A couple of people asked if I made up the title. I consider that a very great compliment, since it was penned by Shakespeare. The line is taken from A Midsummer Night's Dream, wherein Titania instructs the fairies to care for Bottom and to have butterfly wings "fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes."

I do not pretend to even come close to the brilliance of the Bard, but it warms my feeble heart that some of you thought such poetry was born of my mind. Thank you.

Sorry this is shorter...I just HAD to write this...

Jane Foster was nervous. She was to be taken to Asgard in a few hours time, and her mind was fraught with much anguish. She could not lie to herself and tell herself that a certain melancholy Prince was not at the heart of her turmoil. She had ruminated much these past weeks, attempting to busy herself with her work to no avail. What would she say to him when she saw him? She had exposed herself utterly, nothing further could be gleaned from her heart.

It was his heart which remained a mystery. His own thoughts and wants which she had no idea of. Though chance did whisper that he reciprocated, reason demanded that he could not be charmed. And what had she to offer, truly? A desperation would take over, and her body would quake with anxiety. He was a god. A sorcerer. She was...a scientist? A lover of books and beaches?

Somehow, these ideas never presented themselves when she fancied Thor, perhaps because she thought herself slightly smarter. Perhaps because the feeling was never so great. She never felt that tug of kind, of familiarity, of longing she felt for his brother.

She felt like Cathy from Wuthering Heights when she said she was Heathcliff. God she hated that book.

But truth is ugly, it's face a sad pictorial of all that we deny except when we are desperate. And Jane, though steadfast, was desperate. She said that she didn't want him, that to love him from afar was enough, to know that he was alive would act as balm to soothe any sting she would feel henceforth.

But Jane could not feel it. It stung and her eyes streamed from the hurt of it. The balm was not the knowledge that he was alive...it was his voice, his words, the touch she reached for in the young hours of day, the whisper of love she longed to hear, the passion of the embrace she imagined with him. He was the tonic she sought for her malady. He the one to quell her rapturous mind. Loki Odinson was the only thought she had in her dreams, the only person who could fill her days with his presence that would calm her.

She had been told that suitable attire would be made available to her, so she didn't do anything in preparation. She walked out into the desert air, looking once at the magical garden in front of her home (it needed little water), and walked about 100 feet in the sandy landscape.

She sighed heavily, and looked to the sky.

Loki had kept largely to himself since his release from the glass cell. He had spoken with Odin, who assured him that Thor was the heir unless the prince desired otherwise. Loki acquiesced, for he had resigned himself to this fact, and truly, how could it be otherwise? How could he even begin to hope for that power after all he had done?

He had taken to some drink often, and penned more poetry, but nothing could cease the endless strain of thoughts pummeling his brain.

How did he come to love her? Through his intimate knowledge of her sorrows, her delights, he thought. She cared for him, he could see that...and her inexplicable goodness accepted him. She loved him, fault and all.

Though she never forgave him, which spoke of her strength.

She appreciated his words, which spoke of her mind.

She declared herself without an answer, which spoke of her bravery.

She loved her work, which defined her passion and brilliance.

She declined Thor, which meant she was true.

And her eyes swam with honey and depth, and her hair was fluid like water on stone, and her smile was unlike the Elysium he knew, much more profound in its depth and beauty...

Her touch was all that he didn't have already...those moments when he held her hands in Odin's presence were blackened by his lies. He wished only to have his hands in hers, on her face, her neck, in her hair, down her back...

He stopped, lest he fails and overcomes.

He needed her, he had her love, somehow, she had bestowed it upon him. He needed more, for he was selfish...

And, as Jane observed, cowardly. For perhaps she had come to her senses in his absence. Perhaps she decided that she truly wanted nothing to do with him. Perhaps, he thought, she hated him as she ought.

How then, could he not love her was the question.

He loved her with all that his mind and body could conjure. He loved her without circumscription, without falsehood. He never could imagine a person more perfectly suited to him.

The banners flew in jubilant ceremony, and Loki stalked the halls like a panther. He was irritable in his waiting.

"Brother, you are more unsettled than the bridegroom! Do take some ale and soothe your nerves," Thor laughed.

"I am not unsettled," returned Loki.

"The floor begs to differ."

"How is it, Thor, that your pithy observations are never recorded? Perhaps as a wedding gift, I'll hire a secretary, one who will follow you around, penning your aphorisms to be read later to your offspring at bedtime."

"Oh, Loki! Your jabs will do nothing to sour my mood today! I am to be married! To Sif!"

"Indeed," replied Loki. "It's wise you use her name repeatedly, it wouldn't do to utter another on the alter of sanctimonious union. I know how you are with names..."

"I know whose name is in your mind, brother," and Thor winked.

Loki rolled his eyes in agitation.

At this, Lady Sif was seen approaching.

"Now is your chance, Thor...her name is Sif...you should address her as such..."

"Shut up, Loki," said Thor in a hush. "Ah, my lady! You are looking lovely!"

"Yes...SIF," Loki said with emphasis. "A vision of beauty and grace. I hope you are ready to become my sister."

"Not as ready as I should like..." she teased.

"Well, Sif, I assure you that I couldn't be more delighted than to claim the Lady Sif as my sister. I shall sing the news far and wide, that vision of loveliness is my sister, Sif. Sif, being what I normally call her...yet sometimes Sister Sif..." Loki smiled at Thor.

Thor's brow furrowed, "You are very funny, Loki. I hope you are enjoying yourself. You should get yourself together...the ceremony will be starting soon..."

Loki took the Lady's hand and pressed his lips to it. Bowing, he left for his chambers.

"What was that about?" Sif asked.

"Loki taking his nervousness out on me."

"Jane?"

"Jane," replied Thor.

They kissed in the hallway, and went their separate ways to prepare.

Jane arrived with Fandral, and walked the rainbow bridge next to him. They spoke only a little.

"Do you know where my room is?"

"Yes...I'll see you there...you are staying the night, I trust?"

Jane smiled, "Yes...just tonight."

And before long they reached her room, and Jane closed the door behind her.

She sighed, her hands went through her hair...she heard a knock. Her heart stopped. She hesitated to open the door...what if Loki was on the other side?

She pressed her hands to the wooden door, "Yes?"

"Lady Jane," said a woman's voice. "I've come to help you prepare."

"Oh! I'm sure I'll be fine..."

The woman entered. "My Lady insisted."

"Alright," Jane sighed.

Half an hour later, the woman was pulling her hair up atop her head and was curling the sides.

Jane stood in front of a mirror, taking in her image. The dress was a deep violet, with delicate flowers embroidered in the edges. It went to her ankles. The neckline was scooped, and the cut mimicked itself on her back. The sleeves met her elbow. The bodice was formed, the skirt a bit wide, though not terribly so. It looked like something out of 1840s England.

The woman had finished some makeup, and then came from behind her, appearing to put a necklace on her.

She laid the gem on her chest, fastening it from behind.

Jane looked at it. It was lilac in color, quite large, and had a silver setting. The gem gleamed brightly, as though lit by a thousand stars from within. She touched the gemstone, and her fingertips prickled in recognition. Loki.