1963-09-22 - Regale Me A Tale
Summary: The Harvest's End festival features wine, ale, fire, and storytelling. Or a reunion of sisters.
Related: The Crown Prince's Back
Theme Song: None
lorelei thor sif amora 


The great hall was decorated with leaves of gold, of harvest orange and flame red. Food ladened the tables to heavily that it seemed impossible for them to not groan beneath the weight. Meat stuffed with various fruits and vegetables, sat beside whole roasts of game animals. Piled high enough that guests were unable to so much as see the otherside. Mead flowed and flowed in near rivers. Sloshed from mug and tankard to pitchers to horns and goblets galore.

And Asgard's lords and ladies came out in droves. All dressed in colors for the feast, a shinning parade of marvelous gowns and armor worn from the hunt (cleaned and polished of course). Otherworldly bards sang ballads of the glorious hunt. Tales of daring and high adventure.

In the center of a table sat Amora, surrounded by the usual gaggle of fawning men as she sipped at a golden horn of mead in idle grace. Her hair was combed back with a coronet of gold that matched, lined with glittering emeralds and flame orange amber. A gown of sweeping gold, liquidus orange and deep olive hugged her curves in waves of sheer silk, and to top it all off, encasing her chest in a breastplate corset of embossed golden inlaid with amber and emeralds.

A bored look curved at her lips as she stared out at the various guests, listening with only half an ear at whatever lord chatted to her about his holdings.


There simply isn't a concept for 'fashionably late' on Asgard; not when feasts last for days. There's really no such thing as 'late' simply because the bounty is so, well, plentiful. Even the grumblings about Volstagg eating everything is only that.. grumblings and far from reality.

The Crown Prince shows at the door, dressed in finery this evening, with only hints of leather about him. He's got a light hooded cape that the length almost hits the floor, colored in a deep crimson red. Casual friends, acquaintances and those who wish to be in either of those categories at the very least greet him with deep bows. Thor returns them with a nod of his head as he moves past, grabbing a tankard of mead from a passing tray, blue eyes searching for those known to him.


It was a horribly sad day that Sif missed out on the hunt. Though that doesn't mean that she'd skip benefitting from the rewards that were laid out before her. There was a dressing of Asgards best; silver faux armor that was possibly spit shined by some lowly pleb who took his task to heart with a gentle hand. That same pleb possibly was the one who had tooled her hair, rivers of black curls that hung loosely around her shoulders and back that framed her face and fit the blue of her eyes most nice. Though, she was absent weaponry, there were still hidden niche's beneath the faux armor bodice as a preventative measure for something unsightly.

And what was more sad? She actually wore a skirt. A skirt with the finest metals, half chainmail half silk half cloth. It could have been the most horrid piece within her closet but she wears it with style. And if anyone chooses to point out that fact?

Lady Sif would mesh and meld into the red queen, and 'Off with their heads!' Figuratively.

Though wine would possibly be the choice of drink in such a state of duress, Sif goes right for the gold and grabs a tankard of the finest ale. And among stares that she possibly would or would not get, an empty wine glass was soon filled with said ale, and a lift of a glass and a tight smile given to the room in a form of her salud.


A blinding smile flitted on Amora's features at the sight of Thor, the Crown Prince's presence going remarked by just about everyone in the hall. She rose, made her excuses with a wave of her hand to the lords beside her and made her way with graceful steps and a sway of her hips. More than one glance swinging her way as she paused near Sif and arched a refined brow upwards.

"Oh, Lady Sif. How are you doing?" Her gaze raked over the lady in question as she looked down her nose at her. "And all dressed for the feast too.." She mused, "Did you go on the hunt? I have heard it told about a dozen times how the beast was brought down and didn't hear tell of your exploits…"


And look here, Thor actually recalls the names of some of the people, even! And their circumstances! How could he not; he's known them for a couple thousand years at the very least. A nod here, a smile there, and a barked laugh coupled with a grasp of wrists and 'well met' is the offering of the day as Amora approachs full forward, and he catches Sif's entrance to the side.

"Sif! Come join me!" Thor's found a spot that can hold at least 10. Should Volstagg or Fandral join them, available seating would go down to 5 for different reasons. "Fear not, friend. Soon enough you will be able to put that away and find something that suits your mood." Thor's greeting is boisterous, if nothing else.

"Amora! You are not back one week and you are causing trouble." The Prince is teasing, of course, and he takes a swallow of his mead to wash his words down. "I could not help but notice you have changed chambers."


Lorelei did not miss the hunt accidentally. Such things are, if not quite beneath her, not "her scene" exactly - at least not a typical sort of hunt. No, she had to prepare herself anyway.

Lorelei makes her entrance supplemented by a helpfully dramatic breeze. She is foreshadowed by a lightly spicy waft of perfume, distilled no doubt from the ambergris of interstellar whales and the bark of ancient trees as well as more secret ingredients yet: but it, at least, does not have any socially rude enchantments upon it.

Her red hair is decorated by a sparkling mesh of tiny luminous jewels, and her face is made with hues trending towards the yellow end of the autumnal pallette. A reddish-orange fur stole wraps round her shoulders: a deeper shade of red on the corsetted top with its embroidered clasps resting over the earthy hue of the body-conforming dress she has beneath it. Her boots have heels and are a dark brown verging towards the black. Very seasonable of her.

Lorelei does NOT go for the feast ingredients. No, she goes for the biggest piece of delicious meat on display - THOR! - who she approaches from behind, presaged by that perfume and reaching up to place one hand (her nails a bodice-matching crimson) on the prince's shoulder unbidden, but only lightly, for a moment. "Ah, my prince - has my dear sister been causing DIFFICULTIES already?"

"A/mor/a," Lorelei then says, looking straight at her sister with a smirk. "Don't tell me that our festivities have already started to pall to one so familiar with Midgard! You've only just returned, haven't you?"


The mention of her name has her eye twitching. Especially with the voice that it was attached to. That quick, blinking twitch has her squeezing her eyes shut, then opening them with a gracious smile and a turn that may or may not light the room. Of course, Amora points out her lack of exploits in the latest battle for the feast, but Sif tries her best to counter with an uncaring shrug and a continued, gentle smile. Sans twitch. "T'was busy." And clip.

Hearing Thor's greeting, that smile grows wide, her wine glass (filled with ale) soon lifted, a bit of her garb picked up in between her fingers as she attempts to march towards his person with a gentle chiding. Though, hearing that Amora has changed chambers causes her to stop, looking from one to the next with a slight frown and a shrug of her shoulders. "Do you snore, Odinson? Possibly why." Sif may or may not have been covering for Amora, but then again..

"..or were personal festivities with the bride to be a bit too boisterous for her liking?" Grin grin. And yet, Lorelei's entrance has her already turning to take a seat, irritation marring once gentle features with well manicured fingers drawing upright to wipe a bit at her brow. -TWO- of them now. With a shake of dark locks she settles for silence, and a drink. Possibly many more after that.


Whatever Sif said in response was lost to Amora turning her attention to Thor. She grinned, laughing softly as she approached the crown prince and settled down beside him. A manicured hand reaching out to press against his forearm. "I am /not/ causing more trouble." She demurred, her eyelashes fluttering as she met the Prince's gaze over her horn of mead. A toss of her hair was her response to Sif, and a roll of her shoulder that showed off the creamy flesh of her collarbone.

"I was invited to other chambers. I rather desired to sleep without the—" She broke off as Lorelei appeared behind Thor. Her lips parting in shock as she stared at the younger sibling that she had not seen in centuries.

"Lorelei," A golden brow shot upwards. "Well, no. I can't say anything here can compare.. Though spending a few weeks in Scotland with the Princes was a close one.."


"Ahhh - still recovering, then," Lorelei answers Amora with a half-sunny smile. "I'm certain in time, you'll learn the delights of those who aren't so… fragile as Midgardians, once again. I have confidence in you!"

After this Lorelei sets herself down, probably disturbingly near to the god of thunder, but instead of tending to Amora further, she turns her attention towards Sif, perhaps because Sif seems annoyed. Is it her perfume? Her RADIANT BEAUTY?

"Sif, my dear lady," Lorelei addresses the raven-haired warrior. "/I/ have not had the privilege to hear the tales of my fellows, so could you tell me of the hunt? Feel free to abbreviate - I understand my dear sister's precious time is too fine to be wasted by our palaver." Lorelei continues to deliberately not look at Amora at all while saying this.


"Well aren't you the lucky lady.." Sif comments underneath her breath. The last vestiges of the ale was sipped into oblivion, and soon the glass itself was left upon the table as an empty plate was drawn forth. There was no need to be demure nor a lady once the magical two were about. They held enough moxy for all of Asgard.

But in truth, the annoyance did not come from the two sisters. The annoyance came from keeping her own head so far in her own personal business that she actually missed out on a chance to swing her sword. And there it was, put out upon display, her face soon drawing southward as she lifts a hand to gesture for another glass of .. tankard of..

..Sif just needed a drink.

"I have no tales to regale you with this night, Lorelei." Sif murmurs quietly, finally shifting her weight to give both sisters the proper viewing they deserve. "As I've told your sister, I had business to attend to. I believe that question should be directed elsewhere."


An amused breath left Amora, a feint of laughter to hide her surprise and irritation at her sister's sudden and unexpected appearance. She swallowed a portion of mead from her drinking horn, the rings on her fingers clicking softly against the golden horn. A toss of her hair followed Lorelei's attempted barbs and she laughed. "Oh have a care /little/ sister. Our darling Princes quite vaule the Midgardians. Princess Crystal, for instance was found there.. As Thor and Loki both liked to say this past summer.. Do not underestimate them." She inclined her head, a smile plastered on her ruby lips.

Her green eyed gaze swung toward Sif and she seemed to share the lady's commitment to mead. Another sip. "Lady Sif, you spent some time on Midgard. Isn't it amusing how far the mortals have come since we last peered in there?"


"Oh boo," Lorelei says, resting an elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "Nothing at all? No thrilling sagas of business done and deals conducted to share at table? - Oh, or the fair princess Crystal! Have you made friends with her, Amora? Are you boon companions now, with this new-found… princess?"

She seemed to emphasize that word for some reason. And then Lorelei ends up rolling her eyes at the question of how far Midgard has come, letting out a well practiced petulant sigh at the topic. But no further input just yet!


Wine. Sif has wine. This seemed to put a little bit more of a damper upon her mood, but thankfully the armoas actually peak her curiousity. With a lift of the glass, it was brought just beneath her nose and quickly scented, her brows shooting up in mild surprise as she takes a testing sip.

-Someone- approves!

"I've only spent possibly a week upon this Midgard." Lady Sif confesses. "I find them odd. Repressed. And ignorantly surrounded by beings who may and possibly will seek to do them harm." Her lips purse, nose wrinkles. "Yet, I still cannot divulge on my truest thoughts of Midgard itself; however I am curious as to what holds the Odinson's eye."

Sif's jaw clenches ever so slightly, a tight smile gained with a tilt of her head. "Princess Crystal is a gem, from what I know of her in so little time."


Another, long, sip of wine follows as Amora kept the expression of faint amusement. She laughed, "The Princess Crystal sought my advice and dubbed me her official 'Advisor' to the court. I would have declined, but as it would only be a boon to our Crown Prince if she looked the part… As opposed to the poor girl falling.." She took another sip of her mead there.

"I agreed to aid her before we visited." She glanced over Lorelei, her emerald gaze sharp as she inspected her sister critically. "For some reason Midgard drew both of our Princes. Loki spent over a century there.. which was odd.. Tell me Lorelei, where ever have you been? Did you spend your days with the dwarves or some brutish would be hero swept you away?"


"Ah, so she lives up to her name," Lorelei answers Sif with a wrinkle of her lips. Then she looks back to Amora - and she positively beams.

And completely ignores Amora's questions! "An ADVISOR! Now just what sort of an advisor are you being now, Amora? Are you tutoring her in spellcraft and charms? Perhaps you're helping her to learn her manners and to speak sweetly? I trust you haven't been dragooned to serve as a nursemaid for this 'Princess,' however charming she may be."

Her lip quirks in the other direction now. "And how," she asks, "is Loki?" From the sly cast of her eyes, she may have already made an inferential guess, probably involving Crystal not being what she seems. (That or she hasn't quite parsed Crystal's role in this entire situation yet.)


The shift of her body allows a little bit of privacy for the many expressions that run through her features. Sweet little sips of her savoring the wine, her fingers gesturing so that her empty platter could be filled with the fruits of the feast, and she was listening to the two sisters banter.. however minutely catty it may be.

In fact, the lyre couldn't have held a candle to this current conversation. Sif, inwardly, was mildly amused.


Amora chose to fill the space between the last question and her response with a sip of her mead and reaching for a piece of bread to pop into her mouth. "If I chose to tutor the Princess, she would have to have some talent for magic. Which, she does not currently hold to my knowledge. If she does pass the All-father's test and the suit follows, she will be our Queen.. Lorelei." She arched a brow, and settled back to eye her sister.

"Loki is well to my knowledge. Lady Sif saw him last, she would be able to inform you more." Her gaze swung toward the warrior maiden and she inclined her head toward Sif.

"Of course, if you were here.. you'd have known. Care to enthrall us with tales of where you've spent your time, little sister?"


A cloud passes over Lorelei's expression. Sif can probably enjoy that sight.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to bore you, Amora, with these mere tales that have hardly a secret or magical trove amongst them. Just people, events, history in the making, triumphs, defeats… all those /dull/ things I imagine you were pleased to get away from."

Then Lorelei turns again from Amora to Sif. Sif probably likes that less. "Then the question, my lady, is passed to you."


Her platter was filled up almost immediately. With a lean back and a smile, a piece of meat was taken and eaten, a little joy marring her features as she watches the interchange in between two sisters. If there was a need for laughter? Sif does not fall prey to it. Though her blue eyes do shift from one to another, nearly barely containing the stoic face she puts on.

And once the question was put to her, that stoic face falters just a touch. Her brows lift and lower as she finishes chewing her piece of meat with the back of her hand gently pressing against her lip. And then she smacks them together with a slight pop, reaching out to take her glass of wine.

"Loki is fine."

No give, none what so ever! Especially since she's now sipping her wine with no hope of the glass lowering from her lips.


Amora leaned forward against the table, noting her sibling's discomfiture like a shark notes blood in the water. The Enchantress took the time to down the rest of her mead, and handed off the horn to a servant for a refill. Her pale arm outstretched for a brief moment before the horn was returned and she practically prowled after her sister in a verbal hunt that would rival the tales told by the roaring fireplace.

"Oh but please, do tell Lorelei. We're all ears. History in the making? Triumphs? It sounds fit for a skald's lips. Come, let us call some over. I'm sure they'd be more than please to hear your tales and put your glorious tales to song." She grinned a hooked smile, a flash of white teeth in a predatory fashion.

When Amora called, more than one skald came gleefully over, eyes darting with rapt fascination between the three women with a bow as Amora invited the story teller to sit with his pipes held at the ready. "Come, Lorelei. Tell us.."


Lorelei hasn't even had anything yet! But then she went straight towards the biggest meat at hand, which, unfortunately, she is realizing… has already been served. Maybe. Her lip curls down a bit more. She can't simply declare the motivation that has already blossomed in her heart in FRONT of Thor - that would kind of spoil things, especially if it got her hammered like a dwarven bandit.

"Illuminating," she answers Sif.

Then she's put on the spot. Lorelei looks at Amora as if her elder sister has simultaneously farted in the elevator and delivered an unsolicited opinion about Israel at a traditional Midgard family feast.

"Oh, well - if you really want to hear about my little trip to the dwarves - are you sure, Amora? There's not a single spell in it, though there IS a rather miraculous necklace."


Fidgets! Sif fidgets! She couldn't contain the laughter, but it came out in little giggles and snickers as she lowers the wine glass just a little so that she doesn't spill. As one skald approaches, Sif lifts her hand in a slight wave.. but nothing happens.


Came the crack of the whistle as at least three more approach the table and a few eyes were in their direction. If there was to be a tale told, Sif was not going to stop Lorelei, she was going to kick back and listen.

"I for one enjoy a grand tale." Sif manages to squeak out, unable to contain the glee in the moment, her only sign of maliciousness to date. "Isn't that right boys?"

And if there was a hearty clap and eager reply, it would be had then, by the banging of a spoon upon a cup so that all could be silenced and a hammering upon the table.


A booming voice sounds from the kitchen; while the ladies tore.. tear.. dance around sliceing each other with niceties, Thor's managed to make his apologies and then return.. ish. Though he too now has an overful plate spilling over with meat and thickly crusted bread sopping up the still red juices. Honey butter sits upon the side in dollops so as to be pulled through by what pieces of bread that aren't used as sops. "There will be more! No fear!"

A rousing cheer sounds from a few of the tables, and as children scurry and play, the servers dodge the little creatures.

Already Thor's got a hunk of meat set aside, and he slides back in, looking at the ladies. Brows rise as he glances at them all, letting his final linger on Sif in that look. Then, to all gathered again, "Tell me you tried the meat.. the cooks managed perfection on the spit."


It would be amusing, to anyone that was not Amora, how quickly the seas and tides of the sister's conversation shift. One moment Amora was prowling forward with all the confidence grace of a skilled hunter.. And the next? The tables turned just as swiftly. At the mention of a miraculous necklace Amora narrowed her gaze ever so slightly. Thor's return has Amora rising and she bows her head. "I shall have to see where little Scarlett has run off to and make sure that she gets some, my Prince. I shall seek out your Princess Crystal as well. It would be ill indeed if they were not here to enjoy the feast."

A graceful exit, if there ever was one. Considering she'd been /exiled/ for stealing a necklace out of Odin's vaults, it was a wise retreat as her sister turned the tables on her.


"Oh, my Prince - I haven't had a CHANCE to try it, ever since I sat down I've been so busy catching up with Amora," Lorelei tells the Odinson. "Might I trouble you for the merest morsel, so I shan't miss the experience…?" But there's already attention gathering, and so Lorelei raises herself up to seat herself on the table itself, so as to have the privilege of a bit of height.

She takes in a deep breath and rests a hand to her heart.

"Well," she begins. "I had been asked by the court," probably an over-exaggeration but workable for the tale, "to visit our dearest friends in Nidavellir to speak to them regarding matters for the importation of jewels - of course, these things are a little shabby at times, but everyone must do their part to make the course of the realm run smooth, don't you agree?"

At this Lorelei gives Thor a look as if they're sharing a private joke, even if Thor is not invited on this private joke.

"Now in this particular burrow of our stout yet short friends, they were faced with a problem. The veins of stone from which they pried their jewels, like a squirrel greedy for the nuts of the world-tree, were down deep in the heart of the mountain, and so too were their living quarters, but their stores and their carving benches and their loupes - THESE - these were up high, past a - what do you call it? I don't know, but there was a guarded pass so that if trolls should attack to seize their plunder, they could not take the fruits of their labor."

Lorelei breathes in. It's heroic. The corsetry threatens to rupture, but only threatens. "And yet — a problem had arisen, for oh, how tragic — a duckling from their ponds, where ducks were reared for their delectable flesh and rich yet modestly-sized eggs, had gotten into a crack in the stone. Poor thing, it could not get out. And yet now it had perished… and in its perishing came a dire ferment."

Lorelei leans her head back. "Oh— The burrow was in turmoil! None wanted to bear that reek any longer than they must - certainly not long enough to reach the higher levels. And yet there were dwarves up there, trapped! Remote from mead and meat, and doomed to perish or feed upon their own beards!"

"But I, Lorelei, bore with me the secret for their salvation. Brave Thor, can you reckon what it was?"


What?! Would be the answer that was shot in reply; the look to end all looks with a question that would go unanswered towards Thor. But she says nothing, she had riled the sisters to the point of Amora leaving by keeping lips sealed and a grin soon touches upon her face. True. Genuine. And not tired.

With a turn to partake of more meat and wine, her eyes roll as Lorelei takes to the challenge that was offered her with a grand spectacle befitting of the courts.

The skalds were riveted.
Some women were enchanted.
The few who bore disgust towads Lorelei shook their heads and rolled their eyes, trading whispers in the form of gossip and haterdom.

Sif was in there, somewhere.. amongst the throes of mixed emotions and marveling at how well the cook had handled the meat. A roasted potato was speared upon a blade and taken a bite out of, whilst she unceremoniously stuffs her face in lieu of calling bullshit at the tale. This was the new Sif. The calm.. the polite.. the not angry and forever supportive and increasingly growing fat Sif.

Sif who does not show her bottom in public by way of cursed words and ire. Nope. Sif is a happy butterfly. Happy place.. happy place.. happy place..

Though the skalds were eating it up, one even stood as if he were to proclaim himself as Lorelei's one and only; to offer her a farm in which she could raise many of their offspring and tend to the sea of chickens that he'll be gifted by his own parentage in bounty.

'I wish to know what it was!'
And the other skalds cheer in reply.


Thor is able to get a glance towards Amora in, and with a nod of acknowledgment, he offers, "Let her know there will be plenty, but I have the kitchen holding back some prepared just for her." The plate is set down upon the table, some of the meat pulled and set upon his crusty bread.

As Lorelei begins her story, blue eyes follow her moves. She is, after all, a siren's song, and even if normally there is no attraction, the view is nice. Just like her sister… but he's got a few more defenses against Amora. (Or Amora is a little less willing to let her abilities just spill forth.)

He looks to the side at his Sword Maid in time to see her spear that potato, and he leans to whisper, "We're going out again tomorrow." This time, its for the sacrifices. The temples' floors will be running red by this time tomorrow evening.

"And what is it, Lorelei? A word to make the dwarves forget their difficulties? Tell me that your perfume didn't cover the stench of the foul fowl."


"It was not my strength of arms," Lorelei says, with an affected look. "For, though I know my way round sword and axe, should need cry, a foul stench is a thing that I am told one cuts at the beginning, not at the end. - Oh, my dear fellow; not when I am in the midst of the story! I fear you count our chickens before our love could be hatched!"


"Ah - But our Prince has found the secret!" Lorelei then says, giving Thor another of those oddly smouldering looks for a moment and another of those deliberate 'we share a secret' smiles, right in front of the slalds and everyone.

"Though it was not the scent that I wore, exactly, but rather what I brought with me, to make my toilette and keep myself as beauteous as I appear before you even now. No: With me I bore that fragrance, and several of our brave short friends were able to drench a cloth in that scent. Though there is something to be said for 'too much of a good thing,' this scent guided them through their miasmic sorrows and let them extricate the poor little chick, who was, I am told, given an honorable interment with much mourning and moving poetry."

"But I could not stay for such ceremonies. In appreciation," Lorelei concludes, "I was given THIS-" And here she flips the tail of her stole, revealing a four-eyed skull with a burrowing snout tip - "A creature that dwells deep within the mountain's veins, I'm told, but I find it quite soft and flattering. Don't you think it suits me, Thor?"


Even as Thor sits next to Sif, she fidgets. Not because of the closeness of her best friend, but the fact that there was actually a Skald who clutched his heart and had tears in his eyes. Not the one who promised love and many chickens.. as the crowd doth laugh about.. but the fact that he was -so- riveted by the story that he was moved to tears!

A lean in and the whisper was heard, and a thoughtful glance was given towards Thor. "I shall try my best to attend, though do not be surprised if I find my own bounty to contend with." She grins at that, leaning in to bump shoulders with him then continues her feast. She was all fingers, sparing the knife that she occasionally used to spear potatoes and a carrot half. She was full bore into the food, even as the story plays around them both.

'Sit down you old dog!' Another shouts out, along with a roar and laughter, a few clap of the hands and smacks upon the back.

One skald picks up a turkey leg and hoists it in the air for Thor and Lorelei's honor, especially once the prize itself was revealed.

Lord knows what was going through Sif's mind at the moment, but her lips were pressed tight as she quietly chews her food, along with a shake of her head given.


Thor crunches on the bread, sopping the blood and dragging the piece through the honey butter before the next bite is taken. The mead is lifted in the other hand to wash the food down, and he nods as he takes the swallows. "I thought as much. Clever as the dwarves are, they're not known for their agreeable scents." See? He's giving that much to her!

The showing of the pelt, however, brings Thor upright and staring. "Did they really find one?" He whistles softly and nods his head appreciably. "Be careful that you keep it away from fire. There are smaller creatures that like to burrow into the leather and the heat brings them forth. If they're there, that is."

Thor glances towards Sif once more and leeeans briefly, a half-smirk upon his face, soon to be hidden by that tankard of mead once more. One more draught and he's drained his cup. It's soon smashed upon the floor and he points to a skald, "Ulf, you! Tell us of your day! Leave not the details behind!"


Lorelei practically basks in Thor's positive attention. "Oh, yes - do you like it?" she asks him, leaning forwards in a manner that would be delivering, she thinks, her cleavage to the royal eyeballs, save that Thor's attention is now bringing to mind… an unsavory detail.

Lorelei's lip curls again. "Is that so. You are wise, Thor; thank you to tell me of… such… risks…" And with this she gets off the table and drifts off, probably to find mead to wash away the knowledge that there may be some cavern horror in her wardrobe now.

Surely he jests, Lorelei thinks. But - no, no, she thinks further. Loki perhaps might lie, but Thor would exaggerate at most…


That lean causes Sif's eyes to rise, brows to lower, one arm lashing out to throw over the neck of the crowned Prince, quite possibly in the middle of the drink that he takes to bring him into a one sided hug. It's been -ages- since she's done that, she even rakes her fingers through his hair with his free hand to kid and mess around just as they had done when they were children. It was a familiar sight for all to see; the merriment of the feast. The story telling, the grand-standing, the proclimation of love, marriage, and many sheep to line the beds and warm the bellies at night.

And the kids! They laugh and play, a carrot tossed, potatoes eaten and one unruly child gets frog marched off to the cleaning stables for his chores.

It was a lively scene, and any ill will felt was soon tossed aside by the tale that Ulf had bellowed.

"OH CROWNED PRINCE!" Ulf stands up, his wide shoulders a testament of the kind of warrior that was bred. His tankard lifted, ale spilt along his fingers and foam caresses the lines of his knuckles.

"Stop your prostrating and tell the story, man!" Sif bellows out in return, much to the delight of the men and women that gather, a sea of chuckles and laughter soon following.

'Lady Sif! You honor me! But perhaps I shall honor you with my tale of bravery and heroism!' Men begin to bang upon the table as Ulf too takes a stand upon a pew that he sat upon. 'I too, came across a terrible fright! A terrible fright in the form of a maiden who bore no eye for no skald nor wooomaaan..' Laughter rings out, but Ulf continues, delighted to tell his tale.

'This woman had the hair of the sun.. eyes blue as the seas in Alfheim.. lips so soft and pure..'


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