My first ever fic-trade for the holidays, Mischief and Mistletoe 2013 for ColorfulFlowersToo.
Part 1 of 4.
The Great War had raged for nearly five centuries, enough for nearly all of Midgard to lay a frozen ruin beneath the control of the Jotun Empire.
And what had begun as a battle to save the human race quickly became a desperate fight for survival. For even though the united forces of Asgard were well equipped and gifted with all sorts of magic the Jotun army continued to push them back.
Each decade brought with it more loss, and as the Jotun slowly clinched their control of Midgard so too did their interest in conquering of the other realms.
Sif had grown from girl to woman surrounded by this smog of conflict, had watched her father leave for battle and never return. But she was only one of many.
And though mothers had lost sons and husbands the longer the war went on, the more desperate Asgard became, and soon the battlefields are littered with the bodies of mothers, sisters and daughters too.
No longer did being a warrior hinge on gender, and Sif joined their ranks as soon as she was able.
Her rise to prominence in the following years was meteoric, bolstered by her unflagging bravery and her grit to survive against often unfavorable odds.
The warrior maiden with golden hair and nerves of steel. She was a rallying point for generals and soldiers alike, and not once had the horrors of the battlefield prevented her from doing her duty.
But even she was not prepared for the viciousness with which the Jotun arrived at the borders of Asgard.
It was nearly dawn when they first attacked. An otherwise beautiful morning, their arrival was heralded by the darkening of clouds and silvery fog of conjured frost. Watching from her position on the southern watch tower, Sif spied how sharp tongues of ice froze the gently lapping water at the shore, watched as the sky began to twist and writhe like a great serpent. It was the Jotun magicians and their affinity for ice and snow that began the assault, to encroach on the vibrant warmth of Asgard's central heart.
And though she had been in blizzards before, never had its appearance chilled her as much as this one did. If they lost here, there would be nowhere to retreat to. This was their last stand, the final bastion of resistance.
She would not allow herself to waver, to even consider the possibility of defeat. She was a warrior of Asgard, and she would sooner die than allow the Jotun to pierce her beloved city with great strafes of ice.
"Lady Sif, scouts report that both Jotun princes have taken the field."
A courier, red faced and breathing hard appeared at her elbow, helm held at his side as he made his report.
"The All-Father and Prince Thor have begun leading the eastern forces to the field, but ask that you check the defenses along the outer wall before you follow. They have reason to believe there may be a strike team poised to hit the shield generators."
Frowning at the news, Sif bid the courier send her acceptance of her mission before turning to select three of her most trusted soldiers to manage the tower troops and surrounding fortifications. And only then did she gather a small contingent to address the defense of the shielding array.
Build deep beneath the city, the chamber itself had been tied to Heimdall's abilities as watchman, the shield itself of his own design. But as an attack on Asgard had become an increasing possibility the room had been made self-sufficient, a vault managed by only a select few.
Sif was a talented warrior, but she had neither the years nor the temperament to deal with matters of secrecy and shadows. The Raven Branch of Odin's guard had been charged with the defense of the vault upon its creation, so why Odin asked such a task of her was curious.
Sif had expected her appearance in that secured courtyard to be superfluous. What she found proved her very, very wrong.
Two of her warriors died within a second of stepping through the heavy stone archway, another died skewered on a glittering spike of ice not a minute later.
The Jotun had already arrived, and the corpses at their feet revealed the ill-fated end of the Raven guardians. There was no time for thought, only action.
"Take cover!"
Her bellowing order was obeyed in an instant as her people dove for cover before mounting a counter attack. And though she nerve held steady the ground beneath her feet shuddered at the force of the Jotun's second attack.
The air erupted with the cacophony of chaos.
Swords and spears rose to the ready at her order, and Sif led the charge, killing a scout on her way to liberate the courtyard of the Jotun that dared attack her home.
Magic crackled, Aesir fire against Jotun ice exploding into superheated steam that cooked anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle. Stone exploded as brute strength met iron will, and everywhere there was blood.
"Watch the flank!"
Gritting her teeth as the ground shuddered, Sif rolled from her position behind a fallen pillar to where two of her men were pinned down by a much larger Jotun brute. Easily a head taller than any Aesir and nearly twice as wide, she struck him with her shield to get his attention.
He was faster than she had anticipated, and his first blow caught her in the shoulder, pushing her back.
But she was a soldier of experience, of unrelenting focus honed on this battlefield and on every field she had taken to in the past.
Dancing away from him, weaving beneath the flail of his arms, she watched, waited.
He was fast, but she could be faster, sharper.
She dodged another blow and jabbed at the exposed arm that glanced her shield.
Fast, but not yet fast enough.
She grunted as she absorbed his counter attack, rolling with the motion to strike him again.
The blood was running from them both, but his wounds were deeper, better placed.
Fending off another blow, Sif pivoted in place to deal with another Jotun that thought to strike her from behind. It was a fatal mistake on his part, and his head was neatly separated from his body in a flourish of blood and quicksilver.
But her true adversary was not to be forgotten, and her moment of truth came not a moment later.
An opening in his side, the opportunity she had been waiting for.
Exploiting his error, Sif bore down with her sword, snarling with effort as the thrust of her sword lodged her weapon deep.
Too deep.
Forced to abandon her word, she was forced back once more as the enraged Jotun bruiser reeled in rage and pain.
Howling, the Jotun struck again and again, blows landing heavily on her shielded arm.
"Damn you!"
Arm bruised by the fierceness of the attack, Sif grimaced past the pain to counter the next hit, whipping the sharp edge of her shield forward with enough force to drive her sword further into her adversary.
Her sword shattered with the force of her attack, but the cost was an easy one to accept when the Jotun finally cried his last and slumped over, dead.
But while Sif had been victorious, her men were not all as lucky, and she scanned the battlefield to find too few left alive. She could not abandon this post, but neither would she sacrifice the lives of her men when the shield vault might provide ample protection as well as point of defense.
She would have to punch through the Jotun that remained and then attack them from behind.
There was no other choice.
"Men, to me!"
Organizing those that remained, she used her lone magic user to ignite a path from their position to where the door of the vault stood, locked tight. The spelled door would allow them to pass, but the Jotun would crash upon it, as ineffectual as rain against stone. It would hold long enough to allow them to call for reinforcements.
"Move!"
She ignored the scorch of fire, the bitter cold of the ice, to focus only on the way her blood sung in her veins. And when a pair of Jotun dared try to stop her, the glaive that she had used only rarely became the instrument of their destruction as it cut them down, silver edge glinting like a beacon through the dust.
Three more fell before they arrived at the door itself, and though she had lost another warrior in the push, the odds were a little more even than they had before.
"Get into the vault and send a message to the All-Father!"
Her words were loud but even, steady despite the chaos that surrounded them. And when the surviving members of her guard began to do as she asked, she stood her ground, repelling the attacks that grew more frantic as the Jotun watched their enemy enter the vault.
She pushed the last of her soldiers into the room amidst a deadly hailstorm of ice that sliced the exposed side of her face.
And then she was alone, facing the strength of no less than five Jotun warriors.
Tall and well-muscled, each one might have posed a considerable challenge on their own, but together it was undeniably foolhardy.
But Sif was no stranger to bad odds or death, and so she set her lips into a grim smile.
"Well, which one of you is first?"
But no sooner had the words crossed her lips when the courtyard filled with a mist so thick, so bitingly cold that her lungs and throat seized in agonized rebellion.
Wheezing, Sif reeled as the snap-freeze attacked her like a thousand slivers of glass, needling the tender tissues of her nose, her finger lips, and the exposed skin of her neck.
Eyes burning, Sif pressed her palms to them as she stumbled back, the sensations so acute she half expected her body to shatter into frozen shards of ice. And though there was a sharp noise, like a blade or howl of wind, she felt nothing, saw nothing, with her ice-blinded eyes.
And just when it seemed to overwhelm her completely, her knees striking the floor as the strength in her legs failed, the cold disappeared, vanished as quickly as it had first appeared.
Disoriented and nauseous, Sif could scarcely do more than brace herself against the door as her blood roared through her body in a glorious exaltation of life and liquid rather than ice.
It was only when her vision stabilized, cleared from that haze of fog and cold that she realized she was alone. Of the five Jotun that had remained, not one had survived that sudden startling cold. And that was a surprise of no small measure.
Her enemies had been reduced to small mounds of powdered ice, but by what she had no idea.
"Well done, Lady. That was a most impressive display."
The voice that congratulated her echoed in the vaulted space, seeming to come from every direction at once. A cultured voice, it was not one she had heard before, and her suspicion only grew as laughter filled what was now an icy tomb.
"You look at them so sadly, tell me my lady Aesir, do you pity them?"
There was a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, but when she turned to look there was nothing but a silvery sheen of fog clinging to what had once been a fountain.
"Do you? That would surprise me very much."
The voice came from directly behind her, closer to the vault door.
And this time, when she turned to look there was someone standing there.
Brown eyes met vivid emerald a split second before they dissolved into an equally startling scarlet gaze.
A Jotun, a dangerous one.
Small for his kind, Sif had the unsettling feeling that this one was more deadly than the others she had faced. Because there was something distinctly sharp in his gaze that had nothing to do with killer instinct of a soldier and everything to do with the cold calculation of a general.
"Congratulations are in order, Lady, you are the last warrior standing."
Sif watched the Jotun warily, "And what does that make you exactly?"
The smile on his lips was pleasant and completely disingenuous as he began a slow circuit of the courtyard; his eyes drinking in the destruction of the courtyard before focusing on her once more.
"An observer. No one of true consequence…yet."
He tilted his head as he considered her, "Not like you, Lady Sif. The Jotun have heard tales of you and yours."
Gesturing to her sweat-streaked brow he added, "Your hair is entirely too famous to miss."
Not knowing how to respond to that, Sif said instead, "What is it that you are observing?"
"What are you observing at this very moment?" He parroted her words back with an easy grin, "The way I talk, the shift of weight as I move. My mannerisms and how I deal with opposition. What distracts me and if I have any visible weaknesses – like a useless arm."
His eyes fell to where her arm hung at her side and Sif felt a chill settle in her gut.
"You're studying me."
It was less an accusation and more a confirmation of a truth they both recognized.
The blue lips curved into a deeper grin, as the Jotun glanced toward the door behind her, "Isn't that what you're supposed to do to your enemies?"
"Yes."
Her answer was honest, straightforward as was her character.
"A smart warrior does the same to their friends too, don't you agree?"
She didn't know where he was going with this, but nodded all the same. And this time her answer seemed to please him.
"It is nice to know we agree on some things, despite our differences."
Speaking candidly, the Jotun returned to his tour of the courtyard as he lapsed into silence once more. And this time it was Sif that spoke up to shatter the silence, stepping into his path to bar him from getting close to the vault when he ventured near.
"What is your aim here, Jotun?"
Half desperate trying to understand what was going on, Sif held kept her right palm on her spare sword, expression fierce. The look only earned her an amused chuckle, as the mysterious Jotun slowed to a halt, standing close enough that had she wanted to she could have cut him down.
"Would you believe me if I told you I was here in the name of peace?"
Her expression seemed answer enough.
"I thought not." Expression almost rueful, the Jotun sighed, "It's so easy to kill and spill blood in the name of power. But to talk, to sit down at a table of diplomacy. Oh that is hard. That is more terrible than death itself."
"Are you speaking of the Aesir or your own people?"
The look he leveled at her was tinged with no small expression of irony, "The fact that you have to ask for clarification is answer enough, don't you think?"
The comment left her stunned as the Jotun continued with his questions.
"Are you not tired of this blood sport? This game of brutality?"
"It's not a game." Haunted by his words, Sif protested when at last she could find her voice "It is a fight to protect our way of life."
"Our way of life?" He settled against the broken edge of the fountain, "Tell me, do you remember a life before this war?"
He paused, "Because I do not. I was born into this conflict."
And though she did not trust him, did not dare, she could not deny they shared the same legacy.
"Would you not want peace, if such a thing was offered?"
"At what price?" Sif challenged, "Our subservience?"
The Jotun smiled as if he had anticipated such an answer, "Still such a warrior. Why should peace cost anything? Is it not enough for both sides to want to stop fighting?"
His answer surprised her, shamed her.
"Is that what your people want? Or are you the only one?"
Scarlet eyes focused on her, really looked at her.
"It is what I want. And that is enough, will be enough."
"You cannot be sure of such a thing." Sif protested, "One person cannot stop what has continued for centuries. Not alone."
He extended a hand to her then, steady and unwavering in the face her of cynicism.
"Then help me." There was no missing the soberness of his words, the intensity of his gaze, "I can stop it now. All of it."
Sif hesitated to take that hand. To trust.
"If you can stop it, then why do you need me?"
"Prove to me the Aesir are capable to true bravery." His lips quirked into a smile, a real smile, "Take my hand in peace, Sif."
She didn't believe him.
As a pragmatic creature she knew that the actions of one person, even one Jotun as strange as this one, were limited. Even Odin, for all of his wisdom and power had been unable to force Laufey to a truce and their failed attempt at a peace had cost the All-father an eye. And when the Jotun king had been slain his two eldest sons had risen to take their father's place, united in their bloodthirsty quest for revenge.
But maybe that was the point that this Jotun was making.
Could she be brave enough to trust him?
Was it bravery or stupidity to do so?
She knew well enough that the touch of a Jotun on bare skin could result in painful frost burns, had earned her fair share during the war, but maybe that too was the point.
Was she brave enough to trust that he was different?
Could she afford to turn away any chance at peace?
Striving for that bravery she met his gaze, looked at his still offered hand and took it.
And instead of the cold she found warmth instead, his long fingers gently curving around her own as a smile slowly came upon his lips, danced in those strange scarlet eyes.
"Thank you, Lady Sif."
And then came the sharp blaring of a horn.
Racing through the air like a great winged beast, it seemed to cut the stormy skies in two, and in its wake left a glittering trail of blue. Echoing across the landscape it resonated on the ice, in the stone, a crystalline note of pure music.
A herald announcing the dawn of a new age.
And when at last the note faded from hearing Sif found herself suddenly alone.
She emerged from courtyard, bloodied but alive, arriving on the top most ramparts in time to witness the triumphant exaltation of the warriors below.
The impossible had happened.
A ceasefire had been called.
The war was over.