#sifkiweek25

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.