Legal Disclaimer: My work is my own creative intelligence and property, but I do not own the original source material it stems from (I wouldn't be writing fanfiction if it was). The opinions and interpretations of characters reflected in my stories may not follow what is portrayed from the source material. Please don't sue me, I'm a stay at home mom.
Author's Note: This idea was borrowed from a friend, and I liked the concept of it so much I thought I would give it a go. Of course, Ep 4 wasn't out when the majority of this was written, but oh wells. I have Sylvie's overall gender a bit dubious on purpose and wanted to focus more on her wanting to fit in with her family with her appearance more than anything. So take what you will from that, I tried to have it be read in such a way where you could fill in the gaps to your preferences.
Dedication: wintergreen825
Word Count: 1,435
Warning Tag: Onscreen Major Character Death; Autonomy Violation
Just Blips of A Dream
Mother cannot guide you
Now you're on your own
Only me beside you
Still, you're not alone
No one is alone. Truly
No one is alone
No One Is Alone — - Stephen Sondheim
.oOo.
Mother tucked me into bed, as she always did every night. Today, however, was to be marked differently than the others. I had been experimenting with my shifting ability, as I tend to do when there was nothing better going on outside of the daily routine that came with being royalty. It was crucial to practice my magic whenever I could, Mother always encouraged it. So when I learned how to shift, an entirely new feeling was presented to me. Something always felt right when I decided to remain in a specific feminine form, one that had me look more like my mother than… than a black sheep in the family.
Being adopted was difficult enough to know and handle while still feeling like part of the family when I looked so much different to them. I was finally able to fix that difference.
I would turn to this form whenever I could for the past month now. It took a lot of practice and focus, but I did it when no one was around or when no one needed me so I could feel comfortable with myself, with my decision, before trying to test it under already scrutinizing eyes, but now I felt like it was time to tell Mother my secret.
"Mother?" I whispered, sitting up in my bed.
"Yes, Loki?" she replied, brushing a strand of my raven hair back behind my ear.
"I…" I bit my lip, looking at my hands before closing them. "I want to show you something."
I changed my appearance then, my hair turned blonde and wavy, my face became a little softer, my voice just a tad higher. Opening my emerald eyes, I searched for doubt and uncertainty on her face, but there was none.
"You are not upset?"
It didn't feel like words were needed to explain what was going on. I liked presenting myself like this, it felt right, comfortable, me. I hoped my mother understood this and accepted me as I am like she had done once before already.
Mother smiled, cupping her hands around my more rounded face, she kissed my forehead.
"My child, you could never upset me over such a thing as how you feel about yourself."
The weight in my chest lifted at this, and I smiled back. "I like myself better this way… I look more like you."
"And you look beautiful, Loki," she said.
"Sylvie," I said, feeling brave yet excited to hear the name out loud and from my mother's tongue. "I like Sylvie."
"You are beautiful, Sylvie," she restated, and the warmth in my chest swelled. "You will make a future Queen of Asgard to rival even me."
I giggled at this. "No one is as pretty as you, Mother."
When my mother and I introduced my new self to my father and brother Thor, they were most welcoming to it just as Mother assured me they would be, or at least mostly. My father robbed me of my new identity in a single breath the second I told him.
"My dear Loki, you may present how you wish you feel you should be," my father said, touching my head, I saw it changing back into the raven hair I had bore before. "Yet you cannot completely hide who you are behind a name not properly given to you."
I wasn't able to change my hair back, my father's magic was too strong, and he refused to call me Sylvie, only my mother did and sometimes Thor, who, just like myself at the tender age of seven, was still young and learning how to adjust and accept new things. He did try, though. My father, however, rejected my attempt to blend in, to be more than the black sheep… the one who had pity taken on them and was privileged to become royalty because of this mercy.
But it wasn't long before things would change forever because of my new choices. Or so as I was led to believe.
The intruders came from nowhere one afternoon. I was playing with my toys, creating my own adventure and world around me in the comfort of my room in the appearance I preferred before I was summoned away. I was pretending to be a Valkyrie, setting out to defend my kingdom against a mighty beast. To be a hero and protector of my kingdom like my father.
My screaming alerted my mother who was coming to take me to lessons, her weapon drawn when she entered my room. I was small enough to maneuver around the armored intruders and their glowing weapons, managing to make it to the protection of my mother who then easily held them off.
"Who are you and why are you attacking my child?" she demanded, slowly moving backward toward the door.
"Loki is in violation of the sacred timeline and will be apprehended and charged for her crimes," the woman said, tone stern and authoritative.
"It's Sylvie!" I hissed, eyes glinting in warning, "and I have done nothing wrong!"
"You are breaching royal chambers, I will only warn you once more," my mother threatened, baring her sword in defense, "leave the way you came immediately."
One of the soldiers spoke into something on their arm. "Variant is protected by a parent. Request for proper handling should target not be easily acquired."
My heart was racing, I didn't know what was going on or how these people got here, but I knew I was safe because my mother was with me and the guards would surely arrive soon from the signs of distress…
The standoff was tense, my mother stood tall and kept me hidden as best as possible behind her robes, making it difficult for anyone to grab me easily. A sound and muffled voice echoed in the quiet room.
"Request approved. Proceed with discretion."
The person immediately grabbed their weapon and the staff's tip glowed an orange, tangerine-colored tint. "If you do not comply, we will take drastic measures."
"Over my dead body," my mother snarled, lunging at the closest soldier and gutting them easily. "Run, Sylvie. Get the guards."
I bolted then, throwing the doors open wide with erratic magic, I ran to the end of the corridor, my boots clapping hard against the floor as I screamed for the guards to help. I look back down the hall paved in gold bricks to see my mother fleeing toward me, more black clad soldiers pursuing her.
"Mother!" I shouted, running back toward her when the guards had finally come.
I ran into her arms, but before we could meet the safety of the royal guard, one of the black-clad soldiers grabbed me by the collar of my robes and pulled me off my mother. An instant later, I watched as my mother disintegrated right before my eyes after she took out another guard; an orange glowing staff had connected with her back.
"No! Mother, no!"
I heard my voice cry out, but it sounded miles away. My vision blurred as tears blinded me, and I felt my tiny body fight against my captors to no avail. The last thing I remember was being pulled through a tangerine-orange portal, seeing a strange device being set off in my home before…
I awoke with a start, blinking back the hazy memory while the sound of music, singing, and laughter filled the air around me.
'Dammit!' I scold myself for letting my guard down.
As I become more alert, my idiot obligation for a companion is making a fool of himself at the bar nearby. I can feel the color drain from my face when I see he has reverted back to that awful beige suit. Surely the moron would realize he was going to get them caught. So much for that brilliant plan.
My mother was killed so I could be who I wanted to be, I was not going to allow some clown ruin my plan to avenge her.
My subtle gesture to this problem goes practically ignored by him as he continues on with his folk singing, yet as I listen with exasperation and annoyance, the song feels ever so familiar to me as he sings at a slower pace. Entranced by it, I barely notice the man discreetly leave the room. That's not good.
This half-baked version of herself was going to get them killed.