Cleave | Loki x Reader

• VII •

▪︎ mirror, mirror ▪︎

1788, Asgard

Loki

Sif. The Lady Sif. You might have heard of her. As far as I'm aware of, Midgardians know her as Thor's wife. Unfortunately, it has fallen upon me to disappoint the believers out there, for she is not. I wish she were, believe me.
But once again, I digress.
Let me start by saying that Sif had been the only girl apart from Y/n who had ever been truly worthy of the title shield maiden. No other wielded a sword quite as elegantly, and not one possessed a more glorious mane of hair shining as golden as the suns.
From the moment Sif had first set foot into our halls, she had been the centre of attention. Y/n, initially, thrown off by her, – undeniably so – began to enjoy the shift in attention at one point. Although they eventually grew fond of one another, in the way her posture never quite relaxed, I would still detect Y/n's unease whenever the three of us were in the company of Sif.

Apart from her duties as a shield maiden, Y/n hardly ever spent time with other girls. Just like to Thor and I, it was Y/n denied to possess any actual choice in deciding with whom best to accompany herself with. She was to become the saviour of our whole race, and the most important girl in all the Nine Realms – in better terms: she was to content herself with the likes of us. Princes and all the other petty little spawn of the elite.

Sif had been one of the few Æsir girls our age, and was privately being tutored by her father for most of her life. And even though she soon became the fourth, and only female, member of the self-proclaimed Warriors Three, she also enjoyed spending her free moments with dear Prince Thor (and whoever happened to be with him at the time – which most days would mean Y/n and Yours Truly.)
Little to no time had passed from that moment on to when I first thought myself to have caught a glimpse of – for the lack of a better word – something in my brother's eyes whenever they settled on the Lady Sif.
Initially, I'd believed he was merely contemplating whether his own golden locks were suddenly being threatened and whether he ought to consider washing them on a more frequent basis. However, over time, his pupils had begun to resemble little black heart-shaped dots every time his gaze would graze her.
The way I see it, this quite plainly called for mischief.

About a week or so earlier, the Mirror of Mycha had come up in one of our lectures on Asgardian Relics and Where to Find Them. The Mirror is an enchanted object capable of causing the person gazing into it to fall in love with the one holding it. Perhaps Lady Edda ought not to have disclosed to us its current location in her lecture.
That same day, I waited patiently for the guards at the Vault to change shifts – just for safety. Swiftly, I'd make my way into the vault by casting a cloaking spell to shield me from their watchful eyes.
Odin's Vault used to be vast and gigantic when I was no taller than my father's hip, but on this particular visit, the walls and ceiling felt like they were caging me in. The room no longer appeared as wonderous and full of glory; instead, I was instantly beset with unease.
Quick, I lunged for the mirror, and in an instant, gone again I was.
The veiled mirror in hand, I sprinted down the corridors, heading for the courtyard where I knew I would find Thor, Y/n, and Sif.
Nearly, I bumped into Thor and, as a result, dropped the mirror. But he'd caught it just in time, then offered his help to carry it.
'And you don't even plan to inquire about what it is I'm, most suspiciously, carrying through the halls? If it's perhaps some part of my next grand scheme, no?'
'No, Loki. You see, somehow I'm convinced that the Norns are finally on my side when it comes to your mischief-making, brother,' he replied casually. 'So if you indeed plan something sinister, then perhaps you ought to reconsider your choice of day.'