There was an impressive silence in the room. It had followed her for the better part of her stay, encouraged by the silence she had insisted upon when in his presence. The soft taps and raps of silverware could not break it. Voices could not shatter it, though some still persisted in trying.
"It's a lovely meal." The smooth voice spoke from the other end of the table.
The room was dark, despite the abundance of lighting around them. There was a chandelier above them and torches on the walls. On the table itself sat three candelabras, but the room seemed to resist all forms of brightness. She was the exception here. She was the brightest thing in the room, wrapped up in a brightly colored dress with her hair pinned up and decorated with jewels, and nothing in this place seemed keen on letting her go.
"You should have some," He tried again.
She glared at him, but she wasn't certain that he could even see it, covered as he was in his long hooded robe.
There was a bounty of food between them; dishes of meat, bowls of fruit, cups of water, wine, and cinder to choose from; a bribe, just as the space between them was meant to pacify her. It didn't. They were at opposite ends of the table, at least three table seating between them, but she thought that her anger was wild enough to reach him regardless.
She refused to speak to him. She glared, she glowered, she petulantly pushed the dishes away from her and crossed her arms stubbornly at him. He didn't comment on her poor behavior. He didn't relent to her.
There had been seven days of this and her anger had not relented.
It had been a beautiful day when the underworld swallowed her whole.
Her mother had left her alone with her companions, trusting that she would be safe in the company of her warrior friends. The birds sang a song of joy and delight, praising the day and delighting at their company. The earth had given them a plentiful bounty to feast upon, as it always yielded for her, given who her mother was. The sun warmed her as readily as it did the earth and she had laid out to luxuriate in it.
The day had been perfect. Peaceful.
Then the ground split open.
It happened so fast she had barely been able to recognize what was happening. The chariot rose up from the ground, a shadowed form reached for her, and then she lost sight of the sun.
The entirety of her first day in the Underworld had been spent trying to comprehend what had befallen her.
"This is your new home," She was told. He kept his form hidden from her, but that didn't hide who he was. She could see the pale blue skin of his hands when he gestured, feel the cold dread of death when in his presence. His robe changed colors from black, to the darkest of greens, to midnight blue, a slow cycle that sometimes lead her to see the faces of the dead in his dark cloak.
"Loki," She whispered, daring to speak his name aloud. What harm could it do when she was already right before him? "Lord of the dead."
"Lady Sif," He addressed her in turn.
It took her a moment to abate her fear and register his earlier words. "This cannot be my home," She told him.
He gestured to his side, a large beast stepping forward into her view. It was made of pure blackness, with pure sharp whiteness as teeth, and blood red blots for eyes. "This is Fenrir. He will protect you."
"From you?" She asked, her anger beginning to catch up with her. She was still afraid, she had just been spirited away from her home, after all. She was as far as was possible from everything she knew and everyone that could protect her. She was not cowed, however. She knew the rules. He could not keep her here. She just had to wait for someone to come for her.
"I intend to court you," Loki told her, seeming to ignore to her words. "I will give you your heart's desire if I can price it. I will dress you in whatever finery catches your fancy. Provide you with whatever food you crave."
"And if I want to go home?" Sif asked him.
"This is your home," Loki repeated. His tone was more stern than it had been the first time, but his face was entirely hidden from her, so she knew not his expression.
"If I want to see the sun?" She challenged again.
"I can obtain a replica for you, if you need it," He explained to her. "A painting or a sculpture, but I lack the ability to bring you the real thing."
"So you intend to give me only what you wish me to have!" She said accusingly.
There was silence that followed. He turned away from her, then moved closer when he turned back. He took her hands, capturing hers in his hold, which was freezing to the touch. More cold than the dead and perhaps just as hard and unyielding. "I would burn my hands to grab the sun if I could present it to you," He said to her softly.
Sif was unmoved by the sentiment. This was not what she wanted. He was not what she wanted. Nothing in his affection would restore her to the surface world if that was what caused him to collect her in the first place. Silently, she removed her hands from his hold and stepped away. Tantrums would do her little good, she was sure. If she displayed her passion, he would assume an equal show of it could win her favor.
The chill in the air increased intensely and she wondered if it were a show of anger.
"It won't do you any good to refuse my hospitality," He told her.
"It won't do me any good to take it." She spat back.
She still could not see his face, but she imagined he seethed beneath his robe. Finally, he waved a hand and a door appeared. "Your room is there. If you need anything, someone will provide it. If you get lost, Fenrir will lead you back. I will leave you to settle in."
She watched him as he stalked away, denial and resentment in every bone of her body, before she had little choice but to stalk off to the room she was provided.
Each day she woke to a room decorated with earthy reminders. Flowers that only lasted a day even with her powers to push them along, bowls of fruits that were a perfect ripeness, and wreaths of leaves and berries.
Some days she hated the displays. She'd spend the entire morning refusing to leave her room, tearing each flower apart petal by petal, dismantling every wreath, and leaving the ruins on the floor outside her door.
Other days she loved having the tokens of nature and reminders of the surface. It brought to mind warm breezes on her face, the gentle warmth of the sun, and the smiles of her companions. On those days, she cried.
The Underworld was a dismal place. Black and blue and grey with little variation. The air was gloomy and filled with despair. If she were quiet she could hear the omnipresent sound of crying and misery, a melody of regret that drove her crazy. And yet, he dressed her like the sun. He gave her gold and golden gowns with ready abundance. He gave her dresses of white, green, and red, gifted her with vibrant jewels and beautiful trinkets.
She was the sun amongst the shadows of the Underworld and everyone seemed to love her for it.
Everyday that she chose to leave her rooms she was bombarded with affection completely at odds with her surroundings.
"You look lovely as always, my queen."
"Can I aid you, my queen?"
"Is there anything you need, my queen?"
"I'm not your queen!" She would reply hotly each time. They never listened, though. Or they listened, but did not believe.
And even the Lord himself reacted to her this way. When she walked into a room, Loki would rise to greet her. When she spoke, he would listen, even if he did not obey. He moved around her, revolved around her, and she slowly grew to love it.
Every night, Sif was made to dine with him. A servant was sent to her room to bathe her, dress her, and decorate her for the event. It was always just the two of them, unless she chose to bring Fenrir along with her. Long hours of staring at a table laden with food. Hours spent staring at and studying the cloaked figure across from her.
It was cruel to tempt her. She knew the rules. To eat here was to be trapped. In her anger, she was cruel to him in return. She would serve herself as if she intended to eat, then she would feed it slowly to Fenrir. She watched the way his body leaned closer to her with hope and slumped back down when she crushed it.
She had already stopped counting the days when he asked her once, after another meal she did not eat, "Must you be so intent upon my rejection?"
"Why should I not?" Sif questioned. "When you reject the only request that I ever make of
you?"
His voice was nearly desperate in his response. "I cannot send you back! You would never return if let you leave."
She did not bother to argue the truth of that. She simple let her silence and anger wrap around her like a cloak. Brandished it like a dagger as she held her head high and glared at him.
"There must be something that I can do for you?" He was near to begging.
"How am I to know you if you will not even remove that cloak?" Sif asked him.
He hesitated, shrank back from her, but Sif only pressed forward. "Show me who you are, mighty king! Show me why you are feared. Show me why I should love you. Show me that there is something other than smoke and mirrors to you!"
His form trembled. The motions that he made with his hands made him look lost. Finally, he seemed to gather himself and sigh. "Very well. You wish to see a monster, I will show one to you." With that, he removed his cloak.
Sif was frozen as she stared. His skin was blue, which she had known from his hands, but seeing it all over made it worse somehow. It wasn't like the sky, more like he was a corpse. There were horns that protruded from his head, black like his nails. His eyes were like blood, the streaks of which ran down his face and all along his skin in strange patterns.
"Does this... appease you?" He asked her. His voice was hard, angry. It was the first time she had seen his anger. His appearance seemed to distort the longer she stared. The horns became more twisted. The blood seemed to drip and spread. His mouth twisted and morphed as if it would consume her.
And then it was gone.
Loki had wrapped himself up in his cloak and the faces of the damned souls that writhed within was a balm in comparison. Sif was frozen in place, the only thing tat moved was her own heartbeat, which raced and screamed within her.
"The more frightened you are of me, the worse it is," Loki told her softly. "This is why was going to keep myself hidden." He turned away from her, reaching out to pet Fenrir as he did so. "You may refrain from dinner tomorrow to collect yourself." With that, he left and he took Fenrir with him.
The day after seeing Loki's true form, Sif chose to take up his offer of solitude. She tried to unpack her feelings and reactions to him one at a time, tried to peel away the part that made her frightened to leave her room. It was insulting to her that she should be cowed by him now, after dinning at his table so often.
It wasn't even that he was hideous. At least, she didn't think so. His countenance was terrifying and his appearance had reflected that, but it was more of an add on. He had changed from the first glimpse that she'd had of him. He had morphed in ways that she could hardly remember now and the frustration gnawed at her.
She hated being afraid. She hated that it gave him so much power over her. It was one thing for him to be the Lord of the Dead. It was another entirely for her to fear his very visage. No, that wouldn't do. If it was the mystery of him that kept her afraid, she would just have to dispel that mystery.
The day after she skipped dinner, she chose to join him in breaking his fast. She didn't intend to eat, of course, but she certainly could not learn not to fear him if she spent so much of her time hiding from him.
She marched to his table with her head held high and Fenrir at her side. The large beast had not been with her during her short isolation, but he had stepped out of the shadows on her heels when she left her room. She was actually glad for the company. Walking around the halls of the dead was not a comfortable thing to do, even in the face of the kindness that most had shown her.
Loki was already at the table when she appeared and he stilled instantly, remaining completely stiff as she sat and served herself. She still could not see his face, but she was certain that he was staring at her.
"What?" She snapped.
Her nervousness made her harsh, but he seemed not to mind it. He relaxed back into motion like statue coming to life, slowly at first, then fluid in movement once again. He lifted a goblet to his mouth before he answered her. "Well met this morning, my lady."
Sif nodded stiffly before cutting slabs of meat on her plate. She whistled and Fenrir shambled out of the shadows to eat from her hand. She kept her eyes trained on the beast as she spoke. "How did you do what you did?"
"What do you mean, my lady?"
"With your appearance?" She questioned. "How did you make me afraid?"
Loki laughed lightly. "I did not make you afraid of anything, Lady Sif. Your fear was your own. If you mean to ask after the strangeness of my appearance... I am... a trial of sorts." Despite being across the table and hidden by cloak, he turned away from her as if to hide his face. "It is not enough to die and to be dead. Not enough to simply toil and waste away here. The strong, the fearless, are often permitted another chance to walk in the flesh. They know me when they look upon me, they fear me, but if they are brave in the face of that?" He shrugged. "Why should they not get the chance to live again."
"You don't sound very happy about that," Sif pointed out.
He barked out a harsh laugh. "It is not a rule of my own making," He admitted. "Perhaps my lack of control over my own dominion is a slight that I have yet to forgive."
"You would have there be no second chances?" She asked.
"It is not the act itself that I oppose, merely my inability to choose it."
Sif remained quiet, thinking. "This rule... it was created by Thor?"
"Oh yes," Loki answered bitterly. "The Thunderer has not enough power in his own realm, he feels the need to dip low into mine. I often regret the day we dispatched the old Odin together, if only for the tragedy in my place after it. Or perhaps I resent my brothers for divvying up the world thusly."
Loki rose. Fenrir trotted over to be pet by him and Sif seized the opportunity for more questions. "You did not choose to rule the land of the dead?"
Loki looked up at her and for a few moments she saw his eyes, harsh and judging, before they were again claimed by shadow. "You think I would choose this?" He gestured around him. "That anyone would choose this?" He shook his head and moved away from Fenrir, towards her. "I admit to having grown used to it. Perhaps it even suits me. But a choice? No. Never that."
He came to a stop at her side and she found her eyes widening as she looked up at him. He was right before her and yet, she could see nothing of him. The fabric of the cloak twisted in some way as to keep his countenance hidden. "But I've choice of a wife." He reached down to place his hand on her cheek. She shivered from the cold and he drew away quickly. "My brother permitted me to have you and for that, I will be gratefully eternal."
He began to walk away from her. After a moment Sif stood and called out to him. "You say that no one would choose this place," she yelled, "And yet you ask it of me?"
He stopped to answer. "I did not give you a choice of this place," He answered. "I have already told you that this place is your home. What I give you a choice over is me."
The new pattern began slowly. Once a week, usually, but sometimes more, Sif would attend him when he broke his fast from the night. She still refused to eat, but he no longer tensed with hope with she made a plate, no longer deflated when she gave the offering to Fenrir.
"You miss it still, don't you?" She questioned him. "The sky, the sea... the sun..."
"Of course I do," Loki answered her. He tossed pieces of meat into the air for Fenrir and the beast appeared in the air from various angles to catch them. "I remember watching a sunrise from my brother's sky perch. I remember the taste of the sea framed by my brother Balder's laughter. I remember dancing with Amora as she made the mortals fall in love with her and stirred her husband's jealousy. I remember riding in Surtur's chariot with the sunrise on our tail and hunting with Laufey under the light of the moon. I remember the feast held on Mount Olympus. I miss them dearly."
"Them why not go?" Sif asked. "Why stay here?"
"Are you truly so innocent, my lady?" Loki asked her. "They do not want me there. I tell the truths they fear to know. I am the mistake they fear to admit. Even if I do nothing, my kingdom grows endlessly. My subjects, my army, is growing by the tens, by the hundreds, by the thousands every breathe, every second. Just as the dead, they, too, fear me."
"Good," Sif said. Loki's head snapped toward her at the fierceness of her voice. "Let them fear you. Let them resent you. You are too powerful to be cowed by them!"
Loki laughed. "Is that what you think of me, dear Sif, or what you wish for yourself?"
Sif's eyes widened for a moment and looked away in thought. She answered more softly, "Does it matter?" She looked at him, though she couldn't really see him. "If I am truly stuck here then my lot is thrown in with yours. Why shouldn't I want my lord to be as strong as he can be?"
The shadows around Loki lightened then and she could see him well enough to see the smile that spread across his face. She waited, but the darkness did not return to shade him. He asked her, "Would it not be better for you, if I were weak and easily overtaken?"
"No," She answered. "There would be no honor in giving in to someone like that."
"Is that what you are doing?" Loki asked her.
"That's what you want me to do, isn't it?" Sif replied.
"Not precisely," Loki said. He stood, walking slowly toward her. He reached out for her hand, but then pulled back at the last moment. "If I am to have you, I would have you proud. I would have you as strong and beautiful as the day I brought you here. I would not have you conquered or brought low. I would have you be my equal."
The surprise was plain on her face and Loki chuckled. He leaned down so that he was closer to her height. "Does that surprise you?"
"This isn't normally how one goes about finding equals," Sif told him.
"Oh?" Loki hummed and she could just about see his eyes. "And how would you about finding a queen for the Underworld?"
"You could try asking."
He smiled. More and more of his face was becoming visible, but she didn't know what that meant. "I admit that I have never been fond of that method." He took her hands in his own and said softly. "Some of us like to ask with out actions rather than our words. It is more honest that way, wouldn't you agree?"
When he walked away from her and Fenrir trotted up to her side, she was surprised to find a pomegranate resting in her hand. She looked after him holding the fruit close to her. She was starting to find that his method of asking with actions was appealing, if she were honest.
Sif lined up seven pomegranate seeds on her dresser. She weighed his virtues against his failings and she did not find him wanting. He had proven himself to be kind in the face of his envy of the other gods. He was patient in the face of her rejection and temperate in demeanor, despite her own often venomous behavior. He was dilligent in his duties and humble with his power.
She had not found him wanting in any way thus far, but that did not guarentee her happiness. Still, she cleared the dresser of all but five seeds, counting his virtues and leaving that count before her.
She didn't know why she felt it was important. She wasn't certain if she meant it as a warning or... something more. But she stepped away from the dresser and began to dress for dinner.
She dressed herself for dinner, waving off the servant that was sent for her. She crowned herself with jewels and a floral wreath, in robes of black and gold, embraced the finery that he had been showering upon her since she first arrived. She hurried to the dinning hall so that she could be seated before him.
When he arrived to the table, she had already set a plate on the ground on Fenrir and the beast was happily tearing away at the offering. She had cleared her side of the table of place setting, pushing it all to the side and doing away with the pretense that she would eat.
"Good eve, my lord," She said to him.
"Well met," Loki replied as he moved cautiously to the table. She could tell that he was closely observing her appearance by the small tilts of his head. She had not spent this long sitting across from him, mostly in silence, without learning something of his habits. She had not spent so long in his company without studying him as one would an enemy.
She refused to think of him as such this day. It wouldn't help. Also, she wasn't certain that she wanted to. She wasn't certain of much, truthfully. Not anymore.
"Would you speak of your day?" She asked him.
She couldn't see it, but she could feel his suspicion curling around her. "Would you hear of it?" There was a sardonic cadence to his voice.
"I would," She answered.
"Why?"
"Must there be a reason why?"
"With you, I would think so," He answered.
Sif sighed, stalling as she thought up an answer. "I am starting to become curious of what you do in this place. What is done? What is not done? I know very little of the Underworld."
"Very few do," He answered.
"I want to know more!" She insisted. "I want to know more of you."
"You have not gotten enough after the first time you saw me?" Loki questioned. He laid down his silverware and faced her in a way that spoke of him glaring.
"No, in fact," She told him. "I have actually been thinking that I would see you again."
Loki paused, silent. A long time passed, and Sif let it, before he chose to speak again. "You mock me? After all this time, you will mock me? I have done nothing deserve such treatment!"
"That is not what I meant!" if insisted, raising her voice. "I did not mean to offend nor to cause offence," She told him. "I simply want another chance to see you. I am not afraid as once I was."
"Ah, a hero's challenge, is it? 'Let me stare down the Lord of the Dead and prove my mettle.' How quaint."
"Stop that," Sif snapped. "Stop trying to poke holes in my intentions, Loki!"
He took a deep breath. "Very well." He stood, stepping away from the table and moving to where she would have a better sight of him. "Gaze, if you must. Drink your feel of me and and me off as you would before."
"I sent you no where before," She said.
"No, but it was your desire to," Loki replied. "You cannot send me away in my own home, but I knew well your desire."
"I was afraid, Loki! You cannot blame me for that."
"No," Loki agreed. "But I can resent it all the same." He disrobed then and his wounded pride was all too visible to her. He looked hurt, his eyes turned away from her and he was biting his lip. It was only after taking in and focusing on these details for a while that she noticed the fright of his appearance was gone. He was still blue, red eyed, and horned, but it looked different now.
She found the blue of his skin charming, in a way. It distinguished him from most of the other god, likewise for his eyes, though the red was still unsettling. The horns made him look powerful, mysterious, and while the fear had not completely dissipated, it had calmed greatly. The patterns that laid upon his skin were not the rivers of blood that she remembered them as. Instead, they were intricate lines of loveliness and distinction.
Sif stood up to approach him and he took a step back from him. He was wary of her, but she would not let him be. She walked right up to, touching tentatively at the lines of his arm and tracing them gently. "You are not frightening now," She told him softly.
"I did not believe it would take long for your intimidation to pass," He answered. He wasn't looking at her.
Sif reached out to take his face in her hands. He flinched away at first, then eased back toward her touch, cautiously relaxing into it. Only now did it occur to her how lonely he must have been here. How lonely he was with only the dead for company.
In truth, she was lonely as well. Not just here, but above ground, as well. She'd had her companions, yes, but she never had true freedom. Those that she called friend were merely watcher's her mother had chosen for her. It was only here, trapped as she was, that she experienced true freedom. The freedom to speak or remain silent at her own behest, to move about unhindered, to break things and lash out and dress up as she wanted.
The freedom to love or not as she chose. She had not realized how stifling the presence of her mother was until she was freed from it. Loki had her trapped here and yet he offered her more freedom than her mother had given her when the entire world was hers to explore.
Perhaps it was only natural then, that she leaned in close to him. That she rose herself onto her tp toes as she stared deep into his eyes. That her anticipation had her nearly holding her breath when she felt the little shutter in his own. "Lady Sif..." He breathed out quietly. She closed the distance between he could say more, before she could, and their lips brushed softly, then firmly.
Loki's hand's were on her waist, not pulling or pushing, just holding her there. His lips firmed against her as he leaned in. She had made the first move, but he had no qualms in guiding her now that she was there. His lips moved against her own and she imitated them in parting. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and he lead her tongue in a dance was quick in studying.
It wasn't that she had never kissed before, she had, just never like this. Never with passion and catious and careful fevor. Never with her knees feeling weak and her fingers flexing as f they wished to grab hold of something. Never with her body burning to be pressed to him and her mind drifting into a pleasant hum.
She let out a deep exhale when he pulled back. "That was not what I expected," She whispered.
"Are you disapointed?" He asked her.
"Not at all," She answered him. "Not at all."
There were six pomegranate seeds on her dresser now. One more for this new feeling that he was inspiring in her.
There was a very strong argument staring straight at her. Reason to stay. Reasons to love. Her hesitation remained, but she felt herself bending.
Her fingers played with the wreath that he had left for her that morning. Here, she could be anything. She could be a daughter, a maiden, or she could be so much more.
Loki was surprised, she could read that plainly on his face, when she showed herself before his throne with a sword and shield in hand. "I entreat you, Loki, you said when I arrived that you would give to me my heart's desire. I did not know my own heart so well then as I do now, and I come before you to receive what was promised me."
Loki sat straighter in his throne, a small smile curling on his lips as he met her gaze. "What would you ask of me, my Sif?"
She smiled. "They will come for me. My mother will not stand for my disappearance to be unsolved long. Teach me how to fight to protect our kingdom."
Loki perked up at that, intrigued and wary and hopeful in a way he had stopped being long ago. Hopeful in a way she had cruely ground out of him, but was now immensely happy to see again. "Our kingdom?"
Her grin only widened. It was only a start, but she could see herself becoming accustomed to him, to the sight of him, the sound of him... she could see herself becoming willing to fight for him and that hopeful expression she hoped to again cause to fade. But first, she had to learn to fight for herself.
"Am I not queen here?" She asked him?
Finally, Loki's lips spread in a large grin. "Why yes, my beloved Sif. If you have chosen it, you are."
Sif let her fingers drag over the seeds one last time. Kindness, Patience, Temperance, Diligence, Humility, Chastity. One by one she counted the seeds, counted the virtues, weighed them in her thoughts and tested them on her tongue.
Then she made a deliberate and swallowed one seed of the fruit for everything this man did to make her fall in love with him.
Maybe they she would have regrets, but she would never know if she let them pull her away from him.