Disclaimer: Not mine, Marvel's. No money made.

A/N: Written for a prompt on Norsekink LJ which asked that Thor and Loki, as children, create chaos trying to craft some birthday present for their mother. The present does not turn out as planned, but she likes it.

For Mother's Birthday

'Sift flour, add sugar and a pinch of salt, mix well. Chop butter finely and with cold hands knead …'

The cookbook, unfortunately, did not include advice that a bowl should be placed beneath the sieve. Consequently, Thor was sieving all the flour Loki had carefully weighed and measured to the royal kitchen's floor.

Watching from Hlidskjalf, the Allfather suppressed a chuckle. So what? He paid the cleaning staff well enough. At least now he had an idea why the boys had stolen a whip from the training grounds' weapons stash, much to Tyr's ire. ('A tool unworthy as a weapon, and unfit for a child prince's hands who should not be allowed to discipline the servants yet.') The recipe probably included whipped cream.

„Ragnarök!" Loki swore. „What?" Thor appeared as startled as Odin was, still watching. Bloody Niflhel, where did the boy pick up such words?

„We should have pre-heated the oven an hour ago. What do we do now?"

„You can heat it by magic, can't you?"

The Allfather's single eye widened in apprehension. Thor's innocent confidence in magic powers was certainly endearing, but all he'd taught little Loki so far were some basic fire spells, like lighting candles. That, in a room filled with flour dust? Odin sent his ravens out to warn the children and the staff. A little too late, unfortunately.

„Wow, Loki, that was cool!" Thor enthused, extricating himself from the remains of a cupboard. Hugin hopped away indignantly, shedding some loose feathers. Munin (singed bald) was pecking for raisins in the rubble.

„Let's go over to Amora's and blow up her dollhouse like this!"

Loki, thankfully, did not appear badly injured either, despite the bout of heat in the accident. The brief flash of green Odin had seen indicated the boy had intuitively cast a forcefield to protect himself. What impressive innate magic. Now Loki was sitting on the worktop, pressing a wet towel to his forehead, groaning. „Thor, have you forgotten yet? We still need to make something for Mother."

„When I'm grown, I'll call the lightning and cause great kaboom, much greater than this!" Thor boasted even as some kitchen staff and guards rushed in, followed by one of Eir's healing apprentices.

The royal family ate with the courtiers and guard officers that evening.

The next day, the king recieved a steady stream of servants determined to alert him to his sons' activities. Gardeners complained about shovels taken away, the princes trampling through the flowerbeds, now digging a hole in a bed of newly planted pansies, primroses and corydalis.

„We had just planted them out, my lord!" lamented Ingred, the gardener in charge of the flower greenhouses. „This year arranged in the meander pattern the lady Idun suggested."

Idun? How dare the uppish dwarf interfere with Frigga's gardens? She could meander in her own apple orchard to her heart's desire for all Odin cared. „So, grow some new ones! Last I heard, that was what I employ you for. Respect your princes and stop wasting my time!"

The gardener bowed and scuttled off.

Meanwhile in the garden, the boys stood among roots and peat, eying the shallow, roughly circular pit they had dug. Both were sweaty from the exercise, and smeard with mud.

„Now let's get water."

„I think we need to waterproof it. Else the water will just seep into the earth."

„Allright, brother. If you are sure. What do we use for waterproofing?"

Loki pondered for a moment, index finger between his lips. Clearly he had not considered this task beforehand. „Perhaps we could steal some soup plates?" He suggested tentativley. „If we place them side by side, we could layer the ground with them, and ..."

Thor was not convinced. „But what of the gaps? The plates won't join everywhere." And then, he had his eureka idea: „Brother, I know what to use for waterproofing! Wax! It's what Tyr and the warriors use on their saddles and leather gear, I heard just the other day. Let's go get some candles!"

The king of Asgard went to retrieve his boys before they could instigate another incident with flammable material, no matter how determindly Loki might claim Frigga would love a scrying pond.

„Let's just give Mother a toy sword!"

„We can't gift Mother a toy sword."

„Why not, brother? Toy swords are great. Everybody wants a toy sword."

„Grownups don't use toy swords. And besides, boys play with toy swords, girls have dolls."

„Girls have cooties. What do girls have to do with Mother?"

„Mother is a girl, Thor."

„Mother? No way, no. You're kidding. She's a grown-up."

„Grown-up girl. Girls play with dolls."

„I've never seen Mother play with a doll."

„That's what I'm saying. Let's make her one!"

The boys stood before their mother, beaming with pride, having handed over the ugliest doll ever. Crafted from a wooden toy sword Thor had broken two months earlier, it was dressed in a poncho made from a pink towel and had a mop of genuine hair waxed to its supposed head.

Frigga cradled the well-meant effort in her lap. „That is very kind of you, my sons. You know I've always wished for a daughter; a little sister for yourselves. And now you gave me one. I thank you both ever so much! But who is your friend there?"

A skinny, bald child was trailing the princes.

„That?" Thor spun around. „Oh, that is Sif Sigrunjarsdottir, her mother works in the washhouse. She helped us with the hair. She's our friend now. Can she play with us?"

Frigga's heart swelled. It was the truth: She had always wished to have a girl, a little sister to her rambunctious boys. „Of course she can. Welcome to the family, Sif!"