7699/The Morning After, Asgard-Style

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The Morning After, Asgard-Style
Date of Scene: 05 September 2021
Location: Palace - Asgard
Synopsis: Shocking revelations! Emotional turmoil! What will happen next? Tune in next week for the next installment of Asgard Amour!
Cast of Characters: Sif, Balder




Sif has posed:
How much of last night was fevered dream and how much was verity. Waking up the next morning provides no clue at first: Balder is alone in his bed with no evidence of other recent inhabitants.

Except for the washbasin which has been placed differently than Balder usually places it.

And the glass with the last traces of water still left inside of it, sitting on the table next to the opposite side of the bed.

So not a dream. Or a fugue state. Let's hope the former.

Balder has posed:
Balder honestly doesn't remember too much of last night.

He remembers kissing Sif. A wonderful union that Balder had waited a thousand years just for the chance. Has he any idea how much he has just complicated poor Sif's situation? Does he have any comprehension? Likely not. All he remembers of last night?

Just words: Passion, curiosity, wanderlust.

Balder had the most pleasant dream too. Maybe it was of the future, of light shining upon all. Maybe it was of darker days? No. Prophecy is unkind like that. Perhaps it was the Lady Sif herself invading the Prince's dreams? No one can truly say mayhaps.

Yet when Balder awakens, he fins himself quite naked and even more alone. He reaches to the side of him, as if searching for Sif or if it was just a dream, a cruel trick played by Loki mayhaps or of the Fates to remind him of something he can never have.

...until he sees the basin of water. That's interesting. He also notices the glass on the table next to the opposite side of the large bed. He sits up a little, his hand coming up to rub at his face, long hair curtaining his features.

Sif has posed:
The solution to the conundrum of the missing Sif makes itself heard outside: grunts, hisses, short "power shouts", and the more subtle sounds of a body moving in short, explosively violent movements.

Because of *course* Sif is the kind of person who (now) gets up before cockerels cry to exercise and practice. Winding back through Balder's blissful sleep we see her eyes open moments before the first morning bells quietly chime to signal the change of a half-watch. We see her look across at Balder and watch him for a while, unblinking, her famously sharp eyes seeing him clearly in the barely-begun twilight.

The lean toward him to kiss his cheek.

Then the quiet slithering out of the bed, the almost silent performance of ablutions and watering, then, though frowning at her gown for its inappropriateness, slipping into the gown to run barefoot on the cobbles to think, to wake up, to feel, before circling back to practice unarmed drills in the courtyard of the prince's rooms within the palace.

And that is where she is now found by Balder, concentrating on form and technique as she repeats moves so well-practiced she can let her thoughts wander to what she will while doing them.

Balder has posed:
Balder hears the battle cries of Sif outside of his room, even as he moved his hands to wipe the hair from his face. He finds little things, like traces of Sif's black hair. It would appear that last night did happen. He's...uncertain whether he should feel overwhelming happy or saddened. He's overjoyed he was able to tell and show Sif how he felt about her, yet his heart aches that War was quite impatient compared to Peace.

It is because War must always keep it's blade sharp, it's teeth bared, it's maw ready, willing, and open.

Balder rose from his bed and reached for his robes. Not quite his pajamas, but they were baggy on him as he moved in his bare feet. He exited his chambers and moved to the grounds where Sif seemed to be practicing, his eyes watching her. Her form. Her ability to fight.

She may or may not hear him, may or may not see him...but Balder approaches her from her southern flank. She might try and swing at him. But alas, both Sif -and- her brother Heimdall possessed a great gift of sensory perception. Sneaking up on her might very well be impossible.

Yet even in that cool day, where morning dew had fallen over Asgard, Balder cannot help but marvel at the beauty of Sif. Not just outwardly, but inwardly as well.

"Good morning.' He speaks, and should she look at him? It's quite literally like the sun had risen over Asgard with the way he smiles to her.

Sif has posed:
"Good morning, Your Highness," Sif says, completing a sequence of moves before stopping and ... of all things! ... curtsying to Balder. Her clothing is in disarray. Her hair she's allowed to run wild instead of the usual tightly controlled bun she wears into battle, now a tangled mess framing her face where it doesn't plaster against her sweat-drenched skin.

And there's a lot of that. The gown is not suited to martial moves and stances, offering little to nothing in the way of defence from assault.

Or from the gaze.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks, gliding forward to the Prince before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, filling his nostrils with the wild scent of her calisthenics. A strangely familiar scent, as if he'd smelled it only a few hours before.

"I woke up at my usual time," she adds with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I fear I have become a creature of rigid habit."

Balder has posed:
Balder seems greatly surprised by what he sees.

The warrior goddess. The woman that is the first one to the training rings and the last one to leave was lacking her armor! She was lacking the normal discipline that she shows in her appearance. Instead her hair is wild rather than the controlled bun and tail she normally ewars into battle.

Maybe this was her way of getting rid of the excess energy?

She curtsies to him, and he bows in return, like one would do for a lover. "Good morning, my Lady." He tells her with a soft smile. Though as she approaches him, he permits her touch to his cheek, just as he hopes she permits his touch to hers. It's an exchange of equals. He smells her scent, just as she may smell his: as pleasant as the morning dew, yet tinged with the scent of the sweetest flowers.

"I did, all thanks to you my good lady." He looks upon the gown she wore, a soft smile. "I see you are without your armor. Shall I fetch some for you?" Balder asks of her, yet he had smelt her scent before...no doubt last night? Maybe it's the amnesia that comes after a deep passion.

"As have we all, Sif." He speaks to her with familiarity and informality. "What of you? Did you sleep well?" The question is asked in genuine sincerity, even as he lifted his hand to try and move a strand of hair from her face so he may look into her eyes far more easily.

Sif has posed:
"When at last," Sif says ironically, eyes glinting in the brightening twilight, "we collapsed into sleep, I did sleep deeply, yes, and well. Your bed is far softer than mine. More indulgent. I don't think I could lie in it without falling asleep in a tiny march of a heart's beat."

The stubborn hair clings to the glowing neck, resisting attempt to put it aside, and a passing morning zephyr blows it back into its distracting place in moments.

"I would ask the same of you, My Lord Prince, but I watched you for a while when I woke up." A wry smile twists her features momentarily. "I was about to call for the leeches when I saw that you were, in fact, breathing." Beat. Then, miming fingers in her ear. "By 'saw' of course I meant 'heard'," she laughs. "But worry not. Your snores are as musical as your voice."

The way she practically GLIDES a step back out of arm's reach is actually pretty amazing to see.

"And there is no need to fetch armour. It is good to be ready for battle in any state of dress." Sly expression in her eyes. "You know that I fight bare sark sometimes, do you not?"

Her lips press together to stifle the teasing grin as she lets Balder imagine her in battle. Bare-chested.

Balder has posed:
Despite the stubbornness of her hair, Balder doesn't seem to dwell on it for too long.

What he -does- dwell on though is that apparently Sif had an amazing night's rest. On his bed. In his sheets. That explains the black hair that he found in his chambers and the spare water....perhaps it was not a fever dream after all. Perhaps it was a bit more.

...would certainly explain why he feels sore in a few places.

"You watched me as I slept?" He questions her curiously, a brilliant hue of red coloring his cheeks at the mere thought. He reaches for his throat. "I do not recall snoring...but if it is your claim, then I will accept it as fact." Balder chuckles humorously.

Though as Sif reminds Balder that she is fully prepared to fight with no armor at all, he imagines her curvaceous self with no breastplate on and instead just...breast. Balder's cheeks grow even further red.

"You tease me."

He smiles at her. "I expect nothing less of the Goddess of War to be fully prepared for such at a moments notice. After all, our dance proved that." He approaches even still as she slides out of arms reach, his hands clasped behind his back.

Trust.

For his oldest friend...and now potentially his lover.

"I am not so brave, I do not think." To fight in his most natural state, anyway.

Sif has posed:
"It is not bravery," Sif says soberly, letting Balder close in now. "It is something dark within me. A madness." She closes her eyes and then re-opens them gazing off into the distance.

"Do you recall the time before I embraced battle? When I was Sif the Fairest of the Fair. Sif the Daughter of Asgard. Her voice gets a hint of bitternes. "When I was a spoiled, self-involved, irresponsible brat!" The last word delivered with vociferousness and tension that might be startling to those who do not know her well.

"When Prince Loki played his ill-tempered jape upon me, then 'fixed' it by giving me hair of darkness so thorough that it was as if the night itself rested on my head and shoulders. Do you remember the tantrums? The histrionics. The mourning. Taken to such extremes that my parents sent me away to be trained in the life of a warrior as punishment?"

Her eyes seek out Balder's.

"It was a shock to all that I not only survived, but thrived. Excelled. And that is because it is while I was there I found that raging beast within me. I found my true voice, the voice that had hitherto only had an outlet of petulant whining and tantrums."

She steps in toward Balder now, looming, somehow, despite Balder having the advantage of height.

"That is the voice that howls to me in battle, my Prince. The voice that exposes the beast I am within. The voice that I keep under lock and key until the time comes to let slip that beast. And when I let slip, none are safe before me. It is not bravery. It is rage and hatred and anger that fuel me."

Balder has posed:
Balder looks upon Sif as she lets him in close, even as she speaks about having something dark within her. Like she had some kind of monster within her like the mighty Fenrir to unleash upon the world when the mission suggests - nay - requires it. When others might speak to cut her off, Balder simply listens as she opens up to him about who she is. About how she became who she is.

"I do."

The answer straightforward, unwilling to dodge the memory. When Sif had often times cried and shed her tears, Balder was there to help her wipe them away. In times where she was frustrated, Balder was there to placate her. When she wished to hurt Loki, he stayed her hand. He remembered for volatile tantrums. He remembered when the Dwarves of Nidavellir crafted every single strand of her raven hair.

She stepped in towards Balder, and she would find no fear in his eyes. He would not shake in terror, rather stand in place and look her in the eyes, his hands unlocking behind his back. He looks into her eyes.

He was unafraid of the beast.

"It was no shock to me." Balder tells her simply enough, his eyes on hers, never retreating from her. The dance begins anew. "Then let me be the calm to your storm, when the enemy is away from our gates, the sheathe of your sword."

Sif has posed:
"I think, my Prince," Sif says with a smirk, "that you were trying very desperately to reverse that last night."

She has the grace not to explain the joke. Balder's a smart guy. He'll catch on.

Her voice softens, continuing, "Your offer is kind and accepted, my Prince. It is how I control the beast: through ritual and camaraderie and friendship and love. It is always there, but from the influence of these others it remains under my heel until I let it slip."

And then the eyes and the head turn down.

"You don't view me as a tool. I'm unused to this."

Softly spoken words. Vulnerability exposed.

Balder has posed:
Balder tilts his head at her, as if taking a moment to try and understand the joke.

His cheeks go red again when he finally does.

"Ahem...I see." Balder shakes his head a moment to try and shake off the nervousness surrounding him. All the same, he looks upon Sif and he lifts his hands to touch at her cheeks as if to lift her head so she can look him in the eyes.

"You were never a tool to me, Sif."

The words like a soft revelation from his mouth. Vulnerability exposed, yet Balder does not dare drive a dagger through it. Rather, he seems to almost cultivate it. That it was okay for her to lower her weapon around him, and that so long as he breathed...

"You were never a weapon. To me...you're the one I loved most in all of the Nine Realms. You're my best friend." She was his partner. If Balder had it his way, he'd plead with Odin about betrothals but...that's not how it works.

Yet his eyes remain fixed upon Sif's own.

Sif has posed:
"I know." Two words whose delivery is so gentle given the enormous ego that must behind their speaking. "Now." Oh. There. There's the mitigation. And a slight hint of chiding in the tone.

"You have always been waiting in the wings, watching over me. Yet you never spoke a word of it to me. I know you better than to judge it cowardice, but I remain nonplussed." Sif tilts her head and regards Balder, trying for a different perspective in subconscious symbolism. "When I played coy games in my youth I would do that to drive the Crown Prince and his brothers crazy as they tried to guess where my affections truly lay. Now I am more direct. My life could be cut off tomorrow as I am finally bested. I have not the luxury of time for such piffle. I still find myself mystified by your quiet."

It's not a question. Technically.

Balder has posed:
She knows. The ego undermined by the soft, gentle tone that she seems to deliver. Balder is impressed for a moment, but not with himself...with her, for letting Balder in. For not doubting him. Though she looks upon him and tells him that he never spoke a word of his feelings to her, potentially wasting a thousand years of hidden affections.

Balder's hands gently lower from her face as he prepares to say what may be the most pivotal words he has ever spoken in his life.

He takes a deep breath before he speaks. "Even when you had golden hair, even in the now when you're hair was darker than shadows, before your arm learned to hold a blade, to now where your arm has held a blade, my heart has always been for you." But now it's time for the 'why'.

Why he never acted. Why he never approached.

"I didn't want to be like everybody else."

He lowers his gaze from her for a moment, but much to his namesake he continues onward. "You always had everyone fawning over you. Chasing you, adoring you, slaying creatures in your name and offering you the greatest prizes in all of the land. I did not seek to 'win' you, Sif. I wanted to be your friend. Perhaps it was cowardice, to hope and pray that you would notice me. Maybe it was out of a desire not to harm the hearts of Thor or even Loki." Balder's gaze returns to Sif.

"You were more than a trophy to be won, Sif. I was silent because you were worth more than anything you could offer me. I was silent because I did not wish to chase your feathers...just the touch of your hand, an encouraging word was enough for me. I existed, and that was enough. Yet..my heart ached. Yet I did not wish to come between you and others by being yet another suitor for your hand. I was not the greatest...anything. I wanted to earn your affection, not win it."

He turns his attention away from her. He didn't want to hurt his brothers by diving in. Even in love, Balder places others before himself. Noble, perhaps, but stupid by many standards.

Sif has posed:
Sif's face is hard to decode. Is she thinking "you're a fool" or thinking warm thoughts. Or is she thinking at all. It could just as easily be her staring as her brain tries to confront what it's just learned. And fails.

"Come, let us return to your rooms, my Prince. I think it safe to say my practice is completed and there's no reason for you to tolerate my stench any longer." The ghost of humour flashes across her face. "Nor I my own, now that I think on it. You have seen my way."

Her eyes are transmitting something but the message is unclear as she adds, "Now let me learn of yours."

Balder has posed:
After dropping a colossal bomb on Sif, Balder is not unhappy with the results that he seems to have managed to reach with Sif. The way she looks at him is hard to decipher. She could be thinking that he's the greatest fool on the planet earth, or she's thinking much kinder things.

Balder is slightly surprised that she wishes to -return- to his rooms at all. Guess he wasn't too shabby in that department, but he nods to her. "As you wish, Sif." he gives her a humorous grin in retort as he offers Sif his arm.

Though her eyes are transmitting something that he can't quite decipher, then she speaks. "Oh? Well, if it can be learned, I will gladly teach it." He offers to her.