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bookishwenchStay
The palest light was beginning to spread across the eastern sky. Sif saw it and sighed in regret. It was past time for her to leave. She felt Loki’s arm press around her closer, drawing her back against his chest, his nose beginning to nuzzle her ear.
“Stay.”
The whisper wasn’t a command but a wish. She shuddered, not so much from the morning chill as from the desire to remain, to allow herself to lie beside him, throwing aside the fear of being found. She felt his lips on her neck, soft and sensual as if he were biting into a peach, the slightest pressure of teeth on her skin. His hand rested almost innocently on her stomach, his fingers making drowsy circles.
“You know I can’t.”
He pressed her more firmly against him, unwilling to let her go. She rolled towards him so that she could see his face, meeting his mouth with her own. She had no desire to go from his bed, not now, not ever, but she knew they had no choice. Trying to shut out the rest of the world, she poured her longing into the kiss, and she felt it returned in the languorous movement of his lips on hers, deliberately unhurried, a silent rebellion against duty.
She pulled back a hand’s breadth, and his eyes slowly opened. She was almost never sure what Loki was thinking when he looked at her, but this morning his thoughts were as plain as if they were written in his eyes. His gaze was pleading, sadness clear in the green depths.
“Please,” he said softly, his hands playing in her hair. “Please stay.”
“It’s already dawning,” she said, regret in every word. “Unless your magic has progressed so far that it can roll back the sun, I have no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
“Not for us.”
“And if there were?”
She smiled sadly, a familiar pain growing around her heart before she replied, “But there isn’t. We both know what our fates are meant to be. Your father will arrange a bride for you for the sake of diplomacy. As for me—”
“You are fated for my brother,” Loki said, a frown marring his face for a moment before he ran his fingertips lightly over her side. “But that day is not yet today. I would hold you longer so that I may assure myself you are truly here, alive and well.”
She had been gone for weeks on an espionage mission on foreign soil. No contact had been possible, and when the enemy had at last suspected her real purpose, she had been forced to fight her way out of a fortress, taking injuries to her leg and back. Unable to contact Heimdall, she had hidden in the depths of a swamp, her injuries festering, until at last the Warriors Three had arrived, bringing her home. The healers had taken time to mend her, but she was finally well again.
For the last week, each night, she had come to him, leaving for her own rooms in the palace before the servants awoke to still their tongues. This was the latest she had ever dared to stay, and the sun was rising higher, the sky lightening.
“I am indeed well,” she said. “You need not worry.”
“You are the only being in this world or any other that has ever caused me to pray,” he said, drawing her closer again. “And you are spared. I know I should be content.”
She felt his lips on her forehead.
“But you are not,” she said with a small smile.
“No,” he admitted. “I would have you stay.”
A weight settled in her heart, and she took his hands in her own, kissing his fingertips with tenderness.
“Our love causes you pain,” she said, “and I hate that I am the cause of it.”
“I would endure any pain to be with you,” he said, “but I must be with you.”
“You want what is impossible.”
“No,” he said, shutting his eyes, and she felt his breath ghost over her lips before he looked at her again. “I believe it is possible, if you agree.”
“But our duty is—”
“To hell with duty!” he said angrily, holding her hands more tightly. “I will not have a treaty of mutual protection be the sheets of my marriage bed! I will not be so foresworn. Nor will I see my love forced into an alliance with my own blood. If they want their pacts of government and ancient tradition, let them do so without trading us both body and soul to those we do not love.”
“There is another way,” she said slowly, her voice tinged in regret.
“No,” he said, his voice softening as he brushed her hair from her face and behind her ear. “I admit, I thought of keeping you as my lover, married or not, but that is not the path I choose to tread, nor one I would tempt you down. I may be called a liar, but I will not lie in this. I will walk openly with you in daylight without breaking vows.”
She smiled but shook her head, climbing reluctantly from the bed and gathering her clothes. He watched her, sitting up against the headboard, mostly lost in thought. She knew that, more often than not, that could lead to trouble, but usually only the most enjoyable kind. Dressed, she took a brush from his nightstand and began to run it through her hair, but his hand stopped her.
“Allow me?” he asked.
She smiled knowingly.
“I’ll never get out of here if you start,” she said, but handed it to him regardless, turning her back to him.
The soft zing of the brush through her hair encouraged her to relax, her shoulders dropping and releasing the tension she carried when she thought of the future. Every gentle pull was delicious, and she found her toes curling with contentment.
“You missed your calling,” she said, smiling lazily. “Instead of a prince, you would have been a wonderful lady’s maid.”
“As a lady’s maid may wed whomever they choose, I might prefer it.”
Playing with her hair was one of his more innocent favorite pastimes when they were together. He had a tendency to randomly start braiding it or running his fingers through it when he was thinking, often not even aware of what he was doing until she would point it out to him.
“One of these days I might cut my hair short to see if it’s me or it you love,” she said, laughing at him.
“A tragedy easily avoided. I do love your hair, but I love you more,” he said, putting the brush back on the nightstand. “I believe I have a solution to our problem.”
“And that is?”
“Neither of us could be forced to marry against our will if we are already married to one another,” he said.
She turned to face him again, looking him fully in the eye.
“Are you proposing?”
“Would you accept?”
“Would you be willing to accept that your family would be furious at you, possibly disowning you into the bargain?”
“Father and Thor, yes, but Mother would probably be on our side. Her special purview is marriages, after all,” Loki said.
“But this is a pointless conversation. The Allfather must bless all marriages,” Sif said. “Without his consent, we have nothing.”
“I thought that as well until yesterday,” he said. “I’ve been searching through the legalities, and while it is traditional for Odin to give his permission for a union to occur, it is not written anywhere that it’s a requirement. According to the oldest laws, all that needs to happen is an exchange of vows and rings within Asgardian territory before a witness.”
Sif felt as though the world were tipping sideways. The impossible was suddenly possible.
“You’re sure?” she said, her voice cracking on the words. “We don’t need anyone else’s permission to marry for it to be valid?”
“I’m sure,” he said.
He looked worried, but he took her hand in his.
“I admit I’ve been afraid to ask you. I wanted one last night with you, in case your feelings are not the same and you make a different choice. But the thought of Father ordering your marriage is too horrible, and I think he means to do so very soon, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. If we marry before then, at least we can’t be accused of treason for refusing to obey him.”
Dizziness swept over her. She gripped his hand more tightly, trying to anchor herself to him to stay steady.
“Sif, for as long as I can remember, you have always been as much a part of my heart as its own rhythm. I ask you for your hand in marriage.”
“Yes,” she said without any pause at all.
“Yes?” he repeated, looking like he dared not hope he had heard her right. “You will?”
“I will, yes, you fool,” she said, kissing him. “When?”
“Would now be acceptable?” he said, reaching into thin air and producing two gold bands.
“But what about the witness?”
“Thankfully, my love, your brother has a rather unnerving tendency to be constantly on watch. I asked him yesterday if he would be willing to act as a witness for us. While I would never consider him to be a romantic, he was entirely opposed to his sister being married against her will to someone she didn’t love, so he agreed,” he said.
She looked in the direction of the rainbow bridge, unable to see it, but she knew Heimdall could still see her. Feeling a little awkward, she waved in his general direction.
“For pity’s sake, Loki,” she hissed at him quietly, “you’re still naked. Put on some pants!”
“Oh,” he said, glancing down as though he had entirely forgotten. “Right.”
She rolled her eyes, but in a blink he was fully dressed in one of his most formal suits of clothing, looking perfect from the tip of his polished boots to his carefully arranged hair.
More startling, she looked down to find herself in the most beautiful gown she had ever seen, a confection fit for a princess that seemed made of starlight and satin, the hem tipped in emerald green. Even her feet were encased in delicate satin slippers.
“Is it to your taste?” he asked.
“It’s stunning,” she said, awe-struck. “I never imagined anything so beautiful existed.”
“I believe I am the one who is supposed to say that to you,” he said, taking a handful of wildflowers from his bedside vase and carefully threading them into her hair. “There. Perfect.”
“If we were standing in a mud pit in a downpour wearing feed sacks, it would still be perfect,” she said, taking his hand. “So we just… vow?”
He nodded, then took a breath.
“I swear, upon my life, that I take you as my wife, to love from now until the end of time,” he said, slipping one ring onto her finger and handing her the other.
She was at a complete loss, so she kept her words brief and to the point.
“I love you and take you as my husband forever,” she said, putting the ring on his finger. She looked at him uncertainly. “Is that enough?”
“It is. By all the laws of Asgard, we’re married.”
She knew there would be trouble ahead from many corners. Odin and Thor would be livid, and her own hard-won place amongst the warriors was in doubt. But looking at Loki and realizing that at last he was hers and she was his was enough.
He carried her back to the bed. She no longer cared how high the sun was in the sky or if the servants would spread gossip that was entirely true. All she cared about was the man in her arms and that she would never be taken from him. As they lay beside one another, he kissed the palm of her hand, and this time when he looked into her eyes, he smiled.
“Stay.”
She did.
