Ch. 3

Fandral "The Dashing"

Fandral woke up on the first day of April to an uncharacteristically empty bed. He blearily opened his eyes with only a vague memory of being at a tavern the night before and engaging in a rather foolhardy drinking contest with some of the off-duty palace guards. The fuzzy state of his head as well as the wretchedness of his stomach attested to the fact that he was most likely not the victor of the match.

Waking up to an empty bed was not a new experience for Fandral, however, it was a rare one. He prided himself on being able to woo even the most unlikely of ladies into his arms and his legacy of seduction was well-known.

In fact, the only recent blemish on his near perfect record of conquest was Loki's new bride, Darcy. When he came down to Midgard to help free Thor from his banishment, he had the opportunity to meet the enchanting woman, although their time together had been unforgivably short and amounted to little more than a few brief kisses. He had admittedly allowed himself to become more than a little transfixed by her, although, in honesty, perhaps more because she represented the proverbial "one that got away".

When Thor returned to Midgard to retrieve his brother, Fandral had to admit that he pestered him more than once for news about the fair Darcy. But, since Thor didn't even have the chance to visit his own lady love, Jane Foster, on that trip, he was unable to help Fandral. Months passed and Fandral found distraction in the arms of one lady after another.

And then, Loki returned from his punishment on Midgard.

With a new bride.

Darcy.

At first, Fandral consciously decided to distance himself from the pair. He was never one to poach on a committed woman; even his honor would not allow him to destroy a marriage just to slake his lust. Unfortunately, the new princess seemed to be everywhere. At every royal function, every event, there she was with her radiant smile and flashing blue eyes. He slowly became obsessed with her, hoping that she would succumb to his wiles. He did his best to catch her alone, compliment her, use every trick and manipulation he had learned over the centuries.

And none of it worked.

Nearly two months ago, when he had cornered her once again, she had given him such a stern rebuke that he abandoned all hope. She threatened to inform the former queen of his predatory actions. There was no one on Asgard that Fandral feared more than Frigga, for while Odin had been a powerful leader, Frigga would utterly destroy anyone who threatened her family.

So, Fandral backed off, completely giving up his pursuit of Darcy for several weeks. He focused on charming as many other women as possible and he found the task ridiculously easy. Boring, in fact. Within a few weeks, his mind began to wander once again to her soft skin and full lips. The fact that she was carrying Loki's child did nothing to abate his fascination with her.

He was aware that all of his recent bedfellows resembled her, petite with long dark hair and generous curves. He was sure that it did not escape the notice of Loki who simply contented himself with staring daggers at Fandral whenever they met.

Fandral shook his pounding head to clear thoughts of the lovely princess. He staggered out of bed, berating himself for entering such a foolish contest. He was glad that today was a day of rest and he wouldn't be required to train with the palace guards. He quickly bathed and changed, feeling better with each passing second.

Before leaving his room, he took one last look in the mirror and, he had to admit, despite the previous night's excesses, he did look quite dashing. He combed his hair and made sure that every strand was in the right place. Before he left, he gave himself a confident wink in the mirror.

As Fandral left his room in the palace, he ambled down to the palace kitchens. Normally, he lived in a small house in a nearby village, but since he and his friends began training the guards, he had been encouraged to relocate temporarily to the palace. Only Volstagg remained behind, not willing to give up his time with his family.

Living at the palace did have its benefits. More than one fair lady had been coaxed into his bedroom on the pretense of giving them a "tour" of the palace. And, there were plenty of saucy maidservants who worked there who were delightful to tease and banter with.

Mealtime was Fandral's favorite part of the day. He'd go down to the palace kitchens and flirt with the various women on the staff. Inveritably, one or two of them would have set aside a special tray just for him, full of delectable morsels fit for a king.

As Fandral walked down the long corridors to the kitchens, he saw Hogun rush past him, going the opposite direction, a crazed grin on his face. Instinctually, Fandral drew back. "Are you quite alright?" he called after him as he jogged past, but Hogun didn't break his stride or falter at the Fandral's question. After a moment, Fandral simply shrugged his shoulders, assuming that his friend would rather not confide in him.

As Fandral neared the kitchens, the aroma of baking bread made his mouth water and his alcohol-induced sickness seemed to completely abate. He flung open the doors, as was his usual custom, to greet the cooks and servants that were working inside.

Normally, he would make the rounds, dropping compliments and winks around to each and every lady in the room. He had learned long ago that every woman had a particular kind of beauty and the trick was seeing it with the right eyes. So, usually, one he would praise the glowing blush of her cheeks, another the intricate way her hair had been arranged, still another how lovely her eyes looked when she wore that particular shade of green. He never lied, instead he found a way to be generous and complimentary without being false.

However, this morning, as he began to bellow out his customary, "Good morning, ladies," something else came out instead.

He croaked like a frog.

His hand immediately flew to his throat. Perhaps the effects of the previous night's debauchery had caught up with him. He cleared his throat and tried again.

Once again, he croaked like a frog.

By that time, the women had ceased their work to turn and stare at him and a few had begun to giggle and titter softly. Fandral cleared his throat one more time and tried to speak.

And, for a third time, he croaked like a frog.

The giggling had transformed into hearty laughter. Fandral swallowed, unused to being the object of ridicule. He turned and flew out the door and down the corridor. Maybe he needed to see the healers.

"Good morning, Fandral," one of the guards said as he passed.

"Good morning," Fandral replied automatically and then reared his head back in surprise. His voice worked perfectly fine.

"Are you alright, sir?" the guard asked with a worried look on his face.

"Yes, yes. I suppose I am." It was odd that he could speak with Hogun and the guard, but not to the women in the kitchens, but he decided he must be over whatever malady that had plagued him.

"Good morning, Lady Sif," the guard said as she walked past. She nodded and smiled at the guard.

Fandral smiled and caught up with her, wanting to ask her a question about the division of training for the upcoming week.

But, when he tried to speak with her, nothing came out but a croak.

"Are you ill, Fandral?" Sif asked, concern tingeing her voice.

Fandral was unable to form any words and simply shrugged.

"You should see the healers. I saw Hogun earlier and he did not seem well at all."

Fandral nodded, giving Sif a quick wave good-bye as he turned and walked in the direction of the healing rooms.

He never heard the soft menacing laughter from around a corner.

Author's Note- Next up, Odin!