A YULETIDE FEAST
Loki is anxious to leave for their usual Christmas trip to Midgard, Sif wants to stick around to see what a drunk Hogun looks like first and Thor's storytelling is out of control.
"We really ought to be leaving," Loki whispers into her ear without turning his head to face her. Neither of them can turn away from the chaotic scene they're currently bearing witness to. At one end of the table, a gleeful Volstagg has given up on all pretense of having any table manners whatsoever and has laid claim to one end of the table, gorging on countless dishes. A little further away, Thor carelessly waves the drinking horn in his hand as he recounts heavily-embellished tales of their past, leaving a trail of ale in his wake. Hogun sits at the opposite end of the room, ever silent and composed with nothing but the faint flushes of red that have started to creep up his neck to prove that he has spent all evening finishing a large jug of the royal brewery's very finest. And in the middle of the great room this little group calls their own, Fandral has taken to standing in front of one of the many highly-polished and reflective pillars, mumbling approvingly about his appearance under his breath.
"And miss all of this?" Sif grins, watching Volstagg stop shoving food into his mouth just long enough to laugh at Thor's latest tale.
Loki clears his throat. "Well, that would be preferable, yes." He mutters, prompting Sif to finally tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her.
"Can we not stay just a while longer? Just to observe the effects of your enchantment upon Hogun's drink?" At least he smiles at that. It hadn't taken much to talk him into a little mischief, and now Hogun will feel compelled to drink until he is thoroughly inebriated, a sight they have yet to witness. They've even speculated as to what sort of drunk the Vanir might be – Sif thinks maybe he will gather everyone around the table and share ancient words of wisdom, while Loki is convinced he will behave as foolishly as the other two-thirds of the Warriors Three.
Not that any of them could rival Thor, who is now going on and on about that one time they spent three days on a hunt in Midgard a few centuries ago.
"It was majestic in its grand size, truly! What a sight it would have been, had we felled the great bird and carried it into the gleaming gates of Asgard on our backs, the strength of six warriors used on a mere bird." Thor grows even more animated, setting down his drinking horn with such force that half of its contents spill over and pool on the table. "And imagine the feasts they would have thrown with that bird alone! Alas," He slumps down into his chair. "It was not meant to be."
The two raven-haired members of the group shoot each other odd looks. Loki steps out of their dark little corner and approaches Thor.
"Are you speaking of that one time we wasted three whole days in Midgard hunting down an eagle?" He slides into a chair next to Thor.
"Brother!" The prince rejoices at Loki's presence. "No, not an eagle. Why would we spend three days in pursuit of such a tiny creature?" Loki sighs heavily at his brother's words.
"Because you swore it was a giant teratorn." Loki explains slowly with an air of disinterest, as if speaking to a child of a subject he has already tired of.
Thor's brows furrow. "A giant tera-?" He struggles with the unfamiliar word in his drunken haze.
"Teratorn, Thor. The biggest known bird on Midgard… believed to have gone extinct some six million years ago."
"Well then, it would have been impossible for me to have seen one!"
Loki pinches the bridge of his nose. "Finally, he admits it." He huffs as Sif joins them.
"Yet you swore you had seen one, Thor, and we wasted three days in pursuit of it. When Hogun finally shot it down and it turned out to be an eagle, we agreed to never speak of it again and returned to Asgard empty-handed, claiming we had not thought to bring back any of our spoils." She recounts.
Thor stares at the two of them for a long moment.
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed." Loki drawls, helping himself to a fruit platter. He scowls when Sif snatches a slice of melon from the plate, lightly slapping her wrist when she shoots him an unapologetic grin.
"It could have happened to any of us, my prince." She consoles the thunder god as he stares morosely at his bare hands for no discernible reason.
"It could, but that does not explain why it has only ever happened to my brother." Loki quips as he selects a bunch of grapes. It's Sif's turn to scowl at him then, yet he merely smirks in return. "And quite frequently, at that."
"Loki!" Sif hisses but any further reprimand is cut short by the queen's arrival.
"My queen," She rises quickly, intending to get down on one knee as custom dictates, but Lady Frigga waves off her formalities. After all, she is the only one to have gotten up. Volstagg remains happily ensconced in his little corner of the table, Fandral is too distracted by his own reflection and Hogun glowers silently at his drink as if willing himself not to take another sip, paying little attention to anything else. The queen's sons are even less inclined to acknowledge their mother's presence, though Loki does muster up a smile.
"No need for that, Sif," Frigga smiles warmly. "The feast ended a while ago. I just thought to check in on you lot before turning in for the night. How goes your celebration, my warriors?"
"Splendidly, my queen!" Volstagg calls from across the table, waving a stick of skewered meat in one hand. "The highest of praises to the royal kitchen on tonight's delectable selection."
Frigga laughs quietly, and Sif silently admires how regal her every action is. "Rest assured I shall convey your sentiments to the kitchen, Lord Volstagg. And you, Lord Fandral?"
"Hmm?" The sound of their queen's voice proves to be the one thing capable of pulling Fandral away from his primping. "Oh, the palace staff deserve to have their praises sung as well, my queen. Truly, everything in this hall is practically gleaming, the surfaces polished to be as reflective as a mirror!"
Sif registers the dull thud of Loki's forehead hitting the table in a dramatic show of exasperation. The queen shoots her son a concerned frown before she turns back to Fandral, who has scrambled up to his feet and is now leaning over the balcony's railing.
"Lord Fandral?" Frigga calls. "Is something the matter?"
Fandral lifts one hand up to wave at the night, and the unmistakable sound of feminine giggles reaches Sif's ears. The man turns around, glassy-eyed and hasty in his movements as he rushes to leave the hall.
"Quite the opposite, my queen," He assures Frigga with a grin. "But I must take my leave of you now, if I may. Good night, everyone!" Judging by those giggles, he'll be the one having a good night. Thankfully, Sif has the presence of mind to refrain from repeating that particular thought out loud.
"Well, he was in a hurry," Frigga comments, with a knowing and amused gleam in her eyes. "Lord Hogun, are you enjoying Asgard's Yuletide traditions?"
Five pairs of eyes land on the warrior in question.
"This ale," Hogun salutes the queen with his jug in hand, making an effort to speak clearly. "… is good." That seems to have drained him of what little energy he has left, and he practically slams the jug back on the table in his quest to set it down.
Frigga seems momentarily stunned. Hogun has never been a man of many words but this is certainly uncharacteristic of him. "Well," She quickly dons a bright smile. "I am glad to hear of it. And you, Thor? You seem to have partaken of some fine ale yourself."
"I mean no disrespect to our brewery, Mother," Thor booms, too intoxicated to employ a suitable tone. "But all pales in comparison to the nectar the mortals served us when we felled that most foul of beasts terrorizing their settlement, the feared teracorn!"
"Teratorn," Loki amends, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Thor blinks. "Is that not what I just said?"
"Well," Frigga quickly steps in when she spots the look of annoyance Loki now sports. "I can't say I've heard of that particular incident but I'm sure it will make for an excellent tale at tomorrow's feast, Thor… if you remember it."
"I will! I must!" Thor shoots to his feet, his chair scraping against the ground with an unpleasant screech. He turns to Loki with a feverish glint in his eyes. "Quick, Loki, we must write it down. Songs will be sung of the teracorn and its defeat at our hands!"
"Hands," Hogun suddenly echoes with a snort, and they turn around to find the Vanir laughing at his own hands. He holds them out for inspection, presenting his palms to the royal family and Sif. "Hands," He chortles.
"And legs!" Volstagg chimes in, gleefully waving the drumstick he's just ripped apart from a roasted bird.
"Yes," Frigga nods, though her smile begins to take on the slightest hint of strain. "Appendages. Well," She claps her hands together. "I suppose I'll leave you to it, my warriors. Enjoy the rest of your feast, but I would ask that you pace yourselves. We have much more celebrating ahead of us, beginning with tomorrow morning's parade."
Thor and his warriors cheer at the reminder of more feasts and festivals in the coming days, while Loki just looks exhausted by the thought of it. Sif finds herself equal parts excited and exhausted; these things always start out fun but quickly turn into… whatever this evening has turned into. Watching her intoxicated friends make fools out of themselves gets quite tiresome after a while, especially now that it seems drunk Hogun isn't particularly inclined to do anything foolish or entertaining.
The princes obligingly get up to kiss their mother's cheek, while the other three merely bid the queen a polite good-night. Frigga reaches out and lightly squeezes Sif's shoulder with a fond smile. She leans in to whisper "enjoy your trip tonight" right before she glides out of the room, and a stunned Sif can do nothing but gape at the queen's retreating back.
"What is it?" Loki murmurs, discreetly moving his chair closer to hers.
Sif stares at the empty doorway. "She knows."
Loki's brow furrows in confusion. "Knows what?"
"Your mother knows about us!" She hisses, turning to glare at him. "She told me to enjoy my trip tonight. What else could she be talking about?"
To her astonishment, Loki laughs. Thankfully, their friends are too distracted to notice this rare public display of mirth. "I was wondering how long it would take her to catch on. I dare say she's kept it to herself for quite a while, in fact."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, come now, Sif," Loki smiles at her, and she's struck by the fact that he's smiling in the presence of others – smiling, not grinning or smirking. "You must've seen this coming. This is my mother we're talking about."
The fact is that she's been waiting for someone to put the pieces together ever since that first night she decided to attack Loki with her lips instead of her fists, and the queen has always been quite talented at seeing right through Sif and her lies. But what surprises her now isn't Frigga's revelation (well, that's a small part of it, yes) but Loki's reaction. "What are you smiling about?" She demands, fighting against a smile of her own. Loki's happiness is contagious, it seems.
"What is there to not smile about?" He counters, boldly reaching out to take her hand in his. Granted, the table hides them from view and their friends are far too distracted to pay any attention to them anyway. Still – something warm stirs in Sif's belly, and it isn't the usual pleasant warmth of a full stomach sated by good food and strong ale.
There are a thousand things Sif could say in return, and half of them would be questions – questions about the nature of their relationship and their future and whether or not they even have one together. But for once Loki is happy, and she hasn't the heart to jeopardize that. Thor is set to take the throne in a few short months and lately, Loki has been consumed by so many different emotions in reaction to that – consumed by a darkness that (and Sif will readily admit to this) scares her. Rage, self-doubt, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, anger towards his father, anger towards Thor… and as if all of that wasn't enough, he's ridiculously convinced that the All-Father will press Thor to take Sif as his queen once the thunder god has been crowned king, which dredges up an entirely different kind of jealousy.
Tomorrow she will say those things and ask those questions, will sit through Loki's endless rants and provide him with countless reassurances, promises and soothing words. But for tonight, just for tonight, Sif wants them to be happy, to keep this tradition of theirs free of Loki's troubles and demons. For decades they have visited Midgard at Yule-time to partake in its over-the-top Christmas celebrations, and Sif wants nothing more than to be another anonymous face in a crowd, to hold Loki's hand and lean into his touch and kiss him in public while all around them, people smile and sing and wish happiness upon strangers.
So she squeezes Loki's hand and pulls them both up to their feet. "We really ought to be leaving," Sif echoes his words from earlier this evening, leading them out of the hall. Not even Thor, seated next to them, takes note of their departure. Sif attributes this to the fact that he and Volstagg are completely entranced by Hogun's odd behavior; the usually-reserved Vanir seems to be performing some unfamiliar sort of dance using only his hands.
Loki pulls her into the first hidden alcove they stumble upon, willing a flickering ball of green fire into existence to light up the confined space. With a quick wave of his hand, they are clothed in the typical Midgardian winter style that has grown familiar to her.
"Where to, my lady?" He asks, reaching out to fix Sif's scarf. Loki claims the cold doesn't bother him and he only dons these accessories to keep up with appearances but when it comes to Sif, he insists that her neck is properly covered and her gloves are thick enough, never mind the fact that Midgard's winter has nothing on Jotunheim's freezing temperatures. The fact that she lets him fuss over her isn't lost on either of them.
Sif runs through memories of Christmases past, a catalogue of bright lights and decorated trees and that rare, unconditional happiness and good will fostered between complete strangers during this festive period. It pleases her that there are too many memories to choose from, that they've shared dozens of Christmases and hundreds more await them.
"Surprise me," She finally says.
"As the lady wishes," Loki smiles, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Close your eyes, Sif, and think of Christmas trees and candy cane."
She can't help the smile that tugs at her lips as she closes her eyes, giddy with excitement and joy and love.
.
.
.
.
.
In the years to come, that last Christmas together is the one that stands out most clearly in her mind. Bright lights, snow everywhere, a sea of happy and drunk people spilling out from various establishments to join the crowd and spread good will.
Holding Loki's hand, laughing and smiling with him, telling him she loves him.
Trusting that he feels the same way when he merely smiles and kisses her in return.
Wondering, that first Christmas after he falls – chose to fall, to let go, Thor's voice reminds her – if she was wrong all along.
If you've made it to the end of this pointless little one-shot, congratulations and thank you! Also, I'm sorry for wasting your time. I can't remember where I was going with this so now it's just a plotless glimpse at pre-movie Thor and gang having their own after-feast feast, with a side of Loki/Sif. If anyone's interested, I'm halfway-through another Loki/Sif piece that promises to have 97% more plot. That should be up within the next few days. Until then – if anyone actually enjoyed this, I'd love to hear from you! (I'm not good at subtlety when it comes to begging for reviews. Sorry.)
This is part of a holiday collection I put together for Christmas. If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read more, please check out the rest of the collection. Who knows, we might have some other fandoms in common!
Have a good rest-of-the-year!
E Salvatore,
December 2015.