Alright ladies and gents. This anecdote follows the events of "Desperado" (which contains plenty of moments that could easily fit into the compilation as oneshot-style anecdotes). In case you're wondering why there's such a huge tonal shift between this and the last. Enjoy!

Of Snow

Back on Asgard, the love that Loki had received from the villagers was quickly overshadowed by the whispers of the courtiers. Those who had, for centuries, known him as more than just the second prince had surprisingly little good to say about his return.

While, in the beginning, his reintegration had been quite smooth, the longer he stayed, the more difficult it became. By the time winter came upon them, things hadn't changed within the court.

Very slowly and subtly, Loki had been deteriorating under the sidelong glances and muttered comments. Those who condemned him saw nothing; those who loved him ached on his behalf. He had grown even quieter than usual, barely eating and sleeping, spending more time brooding pensively than talking to those whom he hadn't seen for a long, long while. Even Fandral noticed and tried to extend a sense to peace to his friend; Loki didn't wish it, though.

Thor sought Sif out one day, drawing her aside after training. "Have you seen Loki today?"

She had, but not since that morning, when she had awoken in his arms. "No," she lied, running a cloth down the blade of her sword to clean it. "Why?"

Thor shrugged. "I'm worried for his welfare." He too was unfastening and cleaning pieces of armor, hanging them up in the armory as he had done since he had first begun his training as a child.

Sif eyed him as she removed her bracers, wiping the melted snow from them. "Perhaps he wishes to be alone," she said. It wasn't uncommon for Loki to separate himself for this reason, after all. Sometimes, she was an exception to the rule—allowed to be with him when he wanted to be away from everybody else—and she and Thor both knew it.

"I only want to know if he is alright," Thor told her, a note of imploring in his voice. "Do you know where he would be?"

She paused, and the cloth stopped moving over her shield for a moment as she thought. A moment passed, and she sighed. "I can find him," she told Thor, setting her clean shield in its clawlike brackets that kept it from falling over. "But I won't bother him."

He nodded, relief washing over his face. "Thank you, Sif." When she made to leave, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Please do not tell him I sent you," he said quietly so as not to attract the attention of the others coming to hang up their armor.

"Of course," she returned with a quick smile, and his thanks showed in his eyes. She turned and crunched away through the snow, heading away from the training rings and toward the forest. If any saw her, they didn't pay her any mind – a thing for which she was grateful.

The snow made it easy to tail him; he had, of course, used his magic to cover his tracks, but even the white quilting couldn't hide where the frozen ground had been touched by something different – something green and glowing. After all her time with him, she had learned his signature better than any, excluding perhaps her brother, who saw all. To her, Heimdall's sight was cheating. She would much rather close her eyes and walk along his path, following his footsteps like a bloodhound, not seeing but sensing. Occasionally she would lose the track, and she commended him for his evasive efforts. Still, she knelt in the snow, fingering the fallen tree needles, taking a bunch in her hand, sniffing them and finding his trail again. No, magic didn't have a smell; he did. Everything he touched smelled of him – ice, pine, snow, wood smoke, metal, cold, glass, cedar – and she could smell it on any needles his cloak had brushed to the ground.

She traced his path deep into the forest, eyes open, watching for a trick from him. None ever came. As she neared one of the clearings that they had frequented in their youth, she pulled up short. He was quiet – even verging on silent for a living creature – yet she could hear him breathing.

He undoubtedly had heard her approaching; the snow didn't lend itself to stealth without snowshoes. Around the edge of a rocky crag, she could feel him there, just waiting for her to figure it out. So she did, picking her way over the slippery, frozen stones with great care. An icy rivulet of a stream ran down the rocks in a tiny waterfall, splashing her face as she passed. The cold of it stung where it landed on her cheek, and she very cautiously stepped over the creek into which it was flowing, not wishing to get her feet wet.

Once on the other bank, she could see him clearly. He had shed his cloak, leaving it to hang uselessly over a bough of a nearby tree. He was lying on his back, the snow fluffing up around the edges of him like a giant feather pillow, making his clothing sodden and his boots weathered. One hand curled at his side; the other rested loosely over his stomach.

His skin was blue with winter.

He laid there peacefully, eyes closed, and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm; if she hadn't known better, she would have thought him asleep.

She didn't get any closer, instead huddling within her own furs for warmth and saying, "You sure picked one hell of a day to play hide-and-seek. It's frigid out here."

"I like it," he drawled lazily from his place on the ground; he might have been basking in a ray of sun.

"Of course you do," she said, and the corner of his mouth jerked up into a tiny smile.

A comfortable silence settled over them, mixing with the tufts of snow perched on the branches of trees, pierced by a birdsong that reminded Sif of winter. After a long moment, he sighed. "It is stifling in that palace," he said, and she knew he wasn't only speaking of the warmth spewed out of hundreds of blazing fireplaces. He opened his eyes – red as embers – and glanced at her. Then, he turned away; she could see snowflakes clinging to his black hair, speckling it. She waited for them to melt, but they never did. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this," he murmured, looking absently into the canopy of trees that arched overhead – the sort of vaulted ceiling that he much preferred to that in the Great Room.

She stepped forward, fighting the chill that shimmied down her spine. She had only ever seen his Jotunn face once or twice before, and it had always been a fleeting thing. Now, she mused, as she worked her way closer to him, she could look at it all for as long as she liked. She knelt down in the snow beside him, but he didn't face her until she laid a hand on his cheek – frostbitten and colder than anything she had ever touched. As he looked her in the eye, she became numb to the burning in her hand as it touched his skin; she had never been this close to a Frost Giant before – never seen the depth of the reds and maroons and burnt colors in the eyes, never noticed the delicacy of the skin, blue as with frost and just as fragile. To her, they had always been beasts and war machines that deserved to be slain. She could hardly stomach just how wrong that notion had been.

He stared at her unblinkingly, awaiting her reaction. She admired his courage, retaining this face for her to see – to appreciate – and not changing back at the first sight of her. She knew he was expecting her to speak; remaining silent for so long gave a poor impression. And yet, she knew not what to say.

So she kissed him.

His lips stung hers with cold, but she didn't care. He needed this. She needed this.

It was a short thing, just long enough to make him blink up at her when she pulled back. He didn't understand. So, she took the hand that was resting across his ribs, kissing its back as well and holding it between both of hers. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she told him simply. "Do not ever be ashamed in front of me."

He stared at her in awe for a moment before switching his gaze to his hand, blue and icy and encased within hers like a treasure. "Sometimes, I just need to be cold," he said, still not truly understanding her behavior. "It never made sense before, but –"

She nodded in sympathy, letting the chill of his hand sear into hers; she didn't even feel the need to flinch. "Sometimes, I just need to be in battle," she replied. "That never made sense either, until I entered training. I like to think it was my essence, longing to see the light of day."

"I don't really like to think it," he returned quietly. "And I certainly do not like to let it see daylight."

"Perhaps not around them." She jerked her head back in the general direction of the palace.

"Absolutely not around them."

"But around me?"

He was silent for a moment, and she didn't like the sound of it. She gave his hand a squeeze to bring him back; "What would you have me do, my lady?" he asked softly.

She smiled. "Just be you, Loki. Whichever form that mandates. I shall never turn you away because of your face."

"And what of the others?"

"In time, they will be ready to see," she said, tracing one of the ridges that decorated his hand. "Some people cannot see beyond the past. Bad blood runs deep through the branches of Yggdrasil, as do bad memories. But, in time, all will mend."

"How much time?" His voice was little more than a whisper among the peace threaded throughout the forest like silver tinsel.

She sighed, looking up from his hand. "That is the bane of immortality."

A small, rueful grin hooked his mouth as he closed his eyes again. "I was afraid you would say that." When she drew her fingers over one of the raised markings on his face, he added, "That feels quite nice."

She leaned down, smiling, and let her lips follow the path her hand had just taken as she murmured, "See? There is some good to be found in this form." She trailed the line all the way down the flat of his cheek until she reached his lips, which she kissed once more – this time for longer. The cold was beginning to feel less and less uncomfortable. "Now, I really must be going," she said, rising. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, watching her. "I'll catch my death if I stay out in this for much longer." She drew her furs tighter around her, dusting snow from her knees. "Would you prefer to stay here?" she asked.

"I think so. At least for a little while, I'd like to delay my return to that suffocating palace," he replied with a slight smirk. She still marveled at how foreign that face was, wearing Loki's expressions with such ease; she thought it splendid.

"Well, don't delay for too long," she told him. "It is cold, and I have no desire to sleep alone tonight."

The other side of his mouth lifted to match, balancing his smirk. "Neither do I, rest assured."

She smiled back at him as she crossed the stream once more. So entranced with his appearance was she that she wasn't paying attention to her steps, and her foot sloshed through the water. An icy pang shot up her leg and she swore loudly. She could hear him laughing behind her.

A/N: That's all I've got for now! Again, this is where you all come in. If there's an idea you have that could fit into this series, PM me, and, if I like it, I'll write it up and credit it to you! Let me know what you're thinking! Thank you for reading!