I was going to be productive today, and then the muse that is Haley Westenra swooped in and assured me that homework could be replaced by fan fiction. Okay, Haley, whatever you say. Thank you so much to everyone who has been supporting my Warfrost kick! This piece is dedicated to xsleepyhollowx for asking for more, and Murdur for her wonderfully inspiring works. Please review!
The feast hall was practically deserted except for a few servants sweeping up discarded food scraps and shards of broken dishes. Most of the celebration's participants had either stumbled home in drunken stupors or relocated to the closets tavern to continue the raucous party well into the morning. The fires supported by massive sconces to light the enormous room had burned down from roaring flames to candle flickers that cast only faint glows across the empty marble floor. Only Loki remained, still reclined in his usual seat, absentmindedly nibbling on an apple slice.
Thor's most recent battle protecting the citizens of Vanaheim had been such a roaring success with so many glorious displays of valor that Odin declared a feast to be held in honor of the eldest son's victory. The whole night lesser soldiers sung the mighty accomplishments of the battlefield. Outnumbered five to one, Thor and his best warriors still managed to completely obliterate the enemy forces without losing a single Asgardian soldier in the process. Volstagg and Fandral managed to kill fifty just with broken logs, Hogun shot down half the cavalry with only one quiver of arrows, and Lady Sif led the vanguard without showing the slightest hint of fear. Loki of course, despite being present for the whole affair, had no brave deeds to have sung about him. No matter that he saved his brother's life at least twice with his magic…
He quickly swallowed the last piece of apple and crossed his arms over his chest. It was never easy for his cleverness to be ignored while Thor's brute strength was endlessly praised.
"If you keep pouting your face will freeze that way."
Loki's eyes shot up to see Sif walking toward him from the entrance of the hall, still dressed in her celebratory chainmail gown, a slightly smug smirk at the corner of her mouth. He scoffed.
"A prince does not pout. He contemplates," he grumbled, grabbing the closest wine glass and taking a long swig.
"If you insist, my lord."
Without giving even a sideways glance to ask permission, Sif perched herself on the edge of the table next to where he had his boots elevated. She elegantly crossed her legs in a very ladylike fashion, but downed the first full tankard within grasp. Her mixed behavior never ceased to confuse Loki, even after a few thousand years.
"Have you ever considered, I don't know, enjoying yourself every once in a while?"
He rolled his eyes.
"You know perfectly well I do not," he grumbled into his wine glass.
Sif mimicked his eye roll, shaking her head to emphasize the mock. Loki could not help but smile a bit. A little sparkle jumped into her dark chocolate eyes every time she tried to cheer him up, and it was nearly irresistible. He sighed and rose from the chair, tossing the half empty glass aside. She raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in demeanor.
"Actually, I can think of one thing I would enjoy very much," he pretended to muse, taking Sif's hand from where it rested on her lap and pulling her to her feet. "Humor me a dance with the most beautiful lady in the Nine Realms?"
"Hopeless flatterer," she playfully growled.
Despite the remark, the shieldmaiden twisted her fingers in his and placed a hand on his shoulder with the tight grip of the warrior she was. Loki let out a pleased hum as his own free hand settled in the small of her back, pulling her close until he could feel the heat of her skin through his leather tunic. Whispering a quick spell, soft music echoed around the empty hall in a ringing melody of bow pulled strings.
We are the lucky ones. We shine like a thousand suns. When all of the color runs together.
He took the lead step, starting in a slow waltz toward the open center of the floor. Sif was as light on her feet dancing as she was during a sword fight. She balanced her weight nearly on the tips of her toes, gracefully keeping up with every long stride he set. He was pleasantly surprised by her nimbleness, especially when he had never seen her dance before.
I'll keep you company in one glorious harmony. Waltzing with destiny forever.
"And here I thought your only talents were trickery," she said with a laugh as Loki spun her under his arm.
"We were required to take lessons as children. Mother insisted."
The opportunity to show off was irresistible. She yelped with surprise as he took her by the waist and pulled her down into a deep dip, her unbound waves of hair brushing the floor. Her hand flew from his shoulder to around his neck for extra support, obviously expecting him to drop her at any moment.
"Relax, Sif. I thought we were having fun," he chuckled, leaning down to graze his lips over the line of her jaw.
Sif eyed him suspiciously but her grin swiftly returned with a new, different, gleam. He issued the challenge and she accepted. Swinging back up, she started leading in a poised but aggressive increase in tempo. It was not in her nature to surrender to a submissive role, even in a something as domestic as dancing. Loki smiled broadly at her takeover.
"I should have expected as much from you," he whispered in her ear.
She only pulled her lips up into an even broader, even slyer smile that impressed him coming from such a noble and honorable war hero. They seemed to stay there for hours, twirling and swinging until their feet began to ache. Loki reveled in staring at her pale face, glowing in the dying light that time had nearly extinguished. Though the intensity of their dance never faded, she calmed her step and they slipped into simply swaying together, her head resting sleepily on his shoulder while he nestled his cheek against her hair. She smelled of honeyed mead and battle sweat and fresh flowers damp with morning dew. It was more intoxicating than any alcohol he had ever tasted .
Dance me into the night, underneath the moon shining so bright. Turning me into the light.
"We should do this more often," he murmured hazily.
Only one torch was still alive, casting a cloak of darkness over the hall except for the tiny pocket of light where Loki and Sif remained. They stopped moving completely and just stood wrapped in each others' arms. She looked up, propping her chin against his chest to stare up at him. Her fingers made their way into the pitch waves at the nape of his neck, twirling idly.
"Hmm… if my prince so desires," she hummed coyly.
Maybe it was the dying smolder of the torch or just the mist over his own mind, but Loki could swear that there was something mystically different in Sif's gaze. It was milder than her usual impassioned and flaming stare that he had seen on the edge of blade bringing the strongest men in the Nine Realms to their knees. No, this was new, sweet and subtle and enchanting. He gently cupped her cheek in the curve of his hand.
"You prince desires a kiss."
Let the dark waltz begin, oh let me wheel, let me spin. Let it take me again, turning me into the light.