“Play for me,” she’d said, though she hadn’t really thought he would. It had been a very long time and, quite literally, worlds away when last he had. At least, to the best of her knowledge.
Interests shifted in youth and, Sif suspected, the appeal of so affronting Thor — who had absolutely no musical talent to speak of — also faded. But Loki lifted the fiddle, eyes on hers, and tucked it against his cheek. His fingers arched, like spider’s legs, along the neck, and he held the bow loosely in his other hand.
The start was soft, almost shy, before the music grew stronger, and Sif leaned back, eyes closed. She could still see them both, though, so young: him playing to the sunset from his room, and her beneath the balcony, knees to her chin as she listened.