Author's Note: Hello, world. Alas, I do not own Thor... lo siento. I hope you enjoy this second installment. I would like to thank my first reviewers...
The-British-Lady: Awe, thank you so much. I love fluff, too. I was worried that the first chapter might be a little too raunchy for fluffy, so I'm glad you got the fluffy vibe. I hope this chapter, which is MORE fluffy in my opinion, is to your liking, too! Keep reviewing, I'd love your continued input!
Thyre: I think so, too... I've had some of these one-shots saved and checking to see if more Sifki was on was actually causing me physical pain. SO I decided to do something about it, haha. I hope you like this chapter, it's kind of unrelated to the first, but if anyone particularly wants me to do a follow up to the first chapter, I could!
Meeeee: Thanks for reviewing! Really, though. I am so glad you took time to review this, you are awesome/great/amazing/fantastic... etc. I hope you like the next chapter. Your feedback is very appreciated! :D
So I hope my lovely readers enjoy this next chapter. I'd love it if all followers and favoriters reviewed so I could personally thank you for being awesome and fantastic and everything. AND I don't know if this is how everyone rolls, but if you'd like to suggest prompts in the reviews I would be more than open to that. So you know, suggest, tell me what you want, accept my admiration.
The Lady Sif was romantically elusive- rarely allowing dances at balls and stamping through mud on dreamy walks around the grounds at twilight.
Perhaps it was that her behavior was less "elusive" and more "repulsive"
Potential suitors colored when she ate fist-fulls of their food and belched, threw down her glasses and drank too much mead.
But she certainly was gorgeous for all that trouble. And the elusivity was a factor. The general consensus among the eligible men of court was that not only was she properly a virgin, but that she hadn't even indulged in a chaste peck or allowed a man the luxury of holding her hand.
A group of young men who were not put off at all by the Goddess of War's behavior were gathered on the training grounds whispering conspiratorially.
Their friend was off for the afternoon, across the training grounds teaching a willowy girl- the daughter of some Lord or Lady- how to wield a sword.
She had demanded that her friends not intervene.
"Why is it, do you think, that such a fine woman is so afraid of a man's company?" The blond, booming young prince of Asgard queried.
His dark haired brother, apparently absorbed in some exotic spellbook, glanced up.
Fandrall was ogling the dark haired girl from afar, as conspicuously as possible.
Quiet Hogun stole quick glances across the grounds.
And Volstagg was tearing into a sandwich. As the oldest of their group was already betrothed. His sweetheart was short and plump, a clear complexion and flaxen hair- perpetually plaited in two- and one of the Palace's most promising young cooks.
Thor was drinking in the sight of the newly Christened "Lady" Sif as if she were the glory after Ragnarok.
"Perhaps the Lady Sif is displeased with her suitors, not afraid of them. When has she ever been afraid?" Loki offered.
"Ah! Loki!" Thor greeted as if suddenly noticing his arrival.
"What are your feelings on her, then?" Fandrall teased. Excepting their silent spectator the men had taken ample time to expound on their friend.
Hogun had shyly admitted his admiration of her bravery and skill on the battlefield.
Volstagg had said that her smiles were almost as warm as those of his beautiful betrothed- a concession of some sort.
Fandrall had enumerated so specifically every good aspect of her form that every man flushed when she glanced over at them and had a new appreciation for her tight armor.
Thor had pronounced her a paragon of womanhood (in less prolific words) and believed that half the kingdom should be so lucky as to desire her hand.
"Sif is..." Loki began, fishing for coherent words.
"Yes-" Thor hedged.
"A little too..."
"Too what, Loki? Spit it out," Fandrall snapped. Loki narrowed his eyes.
"Un-womanly, inexperienced... Unsure of herself..." Loki trailed off, lies always came easily.
"Loki!" Sif bellowed across the training grounds. He looked over at her. She gestured for him to come. He sighed, set down his book and began to walk over.
"Wait! Before you go." Fandrall said, pulling on Loki's boot to bring him to a halt.
"I propose a bet. If one of us can woo the Lady Sif... And have her hold our hand AND kiss us romantically on her own volition, then you, Mischief Prince, who believes her a foregone case, will pay the winner..."
"A spell of their choice!" Thor interjected, always bitter when his younger brother put fees to magical favors.
"And if after a week I win and your toil is fruitless..."
If anyone, Loki knew she might give in to Hogun, take pity on him, in a best case scenario. She would catch on to Fandrall immediately. Subtlety wasn't his art... If he even had an art. Thor would be a hardnone, too... he didn't think she would moon over his brother, at least not openly in any way.
"Then we'll go to Midgard, like you want!" Thor boomed, grinning broadly.
Loki knew immediately that instead of exhausting himself trying to keep three adolescent warriors away from Sif. He had to come up with a better plan.
In the library, which was as empty as ever, Loki walked down rows of bookshelves, pulling hand-fulls of spell books out. He levitated them in a glowing blue mass to the largest table, the one used for drafting plans of war. Then he returned for more.
War? Loki thought, quirking an eyebrow as he eyed one of the larger aisles. Well this WAS war. And some cheeky men had already taken to calling young Sif Asgard's Goddess of War. Research is research.
Loki found his Goddess balancing precariously on a rickety stool reaching for one of the heavier books of maps, already cradling An Anthology of Archery. Her parents requested she wear dresses, and had the money to have the same seamstress as Loki and Thor. Loki was amused to learn from her precarious perch that Sif concealed leggings and leather boots under her dresses.
"Sif?" Loki asked. She turned to him and the stool shifted.
Blue engulfed her, like she was suspended in shimmering gelatin. But Sif was heavier than a couple of books and the threads of magic tore like mist. Loki threw an arm around her waist and they fell back.
"I assume I shouldn't be trying that with people just yet..." Loki laughed.
Sif pulled herself up, but quickly realizes how improper straddling the prince's hips in her fine dress would look to a passerby. She offered a hand. Loki eyed it suspiciously, surely she wasn't THAT strong.
She tugged and brought the tall boy to his feet.
"Which book were you reaching for?" he asked.
"Topography maps of Midgard," Sif acquiesced.
"Why Midgard?" Loki asked, faking curiosity. He knew full well.
"Research is research," she teased.
"You heard that?" Loki asked, neck flushing.
"What? You mumbling to yourself... I may have overheard something."
Loki reached up and easily plucked the tome off its shelf.
"What are you reading? This entire mountain over here," Sif asked, incredulous.
"I'm researching."
"Ah... You're researching how to... Make love potions, woo women... fight in close quarters... make magical modifications to faces... what are you researching, exactly?"
Loki was planning to make a dis-attraction potion... Or three, but he had to get her away from all of his research. Now if he handed her a glass of mead she would rightfully suspect he had spiked it with something magical.
"I am trying to woo women."
"You don't learn any of that from books. You can't learn EVERYTHING from a book," she said sensitively, piteously.
"What should I do?" he whined, pulling his brows together and frowning. Lying, basically.
"Well, you shouldn't set out to woo all of womankind... do you... um... well... have a specific woman in mind?" she asked quietly, flicking through her book of maps.
"Of course I do, Sif, you know me well enough." Loki wouldn't become Fandrall for anything.
"And she would be... I'm not going to play guessing games with you,
Trickster."
"If I tell you, I am assured you will laugh."
"Fine. I can easily respect that. I will tutor you, then!"
"What."
"Brother! I asked for Sif to picnic with me and she informed me that you have borrowed her FOR THE ENTIRE WEEK."
"You're receiving romantic advice from her, apparently," Fandrall bitterly interjected. A tavern girl and friend of Sif the blond warrior had been flirting with had told him the melancholy news.
"I didn't ask to borrow her, she forced her services on me. Find something to get her away from me if you're so determined to win the wager."
"I will!" Both blonds chimed.
"What spell could you possibly want so badly?" Loki inquired innocently, steepling his fingers.
"Lady Sigyn," Fandrall piped immediately, thoughts straying to the willowy blonde almost as elusive as Sif.
"A luck spell for the tournament," Thor said slowly, chewing uncharacteristically on the tip of his tongue.
"I'm resigning from the bet," Hogun said simply. Loki brushed off the thought that it would take a lot of courage to admit anything like that in front of Thor and Fandrall. The latter's eyes lit up and Loki quickly distracted the pair.
"Am I to believe that The Mighty Thor can't conquer his foes without the aid of his Trickster brother?" Loki teased.
"And pray tell what I should do to make you more attractive to the young Lady? Magic you a real moustache?" Loki sneered.
"You said anything!" Thor reminded.
"Whatever, pack your bags for Midgard!" Loki sing-songed.
Midgard was Sif's idea. Fleeting moments when the two were alone she would chirp something about the Midgardians, swept up in their Industrial Revolution. This carriage- moving without a horse- this tower- that skyscraper. Loki had advertised the idea first to Thor who immediately shot it down as "boring"- the Midgardians didn't worship the spindly adolescent anymore., then to the group who thought it not worth the trouble they'd be in for tricking Heimdell.
"And what about Sif?" Loki asked, looking up from his swirling glass
of mead.
"What of her?" Thor asked.
She would be tossed to the side and expected to stay Sif, strong and brave like them all.
Loki knew their answer plain enough.
"What does this girl like?" Sif asked, running into the library behind Loki. She had changed out of her armor and was wearing a gray wool and blood burgundy satin confection. Sweat clung in beads to her forehead, fresh from swordplay tutoring, and her black hair had been hastily plaited.
"Unconventional things, I hope," Loki said.
"You mean you? Of course she'll like you, you're an Asgardian prince! The issue is in expressing your feelings best- and making sure she isn't interested in you only for your title or appearance," Sif sounded off.
"I don't think anyone would put up with me even to be the Queen of Asgard," Loki laughed, entertaining the thought that Odin would chose him as his successor.
"Every girl wants to be a princess!" Sif argued, uncouthly throwing herself into a chair and unceremoniously slumping. Loki pictured the Lady Sif crowned and siting primly in the throne room. Maybe at the side of a more mature Thor….
"You wouldn't want to be a princess."
"I take offence! Just because I'm a little... Unconventional, does not mean I wouldn't marry you. I mean... or Thor. I mean a hypothetical prince who is neither of you. Alright. Anyway. Her interests include..." Sif prompted again, blushing and averting her eyes.
Allfather, the girl was trying. And she thought she could help him, like she had this store of romantic knowledge, and it wasn't fair and it was making his friends think he's an idiot- when all bets were on her being so awkward and ignorant But maybe she just didn't publicize her conquests and so what if they were fewer? Loki was the same way.
And they were going to make her fall in love and then let her flounder for centuries when they move on to the next barmaid. And she was almost over Thor and that had taken- what? Four hundred years at least? And If he DOESN'T tell her first his Silver-tongued friends would make it sound like it was HIS stupid idea.
"THERE WAS A BET!" Loki blurted. She slowly looked up at him, full lips parting slightly.
"What? You mean... A bet about... Me? And that's why Thor wants to take me on a picnic? And Fandrall brought me flowers? And you wanted romantic advice?" Sif asked, her skin becoming red and blotchy.
Anticipating she'd turn her concealed dagger on him, Loki reached forward ad grabbed it. She jumped when his hand slipped into her boot. In a flick of his wrist the dagger- a gift from him- was back in her Chambers.
"Listen Sif," he started. But big, angry tears were pooling in her chocolate eyes.
"NO! You listen, Loki! Listen well," she started. The first tear fell, quickly succeeded. She pulled in a ragged breath.
"I am never talking to you pigs again! Find a new girl to torment!" Her hand jabbed into his overcoat, fingers curled around one of his own silver-jilted daggers, and she delved it into the mahogany table in-between Loki's knuckles.
She turned and raced out with a particularly wrenching sob.
Loki grabbed the last of her books on Midgard and wrenched his knife from the table.
Sif wore a trailing green dress that hung off of her shoulders and scooped impossibly low, both to her lower back and in a sweep across her chest.
Instead of taking her usual seat in-between Loki and Hogun and across the dining hall table from Thor, she walked into the throngs of other men and batted her eyelashes.
"You told her, didn't you?" Fandrall asked.
"Of course not, I don't know what she's up to," Loki grumbled.
He pulled himself up from the table and shoved his way through Sif's growing crowd of grubby admirers.
"Sif. I need to talk to you. It's important," Loki deadpanned.
An archer pouring her wine glared.
"I'm busy, Loki," Sif sneered.
"It was an order," Loki continued, his lips a grim line. He offered his hand, which she tentatively curled her fingers around, and he tugged- as deceptively strong- pulling her to her feet and dragging her to the center of the crowded hall.
"Thor and Fandrall are callous idiots. Hogun forfeited."
"And you aren't a callous idiot?" Sif asked, hand still in his. Sif's admirers and their collection of friends glanced over at the spectacle.
"They wanted to know if you would be wooed by them. If they succeeded in a week I'd give them a spell- free of charge," Loki said, squeezing her fingers, as if physically uncomfortable with his honesty.
"Well... and how did you factor in?"
"I said they would fail, and I was prepared to magically ensure they fail-and- if they failed after one week they would agree to our trip to Midgard," Loki concluded.
Sif grabbed at of Loki's black hair and pulled his face down to hers, crashing their lips together. Her tongue darted into his mouth and her hands migrated to his shoulders, his back, hungry and roaming, yanking him closer and taking handfulls of expensive fabric in their vice-like grasp.
Loki leaned in, a hand resting delicately on her waist and the other cradling her cheek.
"WHAT!" Fandrall snapped.
Sif broke away and wiped at her smudged lipstick. Loki's open lips were nearly blood red, he stumbled, admittedly a little dazed. Sif caught him with her hand in his.
"We're going to Midgard," she chirped.
The successful wooer's spell of choice involved his warrior friends and extremely persistent and well-made dresses. All of the ladies had agreed that Thor looked quite fetching in pink.
