They leaned over one of the high walls, cheering encouragement to their ravens. Loki's hair blew around his laughing face, his appearance for once forgotten in the fun of the bet.
'Come on!' he cried, in high spirits. 'Fly, Huginn! Are you a raven of Odin or not?'
Sif urged on her own champion. 'Pay no heed, Muninn! You will be the victor!'
The ravens cawed back at them, flying neck and neck towards the finish line, two black darts in the sky. They had flown to Frigga's balcony, plucked a blossom from the tree she kept outside her window, and were now hastening back to the laughing pair, flowers gripped tightly in their talons. The birds were as competitive as any other siblings, and so an excellent pair to choose for such sport.
Sif was leaning out over the balustrade, arms outstretched, reaching for the approaching raven. 'Come to me, Muninn!' she cried, smile widening at the thought of her impending victory. Loki eyed her for a moment, noting how her skirt rode up as she stood on tiptoe. With a tight smile, he stretched out his own hand towards the birds. He rippled his fingers, and watched with dark satisfaction as a third raven appeared. This one was a raven of nightmares: midnight black, its beak a deadly sickle, its claws an inch long and poised to seize Muninn mid-flight. But Loki had no time to see what happened next - he felt a blow to the back of his legs, and his knees buckled. He did not fall, leaning as he was on the balcony, but he lost concentration, and felt his illusion disappear.
He looked to Sif, who stood with her hands on her waist. 'You are lucky I am not dressed for battle, Odinson, else you may have found your legs ending a little higher than you are accustomed to.' She turned, holding out one arm, and Muninn lit on her wrist. He dropped the blossom into the hand she held out for it, and cawed in a way that could only be described as gloating. 'Besides, do you think a raven of this caliber can be fooled by such cheap tricks?'
Huginn landed on the stone ledge by Loki's arm, dropping his own flower to the ground with a look of silent derision.
'Congratulations to you both,' Loki said, regaining his poise. He gave a gracious nod. 'The better bird won.'
'When will you learn not to try and cheat me in a bet?' she asked. 'I take it as a great offense. One day I may even teach you a lesson.'
'Promises,' Loki replied, archly. Their eyes held for a moment longer, before Sif looked away.
'Do you think Odin would approve this use of his messenger birds?' she asked, trying to smooth Muninn's ruffled feathers, and narrowly avoiding his snapping beak.
'I doubt that. And I do not doubt that they will tell him at the first opportunity.'
'I'm sure there will be no need of that. We have hardly been quiet about it.' She had a point; they had attracted a few curious looks from passers by. Muninn, sick of avoiding Sif's ministrations, took off from her arm, and Huginn followed close behind him, leaving the two standing on the balcony alone. Sif watched them fly off, and Loki watched her watching.
'So,' he said eventually. 'You may claim your prize, my lady.'
She smiled at him. 'You know the price for losing.'
'Again?' he asked. His tone was dry, but his eyes shone. 'You warriors lack imagination.'
'We will see.' With that, Sif turned, and walked off towards Loki's chambers. He couldn't contain a grin of anticipation as he followed, his leather coat billowing in his wake.
He would never stoop as low as running to catch up, but with a little effort he reached her side. They walked that way in silence, at first. It was Sif who broke it.
'Are there guards in your chamber?'
'No,' was his reply. 'But there are always servants to hand should we need... assistance.' The final word was almost, almost a question. 'All I have to do is call for them.'
'How wonderful it must be, to have such power.'
'That is the least of my powers, as you may recall.'
Her face remained impassive, and Loki watched her from the corner of his eye, wondering to himself if there may be something new to happen today, after all.
They reached the door to his rooms, which was unguarded as promised. Here Sif stopped, and looked expectantly at Loki. He took his cue.
'Allow me,' he said, not missing a beat, and stepped past her to sweep open the door. He gave a mocking bow, but she walked through without a glance, or a word. He followed her inside.
Once there, she did not proceed directly to the bed, as he had hoped. She stopped, instead, by the table in the antechamber, then turned to face him. He walked slowly towards her, watching her eyes.
'Well, we are here. What reward do you claim?'
'I am thirsty,' she said. He noted that this was not a reply to his question.
'Then we must fetch you some wine.' Instead of raising his voice - and Sif knew he was more than capable of a shout that would carry half way across Asgard - he made that curious motion with his hand once more. His eyes never left hers, and within moments she heard scurrying footsteps. There was a knock at the door.
'Come,' said Loki, barely suppressing a smile.
The servant entered, carrying a tray bearing two goblets and a jug. He made his way across the room, and his hands shook as he placed the tray on the table. He looked from Loki to Sif, then back towards the door. Sif saw why: a second Loki had followed him in, and stood in the threshold now, glowering.
'That will be all,' Loki said, never looking at the man, and he rushed back out again, head lowered. The apparition stood aside to let him pass, and Loki raised a hand to dispel it. Before he did, though, he raised an eyebrow in question.
Sif shook her head. 'One of you will be sufficient.'
Loki's hand flattened out, and his double disappeared. He closed his hand into a fist, and the door slammed shut.
'I thought you needed only to call out, if you wished for a servant?' Sif asked, tilting her head a little.
'If I wish to strain my voice, I'm sure I can think of more interesting ways to do it,' he replied, her teasing making him feel more brazen. 'Besides, this way I was able to tell him just what to bring.'
'I note you did not tell him to pour, though. Am I to do that myself?'
'Never.' Loki crossed the short distance between them, brushing close to her as he leaned down to lift the jug. He filled both glasses, and handed one to her, taking a step back with his own.
'To your health,' he said, saluting her with the goblet.
'I do not remember saying that you should join me, sorcerer.' She called him by that name rarely. He savored the sound of it.
He gave a slow blink, then a courteous smile. 'My apologies, lady.' He placed the goblet back on the table.
Sif took a draught from her cup. It was fine wine, indeed. Loki must have been specific in his directions to the servant. She felt the pleasant warmth from the first sip, and followed it with another. What she had planned would require a different kind of bravery from that she usually needed.
'Take off your coat,' she said. Loki gave another semi-mocking bow, arms outstretched to each side.
'As you wish,' he replied, then straightened and shrugged the heavy folds from his shoulders. He caught them easily in his hands, and laid the garment over the table. 'Anything else?' It was meant as a challenge, and Sif fought not to rise to it. She would not rush.
She looked at him appraisingly. He still wore a short green tunic, and the leather trousers that, had she not known better, she'd have thought he was incapable of removing. It would suffice.
'No.' She took another drink, then held out the cup. 'Refill my glass.'
He said nothing in reply, but lifted the jug and followed her direction. This time, after pouring and replacing the carafe, he did not step away. His eyes sparkled. Sif could feel the heat from him. Standing near Loki was always like standing next to a furnace. He burned with mischief.
She took another drink.
'Kneel,' she said suddenly, watching his face for any sign of dissent. He only wore the same arrogant look that he wore so often. He stepped back on one foot, and sank slowly to one knee, easily balancing, arms straight by his sides. Sif watched him critically.
'I said kneel. If I wanted a proposal of marriage I would have asked.'
'And I am the wrong brother for -'
'Kneel.' Her voice was louder, over riding Loki's loose tongue. His mouth closed into a half-smile, and he sank his other knee to the stone floor, eyes never leaving hers. He sat back on his heels, widening the gap between his knees. Sif struggled not to look, and instead took another mouthful, draining her second glass. Loki missed nothing.
'But your wine is empty, lady. We must remedy that.'
'Stay where you are,' she countered, but was too slow to stop the telltale movement of his hand. A few seconds later, the same servant returned, hesitantly opening the chamber door and ushered in by another silent double. He tried to hide his surprise at the tableau before him.
'My lord?' he asked, uncertainly.
'The Lady Sif wishes her glass refilled,' Loki instructed, as though nothing were out of place.
The man walked to the table and lifted the carafe. He turned to Sif, and she wordlessly held out her cup for him to fill. She was furious at Loki's scheme. She knew he had done it only to embarrass her - and the servant, perhaps, though the feelings of his servants were not usually important enough for Loki to notice.
The man replaced the jug on the table, and left with only a glance more at the Lady Sif. The stories would be all round the kingdom within the hour. She sighed, not meaning to. Loki's mouth quirked to one side as he watched her.
'You,' he said, still watching Sif. The servant turned guiltily.
'Yes, my lord?'
'If any idle gossip should reach my ears, you'll find that there are... consequences.'
He deigned to glance in the cringing man's direction, checking to make sure his words had been understood. Sif took the opportunity to glance downwards and, yes, the leather of Loki's trousers was stretched even more taut than usual. She lifted her gaze again to find him looking at her knowingly.
'Yes, my lord,' the servant was saying, but neither of them answered. He left with haste, closing the door behind him. The image of Loki had already disappeared.
'That should see to that,' Loki said, raising an eyebrow.
'He should not have been here in the first place,' Sif countered, regaining her composure.
'Well, should is a tricky word,' he replied.
'And you would know about those, Loki Odinson.' Her tone was hard, and she sought her former anger to steady her. 'You are full of tricks.'
'As well you know, my lady.' The glittering in his eyes was hypnotic. She wanted to look away, take another sip of the wine, but she held fast.
She took a step forward, closing the space between them again. Loki did not try to angle himself away, but only looked up at her, expression radiating innocent curiosity. She was not fooled.
'But you must be thirsty,' she said, looking down. The false curiosity gave way to real.
'I do not care as much for wine as some,' he answered, still trying to hold the upper hand.
'Open your mouth.' Sif felt her resolve weakening - could she really be planning this? - but her stance held firm and her hand steady.
Loki said nothing, but obeyed her command.
'Wider.'
He obeyed.
She held the goblet up in front of her, directly over his head, and tilted it so that a splash of wine spilled over the rim and on to Loki's face. He flinched, only by a fraction, but enough to please her and anger him. His gaze had become a glare, and she saw him tense his muscles as though to stand.
'Stay,' she snapped, not intending to speak to him like a common dog, but enjoying the sound of it as it echoed in the room. His jaw clenched, but he stayed put, forcing his shoulders to drop, willing his body into maintaining the pose. He lifted a hand to his face, catching a few drops of wine as they pooled on his cheek. Slowly, he licked it off.
'Delicious,' he said. 'Thank you.'
Before he was ready, she let a stream of liquid pour from the goblet. He drew in a breath, shutting his eyes as the wine splashed onto his face and into his hair. Sif, barely able to believe how much she was enjoying this, took another drink for herself. A reward, and a bolster.
A long strand of hair was plastered against Loki's face, but he made no move to fix it. He could not hide his anger - or his growing pleasure, as he knew when he saw Sif's eyes flicker down once below his belt. Wine dripped into his eyes, making him blink suddenly. He had lost this round, he knew, but perhaps it wasn't too late to win the next.
'You must think it a cheap vintage, to be so wasteful of it.' His wry observation had no visible effect on Sif, who stood silently, looking down at him. She drew the cup back.
'Is this my forfeit, then?' he pressed. 'A drenching?'
She still didn't answer. This boldness in her was uncommon. He liked it. Oh, she was a great warrior, as brave and as daring as any other - braver, even - but it didn't often show itself off the battlefield. It was more intoxicating than the wine. Not that he'd know about that, from the scant few drops he'd managed to savour.
'No,' she answered, finally. 'You know your forfeit.'
This took him off guard. He could not grasp what she was thinking, an unsettling rarity.
'Can it be? Loki of Asgard forgets?' She spoke with exaggerated wonder, goading him.
He narrowed his eyes, thinking. She watched him with growing delight.
'Wonders never cease,' she breathed, her surprise at his forgetfulness only partly feigned. A hint of worry nagged her - if he truly did not remember, she may not get what she wanted, after all. How could he forget a night she remembered so vividly? Still, the flash of uncertainty in his eyes was something to enjoy.
Loki watched her as she drank again from her cup, his mind racing until -
It had been a celebratory feast, and they had both consumed more wine than they knew was good for them.
His eyes must have widened, because the dawning memory was interrupted by Sif's gleeful voice.
'I can see that you recall it, now. The wine must have dulled your senses even more than I thought.' She smirked, towering over him like a statue of a vengeful goddess. Yes, Loki remembered.
At the end of the night, long after all the food had been cleared away, Thor had taken two serving wenches to his chambers, one under each arm, all three laughing uproariously. Once again, Sif had been left to gaze after him - and when Loki had appeared by her side and suggested she might wish to sample just one more drink before the night was over, she had gone with him. It was an old story for them, by this time, a story neither would openly tell in the cold light of day, but one that was easy, and not without its own charm.
They had walked together, with some small amount of stumbling and muted mirth over their own drunkenness, to Loki's rooms. Loki's mischief may have been a thorn in Asgard's collective side, but on occasion it could make him good company. The first time that night had been breathless, a riot of tangled sheets and laughter and heat. They lay together afterwards, clothes abandoned, their comfort in one another's company as unlikely and as undeniable as any time that had gone before.
They had faced each other, Sif leaning on one elbow. Loki's fingers had idly traced a line from the corner of her jaw to the hollow of her throat, his touch like a whisper. She had asked him...
Loki's reminiscence was interrupted anew by one last unexpected stream of wine pattering on to his cheek. He flinched properly this time, and his anger was more difficult to contain. He hated to be caught unawares, and more than that he hated that thrill of excitement he couldn't contain, even now.
Yes, indeed. He remembered.
He raised a hand, this time not only wiping his cheek dry but taming the wayward lock of hair, sweeping and smoothing it back behind his ear.
'Perhaps some memories are too precious to hold in easy reach,' he said, striving to seem indifferent.
'Ever the silver tongue,' Sif replied. She could see through his pretense. Not for the first time, he regretted their intimacy. It let her see too much.
'Indeed,' was his only reply. He imbued the single word with layers of meaning, hoping to invoke some memories on her part, too.
'So you know what prize I claim.' She was not to be shaken and, truth be told, now that he knew what she wanted from him, he looked forward to granting it.
'Now?' he asked. 'You have no further humiliation to bestow on me?'
'I think you have served your penance.'
She finished her third cup of wine, and set the empty vessel on the table. Her hands returned to her hips, a stance that felt natural and powerful. He made a move to stand up, and she stopped him.
'No need of that. You can perform just as well from your knees.'
He was not the only one with the mastery of double meaning. He nodded.
'As you like.'
He sized her up, letting his eyes rove where they would, before raising one elegant hand to shoulder height, fingers loosely folded. Sif felt the magic begin to work on her immediately, that same thrumming sensation she remembered so well. She breathed deeply. Loki raised his fingers slowly, straightening them by increments, the rest of his body still. Sif felt her clothes tighten between her legs as her body changed. Her cheeks flushed. She watched as Loki widened the gaps between his fingers, feeling herself grow larger with the movement of his hand. She closed her eyes briefly, relishing the new addition to her familiar womanly form. It was temporary, but she would make the most of every second. This was how it felt to have it all.
Loki permitted himself one last joke. He stretched his index finger straight up, and angled his thumb outwards, pushing them as far apart as he could. Sif's breath caught in her throat as the pleasant throb between her thighs became an ache, and Loki's acute hearing made out the sound of stitches popping under her skirt. He eased back again, forcing himself not to look at his handiwork.
'Will that suffice?' he asked, coyly.
'Yes,' she said, the word coming out in more of a gasp that she would have liked. It was a sound Loki had heard before, one that sent a pleasurable shiver down his neck. He returned his hand to his side.
'And now, my lady - or perhaps we will need another title for you?' He paused as though to let her answer. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, but she did not rise to the bait. 'What is your next command?'
A look of triumph passed over her face, and her eyes gleamed.
'I have no more commands for you, Odinson.'
Loki held his silence, sensing a trap.
'That will be all.'
She turned suddenly away from him, and walked towards the door. His mouth dropped open, but just as she reached out to turn the handle he regained his voice.
'All?'
Sif looked back over her shoulder. Loki remained prone, his wet hair glistening in the low light, his face broadcasting a need he would rather die than admit. For an instant she wondered if it would not be more fun to stay, after all. But no. Nothing was more fun than besting Loki twice in one day.
'Indeed. I have claimed my prize.'
She turned back and opened the chamber door.
'You know that without me, the magic will not last?' Loki's voice had an unaccustomed edge as he called after her, a hint of pleading under the veiled threat. How she loved to hear it. She turned again, the brush of her skirt thrilling against the new shape underneath, and granted him one last look.
'I think it will last long enough.'
With that, she was gone, leaving Loki to his frustrated fury. He half-raised a hand, intending to undo his good work, but dropped it again. He would not deny Sif her pleasure - and the more he dwelled on the thought, the more it turned out to bring him some pleasure of its own.
He regained his feet in one fluid movement, and lifted his untouched cup from the table. The wine tasted more bitter than he remembered. He took it with him into the bed chamber.