Written for Sifki Week 2019 Day 4: Powerless

The rugged, snow capped mountain tops are all Sif can see. She stands in front of the arched balcony through which the strains of sunset give the small room, tucked high in some forgotten spire of the palace, a warm golden glow. When the sun falls behind the peaks and tomorrow comes, her life will change forever.

She hears a small tap on the door behind, but doesn't need to give permission for the man on the other side to enter the room. Loki steps inside, shuts the door behind him, and comes to stand on the opposite side of the balcony, a healthy distance between them. The slight breeze picks up a strand of the prince's hair, making it fall against his forehead.

"You look well," she says. And means it. The wedding preparations have obviously included lavish treatment, he appears to have been scrubbed, and buffed, shined to an impossible degree. But he doesn't smile at her compliment, his gaze pensive as he surveys the Asgardian forests. "I wasn't sure you'd come, Loki."

A beat passes, then two.

"I wasn't sure you wanted me to," he picks at his palm, still gazing out into the evening.

It's true that she had been more distant recently. Since the announcement, really. When Odin had made the declaration that his son was engaged to a lady from Vanir, from a highly respectable and powerful family, she had made excuses not to see the betrothed prince.

She had declined as many duties as she could to avoid seeing or interacting with the royal family, but the world was rather small for a someone sworn to protect and obey the crown. She had done her best to hide the pain, the aching she felt inside. Why shouldn't she be happy for her friend?

That was the price of keeping it all a secret, she supposed. Meeting in secret and shadows over the years had been natural, easy even. They didn't have to explain or answer to any one, no one could tell them they were being foolish. Dangerous. And it was a thrill to find places around the palace that they could make their own. Convincing themselves that there were no feelings, no emotions, just bodies moving in the dark. Until she couldn't deny it any longer.

No one knew of their affair. No one knew of her heart.

She had requested this meeting, in this room that echoed with so many memories together, on the eve of his wedding.

"What would you have me do?" his voice is soft and there's a pain to it that she cannot bear.

"You don't have to do anything," she shakes her head. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, but I do," he turns towards her then, his eyes flashing and his voice suddenly angry. "That's what second sons are for. Pawns for gaining power and allegiance with their titles and ties."

"You could break it off," she steps closer to him, pleading in her voice. "Tell them that there is some reason for you to find her objectionable."

Sif knows that she's grasping at straws, desperate and irrational. The Vanir lady is pretty. She's nice. That has just made the whole ordeal worse. Sif had watched her, when she first arrived at court, she'd seen the way the lady looked at Loki with stars in her eyes. It ate her up.

Loki laughs at her suggestion, sharp and short.

"And marry you?" It stings. Not because of the insinuation that she is not good enough, her value to the Asgardian court not sufficient enough. But because of his rueful, knowing smile. "The warrior Sif, made a wife? Expected to be nothing more than a house cat to the second heir, responsible for nothing more than babies and pretty dresses?"

He shakes his head slowly, rejecting her idea. She drops her gaze from him then, unable to look at the horrible truth of it head on.

Another moment passes, and Sif tries to steady her breathing, unable to raise her gaze back to her lover. The sun is beginning to dip behind the mountains, cooling the temperature as the warmth of summer days retreats, signaling that their time together runs short. Loki steps closer, the distance between them dwindled.

"We could run away together," Loki's voice is slightly breathless.

She snorts a humorless laugh, still regarding her boots. "Be serious."

"I am." This time it is he who sounds hysterical. He takes her chin and tilts her head up, making her look into his pleading eyes. He looks so beautiful, so sad. It feels like her heart shatters. His words are rushed. "I know passageways that can't be tracked. We could leave right now. Come with me."

"I can't," she whispers. "Asgard -"

"Asgard is the reason this is happening," he says through clenched teeth. When she shakes her head, slowly, softly the fight goes out of him.

Sif feels suddenly, overwhelmingly powerless. Loki lets his long hands cradle her face, offers her a sorrowful smile. Closing his eyes, he presses his forehead against hers. She lets her hands grasp at his shirt, his collar, trying to find anchorage in her swelling sea of emotion.

"I love you," she whispers, unable to stop herself. He pulls his head from hers, but keeps her face between his palms. His eyes are bright with pain, confusion.

"Sif, I-"

"Don't." She cannot take it, thinks that it will break her if he rejects her again. "Don't, please. Just, let me say it. I love you."

He pulls her to him then, his lips on hers first soft and tender, then growing more desperate. Her back hits the cold, golden wall. Tears slide down into her mouth, salting their kiss. She wraps her arms around him tight as the sun dips beyond sight and the first star marks the coming night.

When she reaches the door, the morning sun beginning to light the room, a voice comes from behind her, whispered at the balcony's edge.

"I love you too."

She does not look back.