Your Hand To Hold

Chapter Thirty-Two: Delicate (M)

          I stormed down the corridor to the second set of doors, my hands still trembling as my nails bit into my palms. Had I really just said what I had to the All-Father himself; had I truly told him that the realms needed his sons more than him? True, I had long felt it but to say it aloud?

   I sank against the wall just as I had the night Odin had fallen into his slumber after revealing Loki's blood ties to the Jotunheim. My hands curled into my hair as I took great gasps of air, trying to keep from screaming out of fear of once again destroying things, a feat I understood even less than my ability to utilize the Bifróst's energy. Angrily, I yanked the braids free from their ties, my ears shaking themselves completely free from my curls as I allowed myself a petty, childish, stifled scream.

   "Eibhlin? Is everything alright, Dog Girl?"

   "Not now, Torch Bearer," I snapped with a sigh.

   I could hear her rustling beside me as she slowly sat down next to me, folding her legs beneath her. "What has happened?"

   How was I supposed to explain everything? Had I committed treason once again by telling the All-Father off, or would I merely be scolded for having an attitude toward my new 'father'? "Odin is proud of us..."

   "That is a good thing; I do not understand why you are upset."

   I groaned, raking my fingers through my hair once more, pulling my knees to my chest. "I am upset because he is only proud of us for what it means for him. Not for the realms, not for any of us; just for him." Sif's eyes watched me closely, her lips parted in her confusion as her face slowly untwisted into blank realization. She fell back against the wall, softly muttering an 'oh.' "I should have seen this coming. I should have known that he could never be proud of us, never see any of us as more than pieces upon his chess board."

   "I wonder what it means for me now that he has stopped seeking my counsel or inviting me to dinners. He plans to allow Thor to wed her after all, doesn't he," Sif asked softly.

   "I wish I knew. For all I know, he could decide to marry you to Loki and me to a diplomat from Niffelheim, Muspelheim, or even Svartalfheim in hopes of striking further fear into Malekith after everything that occurred with the Aether..."

   Taking my hands in hers, Sif viciously shook her head. "No. No, Fandral and I would never allow it. You know that." I nodded as I took a deep, steadying breath. Sif chewed at her lip for a moment, her face set as she considered something that she was not proud of but knew was worth a try. It was a look I had seen and learned well over the past year and a half. "You know, if, if I was made to marry Loki, there would be no love in it for me; nor for him. While it would not be my preference, I would not be opposed to you two-" I firmly pressed a finger to her lips and shook my head.

   "No. Even if that were to be a bridge that we would have to cross someday, I would never put you in such a position. No."

   As Sif shoved my hand aside, we heard shouting coming from the Sanctum. Sparing one another a quick nod we rose to our feet and silently made our way back toward the door I had left open, taking a couched position against the wall behind it. Inside, we could hear Odin and his sons arguing; over what though we were unsure until Odin's voice boomed.

   "Enough! I shall hear no more of this."

   "This is wrong and you know it."

   "Oh come off this peacocked stance of yours, boy! Five years ago you would have begged for such an opportunity and for far less of a request than to choose a more suitable queen."