Warfrost.

The two exchanged glances and laughed in merriment. After the weight of the last few years, of learning his true parentage and almost falling to his demise during the near destruction of Jotunheim, it felt good to laugh alongside his brother again. It had been a hellish realization, learning that he was a frost giant - the monsters he was taught to fear and loathe as a child. In the wake of that revelation, Loki had committed atrocities beyond his wildest imagination, and yet, those closest to him remained so. He had spent much time since then rebuilding trust, letting his actions speak where his words would not suffice. His relationship with Sif, however, had drastically changed.

“She hasn’t forgiven me,” Loki whispered, staring down at his hands. “Nor should she.”

“You must speak with her,” Thor said, taking a swig of his mead. “She deserves that much.”

“I cannot condemn her to such a life."

"And what life would that be? You two were bound long before all of this. Do not tempt the Norns.”

"A life with a monster."

"I see no such monster. The Jotuns are not the heathens we once believed. Many are wise, cunning and powerful. Laufey's rule was brutal for them and due to your actions, it has ended."

“Do not mistake consequence for intention, brother. I did not act to free them.”

“I know,” Thor replied, not wishing to start an argument. "But you did it all the same. I will not see you punish yourself for eternity."

Loki let several minutes pass before finally speaking, his finger rapping at the base of his chalice.

“I never thanked you."

“For what?”

“For not letting me fall. That day on the Bifrost.”

Thor swallowed.

“For all of it, I suppose,” he continued, his voice dropping. “I would have let go.”

“I am glad that you are here, brother,” Thor said after a long moment, trying to gain composure before he spoke. “And so is she.”

Sif suddenly brought a finger to her lips, silencing the crowd as she jumped off of her seat, swaying as she did so. She took one long swig of mead and placed the vessel on the bar, taking a deep breath before she began to sing.

“I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene. Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem…”

Loki’s eyes flashed to hers the moment the familiar melody entered the atmosphere and found her gaze locked upon his. It was an old Asgardian folk song that she had sung to him many times when they were children. It was well known around the realm, but because of Sif’s particular affinity for it, Loki could recite every word in his sleep. While it had an upbeat refrain, it was a song about a lost soul, a wanderer, and a fair maiden missing him, crying out for her love to return home. The words began to cut him, to reach him, as they never quite had before.

“I eplehagen står møyen den vene og synger… "når kommer du hjem?"

When will you come home?

Loki replayed the phrase over and over in his head, only snapping out of his reverie the moment the men answered the song, rhythmically slamming their tankards down on the long tables.

“When she sings, she sings “come home”! When she sings, she sings,“come home”!” they shouted enthusiastically as the beat picked up.

Many began dancing again, repeating the tune over and over to an arduous degree. Loki noticed Sif stumble through the crowd and slip silently out of the hall. He nodded at Thor and stood, pushing in his chair as he took off after her.

The night air was cool in contrast to the hall which had become stifling with revelry. Snow began to fall heavily in the courtyards beyond. Loki turned down a dark corridor and found Sif slumped on the ground between two large barrels of grain alcohol, sobbing to herself.

"Sif," he whispered as he bent down before her, making sure she was alright.  

“How do you suppose you tap these,” she slurred, ignoring his concern as she knocked weakly on the barrels. 

 “I think you’ve had enough.”

 “Spare me your lectures and your pity. I am in no mood.”

 “You will have neither,” he assured her, slowly standing once more. “But I cannot leave you like this.”

 “Why not?” she spat, her heavy eyes finally meeting his. “You excel at that.”

 Loki’s throat tightened and his jaw clenched at the sound of her disdain.

 “Sif, I -”

“I defended you,” she laughed in disbelief as she slowly stood to face him, steadying herself on the barrels for support. “Even after New Mexico. The Bifrost. All of it.”

“I know.”

“And you never came back to me,” she replied, her voice wavering as tears filled her eyes. “You never came home.”

“I’m not who you once knew,” he said, unfeeling and flat. It had been a slow climb to accept who he was, who he really was. He could still return to his duties to the kingdom and focus entirely on his responsibilities there. It was never an option to return to her. He wouldn’t even allow himself the fantasy of it.

“I suppose not,” Sif said, trying hard to match his indifference, ignoring the allusion he made to his jotun form as she did not care. “Your ambitions were greater than your love for me.” 

“I did what was best.”

“No,” she replied angrily, inching towards him once more. “You did what was easy.”

“Easy,” he laughed darkly after a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Do you truly believe that every moment I’ve spent without you has not been agony? That I haven't laid awake each night, staring into the dark until it swallows the hours whole. That I have not reached for you - only to remember repeatedly that you are not there - ”

His voice faltered, just for a moment.

“Every silence is filled with you,” he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. “Every thought returns to you.”

“But you CHOSE this,” she cried, shaking her head in disbelief at his words. 

“I chose this to save you,” he spat, closing the distance between them. “I should have cast myself from the Bifrost. That would have been easy.”

Before she could stop herself, Sif reached up and slapped him hard across the face. For him to even suggest such a thing fueled her rage, further clouding any good judgment she had left in her near-belligerent state. She reached up to do it again but he firmly caught hold of her wrist and stayed her hand.

"You are a fool," she snapped, her voice breaking as she swayed.

"A fool who will not damn you to a life with a monster."

“The only monster is the one you’ve created," she cried, her inebriation and anger quickly draining into exhaustion. "I alone decide what is best for me.” 

“No,” Loki said firmly but with a sudden softness in his voice, bringing her hand to his chest, anchoring her there. “You will not carry this.”

“I’ve carried it regardless," she whispered, her lips just inches from his. "Only I’ve done it without you.”

The words lingered between them - firm, resolute, cutting. Every instinct Loki had cultivated demanded he turn around and walk away from her, as he should. And yet, there he still stood, his body betraying him, completely relenting at the sight of the goddess before him.

He looked down at her and sighed, his fingers instinctively brushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes before tracing the line of her jaw. Her breath danced warmly across his lips, close enough that he could nearly taste all that he had been missing, all that he had denied himself - and it threatened to undo him. He lingered there for what felt like an eternity, unwilling to break away from her, time softening around them.

Sif’s breath caught as she leaned into his touch, but her stance faltered and her strength suddenly gave way. Loki immediately caught hold of her and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

“I've got you," he whispered gently, the faint, intoxicating scent of her locks rousing his senses as he did so. For a fleeting moment, he was somewhere else entirely - tangled with her in warmth and laughter, in a time far simpler than this.

"Release me," she half-protested feebly, though her head had already settled comfortably against his chest.

"As I said," he replied quietly, his lips brushing against her forehead as he spoke. "I'm not leaving you."

The snow fell in slow, silent drifts as Loki walked out into the night, catching in her hair and settling against the fabric of his cape. A faint smile touched his mouth as Sif, half-asleep in his arms, began to hum the same folk song once more.

“Where are we going?” she demanded softly, nodding in and out of consciousness.

Loki’s hold on her tightened slightly as he descended the steps and moved through the snow towards the winding path that led to his chambers. Their chambers.

He did not hesitate.

A soft knock came upon the door.

"Enter."

Sif peered around the corner of the entryway and found Loki sitting at his desk, frantically scribbling orders and signing various documents. He looked tired, worn out from the never-ending duties bestowed upon him.

He looked up eventually, not expecting her so soon. He removed his wire rimmed spectacles and smiled, immediately standing from his desk to greet her.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, reaching a hand out as she approached him. "Like a dream."

"Or a very distant memory," she smirked, entwining her fingers with his.

"Do you remember?"

"I remember," she nodded, her voice cracking with emotion. "We were very young."

"Yes."

"I was in the dining hall after training, when the ball was announced," she recalled, shaking her head at the events of so long ago. "Thor was mocking the idea of me in anything other than armor. I drew the dress on a napkin, knowing well that I would not attend and that I would never wear anything so beautiful. You sat down next to me in silence, the only one who noticed my tears."

"I should have asked you to the ball," he said, his voice full of aching and regret. "And I should have conjured snakes in Thor's lunch."

"This more than makes up for it, I assure you," she laughed, looking down at the beautiful gift she wore, smoothing down the fabric. "I cannot believe you remembered every detail so well."

"I held on to your rendering," he said, unfurling a small piece of crumpled parchment from his pocket and placing it down on the desk. "Fished it out of the waste."

Sif's eyes began to water.

"You kept it?"

"Yes," he said quietly, reaching up to brush a tear from her cheek. "I vowed that one day, I would have it made for you. That I would seek the finest tailor in all the nine realms and throw a ball, in your honor."

Sif stood, awestruck at his words. There was never a day that went by where Loki didn't make certain she was happy, didn't find new ways to express his profound love and admiration for her, but this was another kind of extraordinary. For he had reached into her past, into part of her soul, healed an unpleasant memory and replaced it with something beautiful. It was pure magic, magic that only he was capable of.

"This was all - for me?" she asked, finally finding her voice. As queen, it was expected to have to entertain guests and attend balls, but usually there was some sort of rationale for them. She hadn't realized until now that she was never given one.

"Yes."

She smiled as she inched forward, pressing her lips softly against his.

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome, my love," he replied, his fingers gingerly grazing the sides of her waist, taking in the sight of her once more. "Though admittedly, it is a gift for my eyes as well."

She silenced him again with her mouth, holding his face in her hands so that she could kiss him even more deeply. It was inconvenient how much she wanted him throughout the day, for they were frequently preoccupied with other tasks. Many times she was forced to put her needs aside, as was he. But a bilgesnipe could have busted through the door at that very moment and it wouldn't have stopped the insatiable desire she now had for him.

"The guests will be arriving soon," he said in between breaths, his fingers pushing through her locks, matching her urgency for him with ease. "But say the word, my queen. And we can delay for a while."

She looked at him and nodded, her eyes heavy, her heart pounding.

Sif shifted uncomfortably in her seat, yet forced a dutiful smile. She was well aware of the archaic tradition, but the so-called "honor" usually went to some helpless maiden in the kingdom who found genuine joy and mirth in the occasion. For some it meant securing land, wealth, or any number of riches to bring home to their loved ones. It was a spectacle - one not meant at all for her.

"Surely he jests," Loki whispered to Thor, laughing as he pushed the food around his plate.

"By the evening's end, she will choose the worthiest among you," Odin continued, his voice reverberating loudly off of the high stone walls. "So present your gifts, your talents, what you have to offer her. And may the finest warrior win."

Goblets of mead slammed rhythmically onto the long tables and cheers erupted at the Allfather's challenge.

"It seems unlikely, brother," Thor replied solemnly, well aware of the feelings Loki had secretly harbored for her for years.

Loki's face fell and his eyes flickered to Sif's in panic. He was surprised to find that her gaze had fallen upon his, her expression stoic, in true shield maiden form. But he knew her, far better than most. And she was not pleased.

Loki gave her a small nod and looked away.

"I cannot bear witness to this," he said angrily, abruptly standing to take his leave.

"Brother -," Thor said, gesturing for him to have a seat, but it was no use. He watched Loki storm out of the great hall, unbeknownst to anyone else.

Except for Sif.

------

The evening went as expected. Sif was certain that every bumbling, drunken cretin in the nine realms was present, shamelessly vying for her honor. She felt desperate for a way out of the grueling situation, silently praying for some sort of miracle.

Suddenly, a hooded stranger entered the hall. His initial presence evaded most except for Sif, who had been watching the exit for a short while, dreaming of an escape. She watched curiously as he forced his way through the crowd, not stopping until he reached her.

He pushed off his hood and slowly dropped to one knee, bowing his head. He was handsome, well-built, with light brown hair and deep blue eyes. She couldn't place why, but his presence immediately put her at ease.

"My lady. I do not have the riches you may seek, the gifts you so deserve, but I will offer you that which others have not."

"Who are you?" Sif asked, thoroughly intrigued by the man.

"A simple warrior of Vanaheim. One who has admired you for many years," he continued, ignoring the growing riff raff around him

"And what do you offer her, stranger?" Volstagg boomed, eyeing the man suspiciously.

"The freedom to say no," he said, his eyes finally reaching hers. "For she is not a prize to be given at will."

"You dare insult tradition? The commands of the Allfather?" one warrior asked, taking a small step towards him.

"The tradition is antiquated," the man spoke plainly, unshaken, his eyes not leaving Sif's. "No woman in the nine realms should be forced to bed."

Odin shifted in his seat, but did not appear offended. The warriors piped up again in anger. Sif smiled to herself.

"If you will have me, I will come to your chambers. Should you turn me away then, I will ask no questions, bear no ill will. For the choice is yours alone."

Sif's breath caught in her throat as he gave her a small, familiar nod.

Something in her stirred. She knew that look.

"Then come to me tonight," she said quickly, her eyes boring into his. "Not as a stranger, but as yourself."

The man smirked, her choice of words not escaping him.

She instinctively reached down to grab hold of his hand and he brought the back of hers to his lips, squeezing her fingers gently as he did so. She squeezed his back.

"Then it is settled. The lady has made her choice," Odin clapped, much to the chagrin of the crowd. "May the alliance between our great realms continue to strengthen - and may we all revel in the remainder of this auspicious evening!"

The drunken warriors cheered at the Allfather's words, already forgetting their most profound defeat to date.

No one noticed Thor grinning into his mead.

------

Under the cover of night, a quiet knock came upon Sif's bedchamber.

"Good evening," the man said as she opened her door, removing his hood as he bowed reverently.

"Good evening," Sif replied, curtsying in return. "You may enter."

The man walked in to the sacred space, trying hard not to notice the low cut frock she wore or the way it accentuated every perfect curve of her body. She gestured for him to sit before the fireplace, fetching a decanter and pouring a cup of wine.

"What you did for me this evening was most honorable," she said gratefully, handing him the chalice. "But I must confess, my heart belongs to another."

"Pray tell," he replied hesitantly, taking a long swig. "Who in the nine realms is fortunate enough to hold your favor?"

"A prince," she replied, taking a seat in the armchair opposite him. "A handsome, stubborn, conceited, arrogant prince."

The man swallowed, staring into the fire, her confession sobering.

"Thor."

Sif laughed, a little too loudly. "Not Thor."

He slowly looked over at her, his expression bewildered. Surely, she could not mean it.

"Show yourself," she said plainly, placing her wine down on the table beside her chair, their eyes locked.

"My apologies," he whispered, tearing his gaze away from hers . "I know not what you speak of."

"Show yourself," she repeated, rising from her seat to stand before his chair.

"Perhaps you would prefer this form," he said after a long pause, knowing full well the gig was up now, if he didn't before.

"I assure you, I would not," she demanded one last time, reaching for his hand. "Show yourself. And you will have me. All of me."

The man took her hand and rose from his seat, promptly dropping his guise. Where the stranger once was now stood handsome, stubborn, conceited, arrogant prince Loki.

Her savior.

The moment he appeared before her, Sif smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, crashing her lips into his.

"You are a fool," she laughed in between kisses, her heart pounding at the feel of his lips upon hers. "And yet, I owe you everything."

"You are beautiful," he whispered, pushing a stray hair from her eyes, returning her kisses with fervor and disbelief. "And you owe me nothing. The choice is yours."

She broke away from him momentarily, letting her dress casually fall to the floor on her way to her bed. Loki watched the goddess before him in the glow of the firelight, wondering how he found himself in such a reverie.