Collection of One-Shots

》spoils of war

"Ha! They send me a woman! How quaint." Thor bellowed, his voice reaching pass the thin canvas material of the small tent that served as the Asgardian militant headquarters on the battle front, positioned on the thick forests of the warring realm. Asgard was at war with Alfheim, regarded as a peaceful race, but when brought into the brutality of battle they exercised deadly precision and tactility with the long bow and sword, gracefully moving over the battlefield with a strength and agility was not easily matched by the brutes of muscle and brawn.

Arielle stood inside the tent, standing proudly as the commanding general of her army, and her people, her pointed ears burned with resentment for the ignorance and arrogance of the rival before her. With a skill and quickness matched by no other (perhaps Loki, the younger and more logical of the two Asgardian princes, but definitely not Thor) she withdrew an intricately engraved dagger and held it to the blonde's neck, pressing so he knocked into the large wooden stake at the tent's center. His blue eyes expressed the surprise and bewilderment caused by the creature that threatened him with such a puny excuse for a weapon. From the closeness Thor confirmed that the tales were indeed true of Elven beauty, and he found himself enchanted that such a delicate and pure frame and face could hold that much power and strength.

"Is that meant to insult me?" Arielle growled, pressing the dagger just so the edge of blade pressed against the skin, Thor then became painfully aware of just how sharp it was, and she held it at the large vein that bulged from his neck whenever his bearded jaw was hinged tightly, teeth gritting in frustration.

"Have you come to surrender Arielle? To negotiate the terms of treatise? Your bows may be accurate but they will fall against the blades of the Asgardian army." Thor haughtily proclaimed, summoning Mjölnir and knocking Arielle's dagger from his throat with an egotistical smirk that exuded from his royal upbringing.

"Is that so princeling? I daresay you should not underestimate my people." Arielle remained poised as she removed the quiver of arrows from her back, seemingly to appear to set them aside; but in a quick second she had readied her bow and held the string taunt, aiming at the exposed skin in the dip of the cotton tunic that fell loosely from broad shoulders. "Nor should you underestimate me."

Thor cautiously stepped forward, a fine queen, by the nines she would make a fine queen; extending his hand to move her aim from his chest, slowly she lowered the bow and slackened her grip on the wooden shaft; Arielle flinched ever so slightly when his hand brushed against hers, but she complied and continued watching every move, even as he lowered his own weapon. "Now come, let us discuss what the purpose of this meeting was called for." Thor amended, motioning towards the table that help the maps of the land.

"The Alfheimr refuse to surrender to your oppressive rule, we will either win or we will we die; those are the terms we have set." She stated, the even tone of voice Thor thought to be reminiscent of his brothers, each word carefully enunciated to reinforce the point behind her message. The words though, became lost as Thor looked into the crystal blue eyes that stared at him so harshly. Had an Asgardian maiden been in this close proximity to him he would have already lead her to bed; but the Elves were much more noble and self-respecting when it came to desires, their women were not some common wench to be discarded after a the deed was done.

"And if I were to propose another way of securing your peoples absolute autonomy?" He would have her, by the Nines would he have her writhing against him and beneath him.

"I suspect that the King will not take kindly to reconsideration when his terms have been laid out for some time now." Arielle stated rather bluntly, holding her ground steadfast in the presence of a man that could fairly easily snap her like a twig if he so pleased to do so. But there was something hidden in his eyes, below the exterior of the warrior he had to be on the battlefield, it was concealed within the carnal and authoritative nature of his build, and what was there scared Arielle more so than the the thought of having her head bashed in the most morose and grotesque manner he could muster to do with the large hammer he wielded so proudly. It was lust.