night and to take her with him, but he knew it was not a possibility. Instead, he would take comfort in the fact that in a short while, thanks to his drink, he would be forgetting all about the warrior maiden Sif. He would forget the way her eyes looked when she laughed at something stupid he said. He would forget the way she'd flip her long, silken hair behind her back, exposing her bare collarbone to him, a place he longed to feel beneath his lips. He would forget the way she smelled - of lavender and of springtime - and he would certainly forget her smile - a smile that would melt even the iciest of hearts.
"To you," he whispered sadly under his breath, mouthing the words at her while everyone else faded into the background. He raised his glass and, in one swift move, the second drink was gone.