Author's Notes: I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for your wonderful feedback. You all are lovely, lovely people, and you make writing a pleasure. ;)
And enjoy. :D
Part II: your curse to bear
Even in the time it took them to return to Asgard, it became apparent that something was not right.
It happened as soon as they landed on the other side of the bifröst. As the great rush of time and space released them, Loki and Sif landed easily with a lightness born of hundreds such trips taken before. Thor was not so fortunate, the mass of him being thrown violently forward by the bridge's power, and landing ignobly on his face. There was a violent crack in the air, loud in the silence of the quieting bridge, and all looked on stunned when they saw that the circles highest on Thor's armor had cracked.
"Thor Tanglefeet," Loki teased, a dark cast to his eyes as he helped his brother to his feet.
"Loki Tangletongue," Thor scathed back, smoothing himself out and trying to hide how disgruntled he was by his uncustomary gracelessness.
Sif rolled her eyes at both as she peered at Thor's cracked armor. It was odd and rare that such a stumble should shatter a dwarfish cast of steel. The force of his fall and the angle of his landing would have to be just so – a chance of one within millions. "It is unfortunate, but I think it can be repaired easily enough," she hazarded to guess.
Thor made a face. "And how the sons of Ivaldi will chuckle to know how the steel came to harm."
Sif smiled wryly, "Say that it was damaged in battle. Use my name – I shall claim the injury with pride."
"On second thought, it was an unfortunate stumble that caused the crack."
Loki did not look as amused as his companions. And Heimdall's silent and unblinking gaze on them all unsettled him as he wondered at how much of their journey the Gatekeeper had seen through the mists shadowing the Questing Moon.
"Thor," he started carefully. "The Mórrigan spoke of a curse. Such things should not be taken so lightly."
Thor snorted. "As if their magic could bind me. Their threats were as empty as their anger, my brother."
"Of course," Loki said, his voice hollow without sincerity to lend it weight and form. His pale eyes were fixed upon Thor's every move.
Sif elbowed past him, hoping to sooth the worry that knotted at his brow. Her smile drew his gaze for a moment, familiar upon the curve of her mouth. "You worry too much, second son."
"And the first not enough by far," Loki returned.
Sif caught his eye, uneasy with the worry there as they left the circular chamber of the Gatekeeper to where their horses were waiting on the bridge of the bifröst beyond. Sif hopped easily up upon her mare's back, patting the great roan neck affectionately. The horse pranced at the hum of so much elemental magic pulsing beneath her hooves, and Sif made nonsense noises in the back of her throat to sooth her.
Beside her, Loki donned his bay mount as well, his eyes careful upon Thor the whole time. Thor was the last to mount, checking the straps of the saddle before swinging one powerful leg up and over. As soon as his weight was upon the stirrup, the saddle slipped completely, throwing his balance off and causing him to fall backwards and land heavily upon the bridge. Þjálfi spooked at the uncustomary slip from his rider, and reared up at the sensation of the saddle falling loose, his flashing hooves a danger to Thor while he was still stunned upon the ground.
Quickly, Loki dismounted in order to calm the great white stallion, his voice full with an echo of his magick in order to sooth the animal's spirit. The horse still nickered loudly, clearly displeased as Thor got to his feet, his face flushed at his mishap.
Sif raised a brow, reigning her own mare to hold her steady. "Þjálfi is not one to hold his breath for the saddle," she said carefully. Some horses were known to exhale while the tack was fastened around their bellies, so that once they breathed normally the saddle sat loose upon them. Many a novice rider had fallen flat on their back to such a tactic – but Þjálfi was a seasoned warhorse, and Thor was no green rider.
Thor looked to her, while Loki narrowed his eyes. "Do you still not believe in curses, brother?"
Thor glared. "I was merely remiss in checking the straps. I was distracted, and payed the price."
"Indeed," Loki let his brother his falsehood.
"It was nothing more," Thor insisted.
"Undoubtedly," Loki agreed in a wicked tone.
Thor sniffed, offended. But he was careful the next time he attempted to get upon Þjálfi's back. The horse stood very still, and Thor stayed in the saddle for a moment before daring to move forward – no doubt not entertaining the thought of another fall so close to the edges of the bridge. Then, as soon as he was sure all was secure, he gave a great cry, and prompted Þjálfi forth at a sharp canter, no doubt eager to loose the tension of before.
Loki held back a moment, his eyes finding hers and reflecting his concerns before Sif shrugged her shoulders and followed Thor. As always, Loki was right besides her.
They made it to the stables with little more mishap, and Thor handed Þjálfi over to his groom as if the reins burned in his hands. Almost immediately, Thor took his leave of them, no doubt wishing to leave and lick his wounds in private. Sif and Loki bid him a good evening, and promised to see him in the training ring at first light the next day.
Sif let a groom take her mare, but followed Loki deeper into the stables as he led his steed. He didn't trust the grooms to care for Röskva properly, and he often saw to her himself after any excursion. He had always had an affinity to the animals – whether as a result of the shapeshifter in him, or the natural bond he bore with the elemental arts, she knew not.
And really, she thought that he just enjoyed the excuse to happen by Sleipnir's stall as often as he could. The eight legged stallion whinnied happily upon seeing the second son, pressing his chest against the half door of his stall in order to hold his massive head as close to Loki as he could while the prince tended to his own mount. The clicks and puffs of air that Loki used to communicate with both of the animals was different than the nonsense sounds of the grooms, and as always Sif stood back and enjoyed the odd bond he held with the animals.
She stepped closer to Sleipnir's stall, and fought to keep the smile from her face when the stallion swung his head to her, his ears pointed forward in interest. She feigned innocence, seeing his nostril's widen as he scented the air around her. He nickered impatiently, striking his first set of hooves restlessly against the straw. His eyes were wide and green, unlike any horse she had ever seen, his stare uncanny from the deeply shadowed tones of him – demanding as they latched knowingly onto her.
"Fine, you win," Sif finally sighed. Loki raised a brow as she brought out the sugar cubes that she had in a pocket at her belt. She raised a brow, daring him to say anything as she gave Sleipnir his customary treat – her own way of staying in the mischievous horse's good graces.
As Sleipnir munched happily, she walked over to where Loki was caring for Röskva. She picked up a thin comb, and started to brush out the mare's mane while Loki set about running a curry comb over her body. They worked easily together, the routine an old one between them. Loki's brow was creased in thought, and she let him have his silences, knowing that he would share his thoughts when ready.
Finally he said, "Thor is going to have to return to take the challenge if he hopes to break his curse."
"So, we are not believing in unfortunate coincidence?" she gave the option halfheartedly.
Loki snorted. "I sincerely doubt it. The Mórrigan brimmed with seiðr, and their threat was not empty. And they were within their right to blight him so – Thor was foolish to take up his hunt in a warded land."
Sif frowned, troubled. "Is there another way?" she asked. She had never heard of the Mórrigan, and she had never heard of the warriors of her acquaintance going to Quest against them. Such a lapse troubled her.
Loki sighed. "I shall return to my texts to see so, but I do doubt it. At any rate, I will find out all I can about the Mórrigan to aid Thor when the time to meet their challenge does come."
She saw the glint in his eyes – the curiosity and thirst for knowledge that often paralleled perfectly with his mischief. A smile touched her lips at the look, knowing that she would lose him to the depths of the library for the foreseeable future.
"Am I to take it that I shall be sleeping alone tonight?" she let himself tease, bumping against Loki as he moved to reach a spot high upon Röskva's back.
"I do wish to get to my readings as quickly as possible. Time is normally a factor in such things," he answered her.
She heaved a mock sigh. "Again I am passed over for dusty old scrolls. So many nights you choose your tomes over me – it is enough to give a lady a complex."
"If only you were not so very easy to read yourself – perhaps then my attention would not stray so easily."
Sif let out a breath between her teeth as she smiled, poking Loki's arm with the sharp wire of her brush. "Watch your words, Odinson," she threatened on a light and easy tone. "I am not above using a heavy hand to keep your attention where it ought to be."
"Such promises," Loki had stilled in his task in order to fix the whole of his gaze upon her. Already close enough to share his shadow, she slipped easily into the arm he wrapped around her. There was something almost dangerous about his hold, and she tasted copper and steel when she stepped on the tips of her toes to kiss him. He smelled of magic and the smoke of the bifröst still, and his hands were a warm weight though the barrier of her armor, still battle scuffed and dusted.
She felt his pulse leap when she nipped at his lower lip. With a gentleness few would attribute to her, she soothed at the wound with her tongue, easy and lazy as she twined herself so around him. She felt his breath hitch against her own, just once, and at the telltale sign, she pulled away, her smirk worn deep in her eyes.
"Enjoy your books, my lord," she ducked from his arms, sidestepping his playful attempt to catch her again. There was a smile on his face, bright and easy, and she took a moment to remember the look – all to often as of late, such smiles were few and far between on the second prince, and she cherished each and every one as hers.
Across the aisle, Sleipnir heaved a snort at their antics, too punctuated to be a mere coincidence. When she glanced across to the stallion, his whinny sounded almost like laughter. Shaking her head in bemusement, she marched from the stables, thoughts of curses and dark enchantments lost to her in turn for the chance to be out of her armor and in the softness of her own bed.
.
.
Sif awakened early the next day, when the sky that lived in the embrace of the cosmos started to flush pale shades of pink and gold. She felt easy and relaxed, the adrenaline and battlelust of the day before making for an easy lethargy upon the morning hour.
She rose, said her prayers to Sól to thank her for her duties with the sun, and then slipped into a loose fitting tunic and a soft pair of leggings. She laced up her boots and donned only her gauntlets before leaving her chambers in order to meet the others. The Three were already breaking their fast, and she jostled good naturedly with Volstagg for the last remaining platter of melon. When she came out victorious, the large man preformed a somber ode to the loss his plate suffered, and she pushed a piece towards him through her laughter.
When it became apparent that neither of the princes would be joining them – a rarity for Thor, and not so much for Loki – Sif took it upon herself to tell her friends what they had missed the day prior. She enjoyed exaggerating the fierceness of the creatures, and relished telling of Thor's rashness with taking to battle, and his thickness in dismissing the chance to set his mistake to rights.
She was more somber when speaking of the very real probability of a curse, and the Three looked troubled when she told them of Thor's mishaps on the bifröst the evening prior.
"Have you heard of such a thing?" she asked Volstagg, who was older than all of them – old enough to even remembered the horror of the Great War.
"Questing creatures? Of course I have," Volstagg looked thoughtful. "Centuries ago – when you were just leaning to hold a sword, it was quite the rage to prove ones mettle and earn the right to choose a hippogryph mount. But, the amount of warriors who desired such a mount, and the demand, overran the supply – there were some dishonorable characters who didn't much care to abide by the rules of Quest, and that thinned the herds drastically. The stallions – which are not made to be mounts, but to protect the slow growing packs – were hunted for their horns, which you saw. Elegant, gorgeous things, they were."
Sif frowned, her eyes troubled as Volstagg spoke. That would explain why she saw so few within the palace stables – and fewer still did she know of warriors who took the Quest to earn such a mount. Four centuries, Anann had said, since she had had a worthy warrior pass her way.
"Eventually, the herds were taken from all of the questing sites, and the Allfather hid them all away at a secret location under some powerful protection. All of the tomes giving the location away were said to be burned – minus those that were thought to be untranslatable except by great Odin himself. Apparently, the Allfather did not set his wards with his second son in mind, at the time." And here Volstagg did chuckle, bemused.
Sif felt a smile touch at the corners of her mouth. "And what do you know of the Mórrigan? They proclaimed familiarity with the Allfather. Are they who Odin set to keep watch over the herds?"
Volstagg looked thoughtful. "That is a question that I cannot answer – perhaps it is one more fit for Odin himself."
And wouldn't Loki just love that . . . Sif tapped her fingers on the ornate table before her.
"And there is just one more thing I would say," Volstagg said, his deep voice dropping in the seriousness of his manner. "The hippogryph herds took a great blow from the warriors of all nine of the realms. If there is a Quest one must face to prove their worth . . . it will not be as a simple test of honor and mettle. It will do its utmost to break you in order to protect the packs. You understand what I say, do you not, young one?"
She nodded, her eyes sharp. "Thor has faced worse foes before," she said, her voice sure.
Volstagg smiled. "Indeed he has." And with that, his breakfast called to him again.
Sif looked at him for a long moment before turning to her own plate.
When she and the Three finished and walked to the training rings, she most certainly expected Thor to be there – if not both of the princes. Instead the rings were empty of their sovereigns, holding only the old familiars from amongst the warrior caste. If Sif felt a trickle of worry at that, she did her best to shoo it away by solidly pouncing Fandral in hand to hand sparring, and defeating even Hogun in thrown sports.
When the noon hour came upon them and then long since passed, and Thor had still not shown, Sif finally acknowledged her worry. Something was not right.
She took her leave of her comrades and cleaned up the dust and the sweat from her as quickly as she could. When she set about looking for the two in earnest, she started with her most obvious location, knowing that if she found him, it would be quite easy to find his brother after that.
The palace library was beneath the great gold of the main structure, making it possible for the oldest of the volumes to lead directly into the warded areas – the forbidden sections to the general populace, and the vaults to where the even more rare (and dangerous) of the tomes were kept.
She nodded her head to the Keeper, an ancient woman even older than even Odin, who had grown used to seeing the shield-maiden within the last few centuries, and made her way through the public volumes to the shadows and corners in the far reaches of the keep. There were coves and alcoves here, ancient places where the mages and scribes did their restorations in silence and thick shadows.
She went even further still, twisting and twining through the tall shelves – reaching up for many heights, series of ladders and staircases and greatly grand balconies making the core of the library seem like the ribs of a great and fearsome creature. Here, where the gentle gold of the restricted section pulsed in a humming warning, there was a nook, and often times this was where Loki took his finds to dissect and study. The magic just beyond calmed him, and his eyes were so very bright in the dim torch light – filled and reflecting the spells on the air around him.
She slowed her step as she approached, not wanting to disturb him. Her boots were soft, and it was easy for her to move soundlessly.
Loki looked up from behind his pile of books anyway, his sharp eyes expectant.
"You are no fun at all," Sif declared as she gave up her attempt at stealth to enter their small cove.
Loki gave a watery grin, "A thousand apologies, my lady."
"You are forgiven," she gave grandly as she plopped down in one of the great winged chairs that had been pulled up to the thick wooden table. She had dubbed the chair her own over the years, and no one had contested her claim. "Now, what is so interesting in your books that you have deserted the rest of us for almost the whole pass of a day?"
"It has been that long?" Loki asked under his breath, surprise in his words as he rubbed blearily at his eyes.
She frowned, and then leaned forward to more fully observe him past the tall piles of books and shadow that had hidden him.
She rolled her eyes. "By the Allfather's ravens, but you have yet to even change out of your armor, Loki! Have you slept at all? Eaten anything?"
Loki waved a hand. "Distractions."
Sif snorted. "You're no good to us if you were to pass out in the middle of your books, and then who would find you down here? Certainly not Thor."
"Well then, I am fortunate to have you," Loki returned absently.
Sif snorted. "And you will not have me for much longer if you do not clean up a little better. Did your mother ever teach you the importance of bathing after physical work? Yesterday would count as that."
"She did mention something along those lines, I do believe – the memory is fuzzy at the moment."
Sif rolled her eyes. "Did you find anything interesting, at any rate?"
Loki shrugged. "Enough. The reading is slow thanks to the language it is written in, and I had to go through a truly ridiculous amount of spell work to even make the words appear on the page. These were not meant to be read." But as he said so, there was a pride in his voice – no doubt over the fact that even the strongest of Asgard's handful of mages were not enough to keep him away from anything he set his mind on. The people could say what they wanted about their second son's preference for the elemental arts over the arts of steel, but the fact remained that Loki was the most powerful enchanter the realm had ever seen, a true wielder of the seiðr – to that, no one could argue.
"And what do they say?"
"The history of the hippogryphs, and the mad Questing craze that the realms went through quite a few centuries ago. Most of these are record books – detailing the exact lines that were saved from extinction, and the bloodlines that were merged together for the strongest breeds."
Sif nodded, having heard the general story from Volstagg earlier. "And of the Mórrigan?" she asked.
"Disturbingly little," Loki said. "They are not Aesir – or Vanir, either. They are something else, that much I can see. Daughters of war, existing as three for the price of one." He rubbed at his temples, and the cross sort of look he leveled at the books before him was almost endearing.
Sif smiled gently, wondering how best to phrase what she wanted to say. "You could just ask your father," she pointed out. "No doubt he has heard of our excursion the other day. And if Thor is cursed . . ."
Loki snorted. "And hear only half of the tale from his view? A bard has no reason for falsehoods, and Odin's reasons are as many as they are deep."
Sif frowned, but did not counter what she did not completely disagree with. "I have not seen your brother the whole day through."
"Thor missed breakfast?' Loki chuckled. "A rarity."
"He was not in the practice rings, either."
Loki did frown at that. "It would be best to see how the day has treated him." For a moment he looked to get up, but then he glanced back down at the books spread out before him, considering.
And Sif would have none of that. "Come now – you have yet to get out of your armor, and I would wager my shield that you are developing quite the headache right about now. There is not nearly enough light down here."
The candles before them leapt forth, flaring bright, the warm glow of their flames burning a telling green.
"Clever," Sif rolled the word dryly. "But not nearly enough. Now come – you have spent enough time down here."
Loki sighed, but pushed away from the table. She gave him a hand up, and found a smile touching the corner of her lips when he did not let her fingers go. How the smallest things normally meant the most to him - no matter how many times he may have rolled his eyes at her harping, she knew that he enjoyed every moment of it.
"Now," she looked down thoughtfully at the piles of books. "How many of these need to be returned to where you should not have taken them from before we depart?"
Loki looked innocent. "Only one or two," he dismissed the question. Yet, instead of returning them, he waved a hand – the dozen or so tomes hovered in the air before falling in on themselves, shrunk down to a size he would easily be able to conceal on the way out. With a flash of smoke, they disappeared completely, safe in some hidden place until they were needed again.
Sif let out a long sigh. "Mischief maker," she teased affectionately.
"Of which I have never denied," he made to point out, and she tugged him away before he could find another volume to catch his interest.
On their way out, the Keeper watched them with hooded eyes, but made no move to stop them. Some things, Sif knew, would never change.
By the time Sif forced Loki to change and find something to eat, it was already approaching evening. Their search for Thor did not get far when Queen Frigg spied them both, and asked them to walk with her. Their path took them past the Great Hall to the grand vista, the great sight of Asgard beyond was a brilliant thing as the light all around them threatened to die.
Sif was silent as Frigg went through her pleasantries with her son, and she noticed with some amusement that Loki looked almost with trepidation upon the words his mother would say. For no doubt their actions from the day before were known to all. Surely, Odin himself had already had words with his Queen over what had been done, and those words were not any that Sif looked forward to hearing. Loki, she knew, could easily spin a story around any listening ear – but with Frigg he was always oddly truthful, and for that reason alone, he tended to shy away from her presence until such events had passed.
"Your brother," Frigg started, "woke this morning in an interesting predicament."
"Did he now?" Loki said carefully.
"Indeed. Apparently the moon you visited had a rather interesting species of vine similar to wythorn root."
Loki, who knew more of herblore than Sif due to his magicks, made a face. "How unfortunate."
"Eir was able to treat him well enough," Frigg continued. "The boils are gone, and the rash that remains looks worse than it really is, she did assure us." Loki was silent as to the revelation, and Frigg looked at him long and slow out of the corner of her eye. In the faltering light, she was very lovely, very golden – and prophesies loitered deep in her eyes. "Come now, my son – Thor has told us of your visit to the Questing Moon. We were quite surprised to hear so, for in the early time after the Great War we went through many lengths to hide that sacred ground away. It was disappointing to hear that a son of the Allfather could treat such a holy moon so."
"We did not realize what we had happened upon until too late," Loki said, agreeing, but careful not to speak against Thor.
Frigg gave a deep sigh. "You will have to return to break the curse. And it is not a challenge to take lightly. Your father has not sent a warrior to quest against the Mórrigan in nearly four centuries. None have been ready – worthy enough of their exacting standards."
Sif looked carefully out at the horizon, the second warning that day about the perils of the Mórrigan's quest weighing heavy upon her. At her side, closer to Frigg, Loki snorted, no doubt upon imagining Thor's reaction at hearing that spoken. "And Thor agrees to go?"
Frigg gave a delicate frown. "Thor does not see his slight, and his pride is wounded for just now being told of such a warrior's challenge."
"And Father has convinced him to do so?"
"In the end, Odin will not need to speak at all. Thor will come to that realization alone," Frigg's eyes twinkled merrily. "And yet, for now - you have questions about the Mórrigan, and you will not ask your father. Ask, and I will answer you as truthfully as I can."
"Who are they?" Loki said simply. "Their magic was powerful, and they fairly shimmered on the mental plane. They are not Aesir, and they are not Vanir."
"No, they are neither," Frigg agreed. "All three are daughter's of War – born of War's ferocity and the fertility of the blood it spilled. Of the sisters, Anann was firstborn – the mortals called her Gentle Annie in the way you may call the fae the Good People, treading carefully as to not cause offense. She took worshipers from the people of the Celtic lands – not far from the mortals of our own blood. She and her sisters were three folds of one cord, and one cannot exist without the other."
Curious now, Sif leaned forward. It explained why just being in the presence of the Mórrigan tugged at her. They were made of the same ether – the same fold of cloth.
Frigg continued. "It has been many years, and yet I can assure you that they remain clear within the mind, even after many centuries. Anann is a shepherdess of the dying upon the battlefield, you may say. Much as the Valkyrie, she was tasked with taking the unworthy for battle when her duties were still towards Midgard and her sons. Macha is the mother of war horses – she is what gives a steed its charge, and a rider its bond in battle. Badb is the last born of the sisters, and she birthed of War's desolation. To mortal men, she was the crows and vultures who circled the battle fields – instilling chaos and confusion in the lines, and foretelling death amongst the ranks.
"Now, they gained their power and their strength through the belief of mortal men. And yet, as time passed, and the centuries wore on, fewer and fewer still were the men who still uttered their prayers to the Mórrigan. And so, when the Great War came, and Odin scouted far and wide across the realms for allies, the sisters were one of the first to join our warriors. All they asked was a price in return.
"The Great War carried on, and the Mórrigan proceeded to strew confusion and death in the ranks of the Jötunn armies. They fought well, and they fought with the whole of their souls. Such were their contributions that your father agreed to abide by anything they asked – within reason.
"In the end, their request was simple. The wished only for a place to live the centuries in peace, and curb the bloodlust that consumed each of them. Agreeing to honor such a wish, Odin gave to them a moon in the space of Álfheimr – a peaceful and beautiful land that blessed their war torn souls.
"Now, Macha still carried on her duties to the herds of war, and she ran one of the questing sites for those warriors who wished to quest for a hippogryph mount. I believe you have heard about the warrior's greed for those mighty steeds? " Loki nodded, and Frigg smiled knowingly. "When it became apparent that the packs would have to be rebuilt, it was Macha who volunteered for the task. She and her sisters rounded up all that remained of the herds the nine realms wide, and took the few they found back to their moon. There the packs recovered, and the quests continued as they should.
"Only, now that such an offense was struck against the brood of Macha, the quests became dangerous, unholy things that few could beat. And the few who could often found such a price too high to pray for something as simple as an enchanted mount for battle.
"Indeed, it has been almost four hundred years since Odin has sent a warrior to the Mórrigan, and since then, their world has fallen into myth. The maps and books that spoke of the hidden moon were destroyed, minus those select few that could only be read by those who were worthy to decipher the tongue. Really, they should have been the tomes that Odin hid deep within the vaults – especially with how voracious your reading habit can be," and here Frigg's look did hold a rebuke for her youngest.
Loki looked innocently at his mother, and Sif rolled her eyes.
"It explains the force of their magic," Loki said.
"And the force of their curse," Sif said rather abruptly, her eyes looking beyond where Loki and Frigg had been engrossed in their conversation.
"What do you mean?" Loki asked, before turning to where her eyes had fixed. "Oh," he said then, rather stupidly. "I see."
Beyond them, Thor was stalking to where they stood, his stride furious, and his scowl potent. Around him the air crackled, and Sif felt the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand on edge.
"I find myself in need of a way to break this curse! Immediately," Thor thundered murderously as soon as he came upon them. Truly, he did look worse for the wear – his cape was torn, and he had forgone his armor entirely for simple garb – of which a very suspicious green and mucus like substance clung. Surely there was a good story behind that, Sif thought as she looked upon the red splotches that dotted his skin – an allergic reaction to the plant that Frigg had told them of.
Most alarming though, was the suspicious absence of Thor's eyebrows. And his hair was cut in ungracious lines – as if a child had taken a dull blade to his hair. And did she smell smoke upon him?
Trying very hard to hide her laughter behind her hand, Sif dared to ask the disgruntled prince. "Thor . . . what happened to your eyebrows?"
Thor glared at her, the gaze less intimidating without the aid of his eyebrows. "Amora lost control of a heating spell," Thor finally gave sullenly, his eyes daring them to comment. "For some reason an unnatural cold has been following me, and she was determined that she could 'warm me up'. Apparently, I am to suffer the attentions of the witch, even when ensorcelled."
As Sif lost control of her laughter, Loki pushed aside his mirth to ask, "You seriously went to Amora for help?"
Thor looked mulish. "It was a good idea at the time – seeing as how you could not be dragged away from your books," he narrowed betrayed eyes at his brother.
"And your hair?" Frigg questioned delicately.
Thor took a deep breath, a flush staining his cheeks. "Fandral said that nothing improved an unfortunate day quite like a visit to . . . well, sufficient to say, he recommended his hair dresser. And Hrafnr . . . slipped. Apparently he was not as skilled with a blade as he was boasted of to be! By the Norn's teeth, but it is as if I had Sif cut my hair - no offense, my lady. "
"I have taken none," Sif tried to recover herself.
At her side, Loki's eyes were glittering wickedly. "If you wish, brother, I have such a potion that can aid with the regrowth of your hair. You will have flowing blonde tresses again in no time."
Thor backed away from his brother, his eyes narrowed in warning. "I have seen what you can do to golden hair, brother – and while Sif may look a thousand times better with hair the shade of night, I do not think that the same can be said of myself."
Sif looked at him in mock outrage. "And here I always counted Fandral as the vain one."
"Imagine what would have happened had he visited Volstagg's hair dresser," Loki pointed out, and Sif found her laughter returning anew.
"You may laugh now, but I for one tire of this trickery," Thor scathed. "If a Quest is needed to prove my worth – then a quest is what we shall embark on. Can I count upon your steel - my brother, my lady?"
"Always," Sif said in reply, a dangerous sort of smile splitting her face over the promise of such a challenge.
Loki took a moment before answering, choosing instead to say, "Brother, you do realize that the Quest of the Mórrigan is not like others you have faced, do you?
Thor's look turned fierce. "I do not have much of a choice now, do I? Besides, there is not yet a challenge in the realms that has managed to defeat me. This one shall be no different."
Loki gave a sigh, no doubt as frustrated as the suddenly weary looking Frigg at how oblivious Thor was over his own slight. "Indeed not, Thor. Yes, I shall accompany you as well."
"That is good to hear," Thor moved to stand between Loki and Sif, throwing a heavy arm around both of their shoulders. "Now then, get a good night's rest – for tomorrow we quest!"
Mira's Mythological Mauling Madness
(Note: These will be reposted and expanded upon as more chapters are posted.)
Hippogryphs: In legend, they are indeed the offspring of a gryphon and a mare – beautiful creatures who are symbols of impossibility and love. Sightings of them are as rare as the creatures themselves (for horses are normally a food source for gryphons), but when tamed they make an excellent steed. I, um, took the idea of them from legend and then kind of ran with everything – most notably the appearance of the stallions. Artistic liberty, I tell you.
The Mórrigan were indeed a Celtic trio of war goddesses.
Anann was a warrior goddess of fertility, cattle (in the sense of culling the weak warriors from the 'herd'), and prosperity, and was known for comforting and teaching the dying soldiers upon the battlefield. Sometimes she is actually called Mórrigan herself, for she is the center of their three fold cord.
Macha was a war goddess who saw to war horses. Her name means 'of the plain', and she was based off of the real figure in Irish history – Macha, the bride of Cruinniuc. She is compatable with the Welsh goddess Rhiannon.
Badb was a war goddess who took the form of a crow, and was thus sometimes known as Badb Catha("battle crow"). She often caused fear and confusion among soldiers in order to move the tide of battle to her favoured side. Badb would also appear prior to a battle to foreshadow the extent of the carnage to come or to predict the death of a notable person. She would sometimes do this through wailing cries, leading to comparisons with the bean-sidhe.
Þjálfi and Röskva were Thor's servants in Norse mythology, so it was fun to name the horses after them here.
Seiðr: Norse term for magic.