Written for 2021's Loki/Sif Mischief and Mistletoe exchange for Still_Invisible on AO3! I meant to use the prompt of enemies to lovers but this evolved quite a bit from what I first started writing. I imagine this as a sort of fantasy Medieval setting, where magic exists in an earthly realm, but if you imagine the Jotuns as blue I'm certainly not opposed to that!
May the last long year be forgiven
All that war left within it
I couldn't, though I'm beginning to
And we only made it together
Feel some change in the weather
I couldn't, though I'm beginning to
Featherweight - Fleet Foxes
Asgard and Jotunheim; the two kingdoms teetered on the brink of war at the best of times, and this was not the best of times.
For decades, the neighboring kingdoms pushed each other's boundaries, encroaching on land and bickering over resources. The previous spring, when Asgard's old king had died and his bloodthirsty son Thor Odinson had taken the throne, the tension had reached its limit and war had been declared.
Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Jotunheim, pulled his cape tighter around his neck against the bitterly cold autumn wind as he rode his horse around the lines of soldiers on foot and joined the cavalry waiting behind them. Looking across the wide field encircled by thick forest, his eyes followed the enemy's commander. The burgundy of her cape rippled as the stormy skies began to rain down upon them and she raised a glinting blade, shouting out to rally her troops.
Loki turned his horse to face the battlefield and drew his own sword, holding it aloft. His eyes met the fierce gaze of the rival commander, and a short nod passed between them.
"For Jotunheim!" he shouted and compelled those under his command to move forward. The roar of the Asgardian warriors answering their own leader's call to battle rang out.
The rain came harder, crying out with them. Not breaking his gaze, he watched her run her horse across the wet field, her face full of courage and fervor. His heart felt full of regret and despair.
The first time he saw her was in the halls of Asgard's palace, years ago. Each winter, the two nations put aside their animosity and met for conferring and feasting, an attempt to build peace. As the second-born prince and a gifted strategist, Loki accompanied his father, King Laufey, and older brother, Helblindi, to the dialogue between the two kings from the time he first entered early adult-hood.
King Odin had brought his only son Thor and a woman with dark hair, introduced as Lady Sif, a knight and commander amongst the elite Asgardian military. She was a beauty and a fierce negotiator. Loki hated her instantly.
An apparently defining Asgardian trait, she was brash and arrogant. That was to be expected. But what he truly despised was the obvious respect she garnered from the king and the prince. How silly that a menial soldier was allowed entrance into royal spaces, allowed to offer her opinion so freely. She must be sleeping with the idiotic prince. He rolled his eyes each time she spoke, conveying at every opportunity how little he cared for her opinion, what a bother it was to feign a modicum of respect for a commoner.
That first winter, after the council had ended and the Yuletide banquet was in full swing, Loki had slipped away from the feasting room and wandered down the halls of the Asgardian palace. Not drunk, but barreling towards blissful intoxication he brooded over what had transpired in the negotiation room. How could Helblindi, his own brother, brush off his suggestions in front of not only their rivals but their own father? The cruel sneer seemed burned into his retinas.
Pushing aside a heavy gold curtain, Loki eagerly stepped out onto the secluded balcony and downed several large gulps from his cup. He pulled the golden helmet, adorned with large horns from his head and magicked it away for safekeeping. The cool winter air felt soothing to his heated cheeks and he attempted to blink back tears as he looked out over the lands of his enemy. Peaceful in the quiet of the snowy night.
"And I thought this hiding spot was my own secret," the gravelly voice of Odin's knight, Lady Sif, came from behind him. He stiffened in surprise and then ran a quick hand over his face and hair to compose himself before turning.
"Apologies, lady," he did not give her the courtesy of a bow. Likewise, she acknowledged his royal status by letting her eyes give him a quick once-over.
"Am I interrupting your plotting?" her gaze went out to the snowy landscape stretched before them. Many of the houses near the palace had a candle lit in the window, welcoming in the winter solstice. "Picking out which piece of land you'd like to get your hands on?"
"You flatter Asgard," he turned up his nose. "There is not part of me that desires to live so near this filthy palace." He rolled his eyes and made to leave but she stepped forward, blocking his path. He peered down at her.
"And yet here you are, all alone in the halls of your enemy? Perhaps you're not as smart as I thought, prince."
"What have I to fear from someone like you?" he sneered.
"Monsters should always fear an honorable adversary with a steady hand and a sharp blade," she pushed aside a fold of her skirt and revealed a sharp dagger strapped high on her leg.
Monster. His veins ran cold with rage. As if the crown she so shamelessly fawned over was not forged in blood and lies. His hands grew hot with magic, fighting the urge to throw a hex in her face. "And a commoner in the presence of a sorcerer should watch her tongue," he bit out and released a surge of power from his palm, blasting a chunk out of the nearby wall.
Instead of recoiling, he was agitated to see her smile. She was amused. Loki had had enough.
"Good night, lady," he walked forward, his blood pounding in his ears, determined to end this torturous interaction.
"Stay," she placed a hand against his arm, stilling him. He didn't know why he paused, why he didn't shove his way past. But her voice was soft and he stilled and turned to look at her. He gazed into her hazel eyes, bright and so close, and a strange charge seemed to run between them, standing shoulder to shoulder. She was beautiful, with sharp features and long lashes. He looked down to her mouth, quirked in a smile that was now more good natured than goading. "Forgive me. Yuletide is meant for goodwill and pleasantries."
He felt caught - frozen under her gaze and the weight of his own indecision. She continued when he did not speak nor move from under her hand.
"I am being an inconsiderate host. Let us speak no more of our nations' quarrels. I promise to discuss only that which we agree upon."
"And if there's nothing upon which we agree?"
"Then we'll speak of the weather," she shrugged. "Stay."
He thought of returning to the feast and to Helblindi, whose harsh words tended to grow even crueler once drunk, and sitting amongst the crowds of unfamiliar people. Begrudgingly, he nodded once in agreement.
The commander dropped her hand with a smile and he stepped quickly backwards, blinking several times. He stayed with her on that balcony until the sun rose, discussing the stars and the snow.
Tension between the kingdoms did not improve the following year, the old king of Asgard was stubborn and unwilling to bend even as his body seemed more hunched. Animosity leaked into the council meeting, the Jotuns sitting on one side of the table across from the two royals and the lady commander.
After listening passively to much bickering, Loki had suggested a compromise, feeling that the meeting was heading towards a standstill. Perhaps both kingdoms could reduce the number of foot soldiers lining the border, as a show of trust?
"Hush with such foolishness," Helblindi's retort was dripping with condescension. "Stick to your illusions, little witch."
Loki recoiled as if he'd been physically struck, feeling a glowering rage flash across his usually stoic face. His father, instead of chastising Helblindi for such disrespect, clapped his older brother on the shoulder and continued on with the conversation.
The younger prince didn't hear King Laufey's words, unable to do anything besides visualize using his considerable seidr to blast his brother out the nearest window. Their father had always spurred on the brothers' rivalry, encouraging any show of weakness to be squashed in the most humiliating form, reiterating that only the strongest Jotun would be fit to rule over their lands. Helblindi had always been physically larger than him, but Loki had long suspected that his brother was resentful of his magical gifts and cunning intellect, the older brother habitually trying to minimize and embarrass Loki at every opportunity. He was a bully. None of this knowledge alleviated Loki's current shame and anger and he kept his gaze on the table until the meeting was adjourned, unwilling to make eye contact with the woman seated across from him, thought he felt her eyes upon him.
In the subsequent Yuletide feast, Loki had hardly eaten any of the enticing smelling dishes, choosing instead to fill his belly with Asgard's finest wines. When he was good and tipsy he pushed away from the table, snatching a bottle from a passing server, and trudged out of the feasting halls. Using his teeth to remove the cork from the bottle he took another long swing and paced down the hall. Looking up from his scheming thoughts, he paused outside of a set of heavy gold curtains. Curtains that hid a familiar balcony. He hesitated only a moment before pushing them aside.
"Hello, Loki," Lady Sif's smooth voice greeted him. She was dressed in a deep maroon gown, accented with golden metal plating and vambraces that imitated her armor, and she leaned against the balcony's railing, spinning an empty goblet in her hand. She glanced back at him, taking in what was likely a sorry state. "I wondered if I would see you again after...all that."
"I do not need your pity," he crossed his arms against his chest.
"I hold many feelings towards you, prince," she turned then and held out her cup, lifting her chin towards his pilfered wine bottle. "But pity is not one."
Loki stepped forward and refilled her cup. "Do you despise me, lady?"
"Of course," she responded easily, looking at him through her lashes with a wry smile.
Something about her company, her look, lightened his heart and his mood. "Because I'm wicked?"
She took a long drink from her cup and then let her eyes run the length of him. She handed her goblet to him and watched as he took a drink before answering.
"Because you are utterly perplexing. A puzzle I cannot sort out." Her fingers were warm against his when she reclaimed her drink and something in his chest desperately wished that she would try to solve him.
"My sincerest apologies for leaving you mystified," he leaned in and slowly poured out more wine. "I find myself in a charitable mood if there is something of which I may enlighten you."
They grew drunk in each other's company and he found himself quite enjoying the banter. There was something about her that intrigued him and what he'd once seen as irritating brashness was slowly turning into an admirable challenge - like two swords, each blade sharpening the other.
"Why do you wish to rule?"
The sincerity of the question caught him off guard, and in his wine-soaked state he confessed to her he did not desire a throne. At least, not the reality of the throne. He wanted simply a sense of power that had been so long denied. Recognition.
"And how did you come to hold such standing?" he countered, hoping she would be as honest as he had just been and not leave him a fool. "Forgive me for pointing it out, but it is quite unusual for a woman to be a knight."
"My parents left me at the palace doorsteps," her lips quirked in what seemed to attempt nonchalance but fell short and she turned her gaze to the stars, contemplating. "Hoping that I would become something beyond what they could ever offer, I suppose. I was practically raised to do this."
"Do you love him?" Loki blurted out, imagining a child reared as an agent of the crown. What else might she have been primed for?
"Who?" she craned her head back around to look at him.
"Thor."
"Yes," she brought the cup to her lips again and a strange shattering sensation radiated from his chest. "He is like my brother. We grew up together. But if you're asking if I'm in love with him," she pressed the goblet back into Loki's hand, "the answer to that is no."
Loki let the spice of the wine rest on his tongue for a moment before letting it take its warm path down his throat. He licked his lips, a sense of recklessness rising with each sip of his drink. He looked at her out of the side of his eye and opened his mouth, unable to stop himself. Why was he doing this?
"And what of Helblindi?"
The question hung between them in the air for a moment, and then Sif burst into laughter. Loki couldn't help but smile with her, strangely relieved.
"Is it so absurd?" He emptied the last of the bottle into their cup and waved his hand to magic away the empty container. "A prince from one nation and a highly respected lady from another joining together to secure an alliance is not unheard of." His chest fluttered strangely at a new, forbidden thought. "A kingdom for your heart," Loki vowed to her softly, fiercely, and offered the last of the spirit to her. She accepted and tipped the cup until it was finally empty.
"I am not royalty, my hand would win you nothing."
Oh, but it would, he thought.
"And your brother is a colossal ass and I'd rather be trampled to death by a herd of goats than spend any significant time with him."
Loki laughed at that and felt warmed even in the cold air of the winter night. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so merry. Feeling emboldened he plucked the empty glass from her hand and set it aside.
"Do you dance, lady?" He offered his open palm to her.
A blush rose to her cheeks in the moonlight. Or perhaps it had already been there, warmed as they both were from the alcohol. She lifted her hand and paused over his before withdrawing it, letting her fingers touch the vambraces of her other wrist. Armor. She was a knight and they were on the brink of war. She smiled sadly at him.
"When this is all over, perhaps."
Loki folded his empty hands behind his back and dipped his head in understanding, ignoring the strange stinging, squeezing sensation in his chest. It was silly to think that what they shared on this balcony, wine-soaked and secretive, could survive in the bright light of day, under the judgemental gaze of their people. Usually, he would have lashed out, wanting to hurt those who wounded him, but he felt an elation tonight that could not be fully dampened with her rejection.
"Then when we celebrate peace and unity, you'll save the first dance for me. Would you promise that?"
"I swear it," she agreed and took his hand to shake and seal their pact. She did not let go for the rest of the night.
Five winters more were marked thus, with a shared drink on that balcony. Each Yule he asked her for a dance, and each time she declined. Each winter he lost his heart to her in secret, looking forward to days of peace.
Those hopeful days were over. All that was left now was the war, the suffering.
Loki charged forward onto the battlefield, urging his horse faster across the soaked grass. He expertly moved his steed through the chaos, slashing his sword down and cutting through Asgardian flesh. He threw a burst of seidr at an approaching foe but his mind kept on target, following his strategic plan: move the battle to the west, push the enemy soldiers towards the base of the mountain. There they would be trapped, cut off from retreat. Victory awaited him.
"Destiny," he muttered to himself. But first, he had to survive the carnage. With despair he looked out across the field scattered with fallen bodies. The sound of the fighting was slightly muffled by the pouring rain. He was more than aware of the prowess of the Asgardian forces and knew that the outcome of this particular battle hinged on his leadership.
With frustration he leaned and swung his sword down again. Loki knew that his aptitude for the long blade was average on a good day, and the sword felt slippery and unsteady in the rain. He wanted the secure grip and weight of his daggers, needed to be closer to his targets for a more accurate and efficient aim. The prince dismounted from his horse, gritting his teeth as he landed in the mud and reached to retrieve his most trusted knife that was secured at his side.
The pain at the back of his head was immediate and all consuming. He had just a moment to wonder if his skull had split while his eyes rolled up to the raining sky before he collapsed forward and all became darkness. Loki Laufeyson was destined to die facedown in the mud.
Loki was vaguely aware of murmuring, distant voices as his consciousness slowly seeped back.
So he was alive. The pain, coming from someone dabbing and pulling at the back of his head, made him reconsider whether that was truly a relief. He fought against the temptation to fall back into the darkness and opened his eyes with great effort. Canvas stretched above him, the ceiling of a tent. He shifted his eyes and was surprised to see the Lady Sif bent over him, tending to his wounds. He grunted out in pain.
"Hello, Loki," she answered, eyes briefly flicking to his own and the words were like water pulling in against the shore: a certain, graceful swell, but frigid. "I'm sorry we meet again under these circumstances."
"You saved me," he panted. It was both a statement of disbelief and a question.
She nodded slightly, but did otherwise not respond, continuing to clear the muck from his wound, fingers running through his hair and against his scalp. He felt dizzy and attempted to steady his breathing, to make sense of the situation.
"You realize we're at war, yes? I have orders to kill you on-sight on the battlefield."
"Does this look like a battlefield to you?" she gestured around the tent.
"Why?" he pressed. "Why are you helping me?"
Sif paused in her ministrations, dipping her soiled hands into a nearby basin and wiping them clean before turning her gaze back to him, a fire burned there that he was sure would have knocked him over if he hadn't already been laying prone. "Because I don't want this war to be bloodier than it already is."
Loki's stomach flipped. War had been declared six months ago, and he had personally witnessed multiple, particularly bloody skirmishes between the two kingdoms. Death in the name of the crown. How could she not hate him, blame him? He understood, and yet felt an inexplicable disappointment. He attempted to nod stoically.
He wondered what it was costing her not to slay him as he lay here. For a moment he imagined a world where he could disappear, thought by all to have died on the battlefield. He could run and be free. He thought to ask it of her, but those in debt do not make demands.
"How are you feeling?" She moved to sit in a chair next to his cot. He blinked away his silly delusions and tentatively swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. The motion brought reality and dark spots to his eyes with a wave of nausea but he tentatively prodded the back of his head. He was relatively intact.
"I admit that I have felt better." He attempted to smile at her but the coldness returned to her eyes.
"Your injury," she started and then paused, her eyes flicking down for a moment. "The blow that nearly split your head open?"
"I'm aware of it, yes." He waited, wanting her to look at him again.
"It came from one of your own soldiers."
Loki blinked. That couldn't be right. Perhaps he was thoroughly concussed and has misunderstood. "No."
"Yes, as soon as you dismounted, the nearest soldier raised his club and brought it down upon your skull. I fear that if the rain had been less his grip may have been steadier and y-"
"No," he said again, feeling his heartbeat increase. "You're lying." Why would he need to fear his own subjects, his leigemen? His brain steered him away from that line of questioning. "How?" he challenged her. "How would you even know-"
"I was watching you," she said simply. She fixed her gaze on him again and his heart thumped in response. He saw the truth of it in her eyes. Knew the truth of it in his heart. Helblindi.
He stood quickly. His own brother, jealous and calculating, yes. But murderous? Loki felt dizzy with confusion and betrayal.
"Loki," Sif rose and positioned herself before him, grasping his upper arms in her hands, steadying his swaying body. "We are going to finish our ancestors' wars."
"A war your king declared," he countered. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay forever in her hands.
"He did. But Thor is not unreasonable. He does not want such loss." She slid her hands down his arms, taking his hands into her own firm grip. He felt breathless. "I have sent a message to my king and to yours," Sif squeezed his hands gently, "when Laufey hears of what happened, I am certain things will change."
A sudden anger rose up inside him at her words. Thinking of his family, of his father, learning of an attempted fratricide from the enemy's messenger, the shame of being so unloved and unwanted. Her true reason for saving his life became quite clear.
"So I am just a pawn to you?" he spat out, wrenching his hand from hers. "Your captive? A bargaining piece, nothing more than a means to an end?"
"No, Loki," she didn't flinch under his rage. "You are more than that. So much more."
"You make a fool of me! You would strip me of my honor? Have me beg my father to take pity on me?"
"What is more heroic than peace?" she exclaimed in return. "I take nothing from you. Laufey was told only that you were alive and would be returned. Your honor, your path is still in your hands."
He felt suddenly tired. The weight of the day, of the past six months of war, felt heavy on his shoulders.
"Come," Sif moved around him and stepped out of the tent, holding the flap for him to follow.
They watched as, beyond the hills where the Jotun encampment lay, smoke unfurled in the sky. As the sun set, the rain had turned to snow, the white of the field stained red with blood and gore. In the last of the daylight, he saw the many bodies that had given up their lives, on behalf of a throne. In all this war, he'd forgotten how many men might die for what he'd gladly renounce. He did not want a throne. He hardly knew if he wanted to return to Jotunheim. All of this loss for what? Land? Wealth?
"You can't just build a kingdom on the ruin of another," he breathed.
"Make peace with me," Sif stepped into his space again and took the front of his shirt into her hands, his armor discarded somewhere inside, "with Asgard. Let our nations live without fear. Let our people be free. We can both survive."
Her words crashed over him, warm and alluring as a fire on a cold winter's night. Her brown eyes, so large and wanting, nearly cracked his heart. But he shook his head, trying to keep the anguish from his voice. "I cannot. I don't have that sort of power."
"You do," she insisted and leaned in to him. "Your father will listen to you. You can make him understand."
He could not speak around the lump in his throat, the turmoil in his gut. Sif paused but a moment before continuing.
"What happens next is up to you. We can meet again tomorrow on the battlefield, and next time I promise you I will not still my blade at the sight of your pretty face." She raised one hand and placed it against his cheek, wiping away the tear that had slipped free. "Or you can consider a truce. We could reconcile, an arrangement could be made."
The last words were whispered against his lips and he had only a moment to sigh at how deeply he desired such amnesty before she kissed him. Though his surprise was surely evident in the first moment, she did not pull away and he recovered quickly, moving his lips against hers. It was a slow burn, one he felt spreading warmth from his lips to his chest. He had to resist chasing her mouth when she finally pulled away.
"Why?" he asked, stupidly.
"We may die tomorrow," her eyes flicked from his eyes back down to his mouth, "and I wouldn't want to leave this earth without knowing what that felt like."
"I dreamt of you," he confessed and brought his hands to rest on her hips.
"You were unconscious for less than an hour," her eyebrows pulled together, confused.
"No," he shook his head softly. "After the Yule feast. That first night on the balcony. I dream of you. I think you."
Stay, she had said that night.
"Stay," she said now. Whether she meant with her or in Asgard he didn't know. "Don't run from this, from all that you were meant to be."
His chest swelled with a million different emotions and wishes but when she whispered his name, one fist over his heart and the other hand curving around his neck, he gave in and kissed her. He had never experienced a desire so powerful; a need to live up to her words, to lay himself at her feet. She made a needy noise into his mouth before she deepened the kiss and all that he could think of was her.
They stumbled through the snow into the tent, both unwilling to break the kiss nor untangle their bodies, hands clutching tight. He felt like he was falling into a black abyss and she was anchoring him, the ledge he hung from. When the back of his knees hit the edge of something hard, Sif pushed him down onto the cot. He sat hard, his head snapping back against the wall of the tent. He hissed out in pain, his wound throbbing in protest.
"Do you want me to stop?" she asked as she crawled into his lap, straddling his hips.
"No," answered against her collar bone. His hands wrapped around her hips and pulled her closer and down. She sighed when his mouth worked at the spot where her jaw met her throat and ran her hands down his chest, across his shoulders and back, carefully into his hair. He groaned quietly when she angled his chin up and took his mouth again in a kiss. She meant to devour him and he was certain he would let her.
More, his blood sang in his veins, demanded. His fingers found the end of her tunic and he slid his hands underneath. With her own armor and sword hung on a nearby stand, he could move unimpeded, his palms running the curve of her hip and higher still. When he caressed her breast, taking the weight of them in his hand and running a thumb across her nipple she moaned and rocked against him in such a way that he breathed her name in reverence. With urgency she grappled for the bottom of his own shirt, determined to strip him of it.
"Sif?" a tentative voice called, startling them both. Sif turned and Loki looked over her shoulder at their interloper.
King Thor Odinson stood at the door of the tent. Loki stiffened, coming back to himself even if his heart was beating as wildly as Sif's breath was coming in ragged pants. For a moment he had nearly forgotten that war and treachery awaited them.
Sif, for her part, remained calm and nodded once to her king. Thor stepped back out of the tent without a word, looking quickly between Loki and Sif. She took her time untangling herself from him, standing up to straighten her clothing and hair.
She retrieved Loki's armor from atop a desk and handed it to him, fastening her own across her chest. She smiled at him, a blush still high on her cheeks. "Don't look so worried, I promise Thor doesn't bite."
He tried to return her smile but felt a weight in his gut, a churning worry over what he knew lay before him. Sif held the flap of the tent up, signaling to Thor it was safe to enter.
The Asgardian king, who had long blond hair and shoulders that were nearly too broad to enter the tent's opening, gave his commander a smile that was only half chastising. Sif simply lifted one defiant brow in response. The young royal turned then to Loki, who straightened and leveled him with an icy stare.
The Jotun prince expected admonishment or possibly even violence but instead was offered a warm smile. "I'm glad you are alright."
The weight of the king's hand came down kindly onto Loki's shoulder. He was surprised to see regret, remorse, on Thor's face. "I received the commander's message of what transpired on this day. I am sorry for what has happened."
Loki, in his surprise, simply nodded in acknowledgement.
"I was quite upset to hear reports that Lady Sif had recklessly abandoned her post to carry the unconscious body of an enemy out of the mud, and that she called back our own troops from the battlefield," Thor gave a dark look to the woman over his shoulder. Yet when he turned back to Loki he was smiling once more. "But my friend may be the wisest leader Asgard has ever known, and I am glad she brought you here."
"As am I," Loki confessed and flicked his eyes briefly over Thor's shoulder to the knight.
"Now, if what Sif's letter said is true, and I trust her word beyond all measure," the king squeezed Loki's shoulder, "then your safety is at risk and your life may be in danger."
"I believe her account as well," Loki said.
"I don't mean to overstep," Thor paused for a moment before continuing on. "I want it to be known that you are welcome on Asgard. Our palace would be honored to have a sorcerer as gifted as you amongst our council. For however long is needed."
The prince nodded once, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He was touched, truly, by the gesture. Loki, who had killed his own mother in childbirth - something he suspected neither his brother nor his father had forgiven him for, wondered momentarily what it would be like to live in the palace with Asgard's Queen Mother. He'd met Queen Frigga only briefly and in formal situations, but she had always been exceedingly kind to him, no matter the animosity between the two crowns, speaking frequently of their shared gifts of magic.
"I thank you," Loki found his voice. "Truly. Both of you. Your generosity has been enormous and while I know that I owe Asgard a debt, I do not wish to make any promises at this time. Until I can speak with my father."
"Of course," Thor nodded his head and moved towards the exit, one hand readjusting the heavy war hammer that was slung in his belt. "Let us go now."
The three of them rode out to the middle of the field, glowing bright in the reflected moonlight on the fallen snow. Loki sat on the back of Sif's horse, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist. Neither spoke but he felt comfort in her presence.
King Laufey stood with fur draped across his shoulder in the soft snow, his first-born son a towering presence at his side. The shock and then seething that flashed across Helblindi's face, seeing Loki alive and unbroken, told him everything he needed to know. Sif was right.
"What is this?" Laufey demanded as Loki dismounted the horse and offered his hand to help the knight from her seat. Sif squeezed his hand briefly before stepping back near King Thor.
"The Asgardian commander and King have shown me mercy and kindness," he gestured towards the pair and then turned back towards his family. "They saved me after an attempt on my life was made by one of our own soldiers," Loki took a steadying breath. "Under Helblindi's orders."
A ruckus sounded in the clearing as both his father and brother shouted out at his accusation.
"He speaks of theater and fantasy!' Helblindi roared. "He always was a liar."
"What cause do you have to claim such treason?" Laufey demanded.
"A trustworthy witness," Loki resisted the urge to glance behind him, maintaining eye contact with his father. "And what other reason would there be for a loyalist soldier to rebel against their own prince aside from royal orders?"
"What have I done," Laufey's voice was barely audible, whispered to himself. "My own sons, so poisoned with want of power." He looked weary then, suddenly aged in a way that Loki had never seen before. "What have I done?" he repeated and the true sorrow in his voice surprised Loki, and gave him a boon of hope.
"What good has come to our kingdom, to the House of Laufey, in all of this war?" Loki stepped forward, his hands spread in an imploring gesture. "Death, destruction, and betrayal. Father, think of what could come from unity and alliance." He turned then and gestured back towards where Thor and Sif stood in the softly falling snow.
"Weakness!" Helblindi laughed. "A gutless child who is full of lies and has been deluded by the boy-king and his whore." Loki felt power surge to his palms in his anger but pushed this wrath back down into his gut. He knew that he needed a delicate hand. Laufey had not taken his gaze from his youngest child, considering.
"What is more heroic than peace?" Loki echoed wise words and stepped nearer, standing tall under his brother's murderous gaze. "Let us return home and fix what is broken in our own lands."
"They retreated on the battlefield," Helblindi spat. "Now is our chance to crush Asgard and show the true power of Jotunheim."
"Please, Father," Loki reached out a tentative hand and took the king's palm into his own. Their family had never been one for affectionate touch and although it was uncomfortable at first, Loki held his grip. Laufey blinked down at where they were joined and then gazed back at Loki, as if seeing his child, truly, for the first time. "At least cease the bloodshed until Yule has passed. Give our people a respite and allow us all to think on the future."
"Father," Helblindi growled. "This is madness."
Laufey pulled his hand from Loki's and turned. A long silence stretched and Loki felt his hope shrinking with each passing moment.
"What say you?" Laufey turned to Thor. "Would you agree to such a truce? Halt all warfare until Yuletide?"
"Gladly," Thor responded and walked forward with an outstretched hand. "Nothing would bring me greater joy in this moment."
"Good," Laufey shook his rival's hand. "Then we shall plan to depart here with our men, at dawn. And we will return to your halls at the start of the winter festival, if you will have us."
"Of course," Thor dipped his head in acknowledgment.
"Come then," Laufey placed a hand on both Loki's and Helblindi's shoulders, guiding them towards the Jotun encampment.
Loki nodded his thanks to Thor and looked back at Sif. He crossed his arm over his chest, a gesture that he had once never deigned to give her and that he now hoped conveyed all of his immense respect and gratitude, and more.
She returned the salute before pulling herself up onto her horse. Loki walked with his father and a churlish Helblindi back to the camp. His heart was a strange mix of apprehension and elation, and he allowed himself one last glance backwards before they crested a hill - King Thor was riding through the snow at a brisk clip but Lady Sif was motionless atop her steed, dark hair blowing in the icy wind. In the moonlight, he thought he saw her smile.
Loki scanned the Asgardian feasting hall, raucous and jubilant in celebration. It seemed the entire nation had gathered to eat and drink and make merry, but he did not see her . Indeed, there was much to celebrate: peace had been officially declared between Asgard and Jotunheim earlier that evening, and Loki was the main author of the amnesty agreement.
Sif had been there in the room , along with Thor and the Queen Mother Frigga. Loki had given his speech, calling for "a truce among the neighboring kingdoms and a future that was founded on companionship and connection." The prince had held the gaze of the commander who had so inspired the contract and he liked to think her smile was one of approval.
After a brief negotiation, all present had watched the two kings sign the accord. A commotion had broken out with Thor calling for mead to be brought in and for the public to be informed of the happy news. With people rushing in and out of the chambers in excitement, Loki had been swept from the room to prepare for the celebratory feast.
He felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as he fitted his helm to his forehead, leaving his large wartime horns behind in favor of smaller, less cumbersome prongs that were meant to simply highlight his features instead of meaning to intimidate. It had been difficult the past few weeks, with many tense discussions with his father and brother, both alone and separately.
Although his father had been more open to discussion, it was still difficult for the old king to change his pattern of thinking after so many years, but with time and patience, Loki felt their conversations had been quite productive. There were exhausting days when the thought of pulling a concealment spell around himself and running crossed his mind, but he had stayed firm and slowly chipped away at the walls that had been built in the royal family.
No longer willing to be bullied and belittled by his brother, it had taken only one spell to pin Helblindi against a wall and remind him that, while Loki had no true desire to usurp his position in line to the throne, Helblindi would do well to count the younger prince as an ally rather than a foe. Helblindi had mostly avoided him since, which suited Loki just fine.
Loki was relieved when he was finally escorted to the feasting halls, and though he enjoyed receiving the adulation and many exhilarated thanks from the members of the court, he kept his usual routine of slipping from the meal early. He waved a hand over the tray of a passing servant and walked with purpose down the palace hall.
Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed the golden curtain aside. His heart rose when he saw Sif already there, waiting for him. She was dressed in a deep blue gown and shimmered with gold threading along its smooth folds. He noted her forearms were bare, no metal armor apparent to his eye. And he did look quite thoroughly, taking in the deep plunge of the neckline.
"You look utterly resplendent, commander," he bowed deeply in greeting.
"And I have never seen you look quite so well, prince," she curtsied, a move that he would never expect from her but that she executed with graceful certainty.
Loki preened just a little at her words and stood secure in his power. He was certain that he most certainly did look better than he had in a long time, without conflict and hostility haunting his every step. Always meticulous, he had taken extra care with the ceremonial braids and smartly placed metal cuffs that adorned his hair.
Spinning his wrist, he plucked the cup of wine from the air and offered it to her. "I thought the Lady might enjoy a drink."
"You are quite perceptive," she smirked and accepted it from his hand. "But first a toast to peace."
He watched the long line of her neck work, swallowing down the sweet wine. His skin felt alight, and he gladly welcomed the cup back to his hand then tipped it and drained it of its contents. He tossed the empty chalice without ceremony from the ledge. He could wait no longer.
"Will you dance with me?" he asked and raised his open palm between them.
"I will," she smiled wolfishly. "A promise was made and I intend to keep my word."
She placed her hand in his and he pulled her to him, her long body curving against his. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her securely. Looking up through dark lashes, the fire that lit her eyes at his gesture suddenly made him reconsider if perhaps he was quite ready to leave the seclusion of their balcony just yet.
"And after we dance," she brought the hand that wasn't still held in his up and over his shoulder. "You'll stay?"
Thinking back to the details of the contract that was signed that afternoon, he smiled. Loki would stay on Asgard until the next Yuletide, as a show of peace and unity. An ambassador from Jotunheim, he would spend his days learning from the Asgardians and sharing his own gifts and culture. Queen Frigga had already scheduled a private lesson with him for the next evening.
"I'll stay," he confirmed. "I owe you so much," he started, but she cut him off.
"Your debts have been paid," Sif shifted slightly in his embrace, moving to wrap both her arms around him. "It is you who is owed amends from Asgard."
"I want nothing from your people."
She swayed in his arms, tilting her head up to look at him through her lashes. "But from me?"
"From you, I desire much," he let the timbre of his voice vibrate between them and felt her shiver slightly against his chest.
"And I am honor-bound to repay my debts. Where should we begin, prince?" She leaned in until the words were whispered against his lips
A kingdom for your heart, he thought once more.
"A kiss," he said.
She did not hesitate, loyal to her word. He meant for it to be short, just a teasing brush and a promise for more to come, but when their lips met she practically melted into him and he was powerless to his desire. Her kisses made him feel dizzy with want and happiness. She tasted of spiced wine and freedom, and her lips were both soft and demanding against his. He was barely aware of it but they had slowly shifted until Sif's back was against the wall, just next to where he'd blown a crater into stone. He crowded her, sliding his hands along her form and felt on fire when she moaned softly into his mouth. It had been so many long years and he wanted so much.
But finally she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back slightly so they could properly look into each other's eyes.
"And next?" she asked, her voice husky. "What repayment may I offer?"
Loki simply raised his hand in response.
"The lord asks too much," she teased and took his hand.
"Oh, darling," he grinned, "I have only just begun."
"I look forward to fulfilling the list," she smiled up at him. "But first, I believe we have delayed this long enough. I've waited seven years for this opportunity."
Taking her hand, he looped it into the crook of his arm and spun his other wrist to make the curtain spring aside. They walked together, arm in arm, leaving the safety of their covered spot, ready to face the future together. United in peace.