A/N: This chapter was a blast to write. Loki gets to shine as the tricky BAMF he is. Warning: I slipped in a little slash. How could you not with these two? Also profanity. Fandral's inner thoughts apparently like dropping the f-bomb.
I apologize for not meeting my Friday deadline. A friend is in town from Chicago plus Seattle's comic con is happening now so my writing time has only been in stolen moments. I'm really surprised how easy it's been to write in the midst of convention chaos though. Where I thought I'd be too distracted to get in the zone, I'm finding the fan energy is instead enabling the creative process. Good vibes all around!
Rarely did Volstagg return home to his unruly brood without bringing them something new to play with. He loved surprising them. It was one of many joys in his life: the wide-eye excitement that gathered around him, the grabby hands that tugged him down to their level, the screams of delight upon discovering a new treasure, and ultimately the cries of war when such treasure was inevitably broken. This was the routine at Volstagg's family compound. However, on this particular morning, the new toy came not from his pocket or a pack on his steed's back, but in the form of a Prince of Asgard.
"Children," Volstagg called out to the disheveled five who halted in their charging tracks, piling up on one another and staring with intrigue at Loki. "I am relying on you to make our Prince feel at home in a way that only you can."
The children exchanged glances with each other, their eyes lighting up, the little wheels in their heads cranking at full speed whenever they were struck with a new idea. Volstagg had forewarned them of Loki's visit, and he may have dropped the words 'test' or 'trial' as inspiration for the kids' planned activities with their guest. He knew that was all he needed to say for the kids to take control of the situation.
Loki regarded the children with an fearful twitch in his eye. He stayed mounted upon his steed where he apparently thought he would be safe.
The children rushed at Loki with a flurry of introductions while Volstagg dismounted with a satisfied chuckle, making his way inside where the waft of Hildegund's cooking lured him like a honey-glazed siren. He greeted his mountainous wife with a peck to the cheek and snatched a plate from the cupboard behind her.
"Do not leave that slippery serpent alone with our children." Hildegund gazed out of the window, arms crossed over her girth, watching as Loki was dragged reluctantly into the backyard. "Flosi is quite impressionable to smooth talkers, especially royalty. Look how she's already taken to him, trying to hold his hand." The woman shook her head in disgust.
"Worry you not, my voracious Valkyrie," Volstagg said, piling his plate high with lamb roast and turkey legs. "Our children are a force to be reckoned with. Loki won't dare try any tricks if he knows what's good for him."
Hildegund shot him a fiery glance, clearly stating her dissatisfaction at his lack of concern.
Volstagg sighed. "I will watch over their games."
There was no arguing against this woman, not when the state of his dinner that night depended on being in her good graces. He gave her another kiss on the cheek before snatching a chair from the dining room and heading into the backyard.
The children hadn't wasted any time in starting their games. They had set up a mock-up courtroom on the lawn, having taken this whole trial thing literally. Volstagg laughed as he walked past Loki, who had been ordered to take a seat on a tree stump the height of a toddler's chair. He was already chest deep in humiliation, for upon his head were a set of colorful plastic antlers, mere fragments of the reindeer statue Volstagg had snagged from Midgard on his last visit. The children had somehow kept the antlers intact enough to fashion a helmet out of them. It sat crookedly upon the crooked prince's head, covering one eye completely. Behind him stood Flosi, the poster child of nine year old puppy love, braiding whatever strings of Loki's hair she could free from beneath the helmet.
"Turkey leg?" Volstagg thrust his plate under Loki's nose.
Loki grimaced, lifting a glare up with his one visible eye. "I'd rather be drawn and quartered by a heard of Bilchsteim than consume the flesh of a beast."
Right, Volstagg recalled. He was a vegetarian. Sworn off meat ever since he mothered Sleipnir. Weird.
"Suit yourself," Volstagg said, planting his chair down in what he believed was the courtroom's public seating area.
"Will the defendant please rise and state his full name," commanded Gundran, the smallest of Volstagg's three girls and also the one with the largest voice. She had apparently nominated herself into the role of Judge.
"I am Loki of Asgard," Loki stated, rising as directed once he politely suggested Flosi return to her jury box (see sandbox). Volstagg was surprised at the trickster's willingness to play along. Had he been subjected to a charade such as this in his younger years, he would be putting up petulant fight indeed. Volstagg was quite curious to see how these events would play out.
Their morning together had started out civil enough, their ride from Gladsheim more pleasant than he had anticipated. Loki had actually asked him about his family, inquiring about their names and ages and what it was like to juggle duty with parenting. Volstagg confessed that it was indeed Hildegund that did the bulk of the work—which she reminded him of on a regular basis—and how lucky he was to have her.
"It is unfortunate that Lady Sif chose to hide your boy from you," Volstagg had said, offering some sympathy.
"She had her reasons," Loki replied.
"You are not angry about this?"
"What purpose would my anger serve now?" Loki spoke with a rare sincerity, a calm even. "Fortune has smiled upon me that Sif should accept me back into her life. I would be a fool to jeopardize that with a stale grudge."
He had answered all of Volstagg's questions right, the silver tongue never ceasing to impress. However Volstagg had learned over the years to recognize Loki's words for exactly what they were: mere words. The ultimate test was what was being played out right before his eyes at the mercy of his formidable offspring.
"May I beg the court's indulgence for a moment?" Rolfe said, thoroughly enjoying his role as prosecuting attorney, which he no doubt claimed after Hildy—always the devil's advocate—volunteered as Loki's defense. Rolfe and Hildy's favorite hobby these days was arguing with each other.
"I call your attention to Exhibit A," Rolfe continued, gesturing to a golden apple set upon an upturned bucket.
"A is for Apple!" squealed little Aleric from the juror's box.
"Members of the jury," Gundran interjected, "you are instructed to remain silent during the prosecution's opening statement." She shifted her attention back to Rolfe. "Please proceed."
"May the record reflect," Rolfe said, gesturing to the apple, "that Exhibit A is an accurate reproduction of the fruit in which the Lady Idunn was robbed of on the night of—"
"Objection!" Hildy sprang up from her client's side, who seemed now to be more entertained than tested by the proceedings.
Hildy continued, "Mother is going to be furious when she learns that you took one of her Apples of Youth."
"Sustained," Gundrun said, shooting Rolfe a disapproving look. "I call a short recess while the prosecution gives mother her apple back."
Volstagg seconded that motion. Nobody wanted to deal with Hildegund when she woke up with crows feet but not the means to remedy it. Rolfe made his way inside with a grumble.
"Yay recess!" Aleric cheered, bounding out of the sandbox and dashing to Loki's side. "Do a magic trick!"
Loki repositioned the antler helmet so it didn't cover his eyes, glancing to Hildy as if to ask for permission to grant Aleric his request. Hildy just smiled with intrigue.
"What sort of trick would you like?" Loki asked Aleric.
"A cool one!"
Loki smirked. "Very well."
Volstagg set his plate down and readied himself to intervene if necessary. He never trusted Loki's magic, especially not when preceded by a smirk. He watched intently as Loki's hands danced around each other and Aleric bounced in anticipation. Aleric then burst with laughter when a snowball appeared and Loki offered it to him. Hildy clapped and giggled, and Volstagg relaxed, finding his own amusement at the trick. Loki had literally made something 'cool.'
"Objection!" Rolfe hollered once returning to the scene, the apple in his hand replaced with a pine cone. "The defendant is attempting to bribe a jury member."
"Overruled," said Gundrun, who was also enchanted by Loki's conjuring. "We were still on recess."
Rolfe huffed, setting the pine cone on the exhibit bucket. "May I request that we get back to the proceedings?"
"We will proceed when I say we can proceed," Gudrun stated. "Okay, Game on!" She gestured for Loki to rise from his seat. "Will the defendant please approach the bench?"
Loki did as commanded, approaching the doghouse which Gudrun was seated atop of. He squatted down when she appeared displeased by his towering height.
"Do you swear," Gundrun began, "to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you Odin?"
Loki winced, then forced a smile. "Is there not a book of the ages for me to swear on?"
"The court requests that you use your imagination," Gundrun replied.
"Ah." Loki held his hand out, palm down, a sparkling illusion of a book appearing beneath it. "Then I swear."
A commotion stirred in the juror's sandbox as the children were tickled by the magical display. Even Rolfe was taken by it, and momentarily broke character to express his fascination.
Gudrun was not so easily charmed this time. "Order in the court!" She hammered the doghouse roof with her makeshift gavel—one of the reindeer's plastic legs. "I suggested the defendant use his imagination, not magic. If the defendant continues to behave defiantly, he will be held in content of this court."
"My dear," Volstagg has to speak up, "I believe you mean 'contempt' of the court."
"The court requests silence from the gallery," Gundrun barked. "The court knows what it meant."
Loki couldn't help but laugh and Volstagg threw his hands up in surrender.
"Moving on," Gundrun continued. "Will the prosecution please cross-examine the defendant."
"Objection, your Honor," Hildy proclaimed. "Why does the prosecution get to cross-examine first?"
"Because that's how it works, dummy," Rolfe defended.
Hildy was about to unleash what would have been a storm of an argument but was cut off when a snowball went flying past her nose and splattered directly into Rolfe's face. She burst out laughing, along with Aleric who had thrown the snowball.
"Order in the court." Gundrun's hooved gavel came banging down repeatedly. "Order I say."
The pigtailed judge's cries fell on deaf ears for Aleric had rushed over to Loki and demanded another snowball, which Loki did not deny him. Hildy and Flosi were overtaken with laughter. Flosi hopped out of the sandbox and demanded her own snowball, and Loki did not disappoint. Nor was he biased, apparently, for he furnished Rolfe with an arm load of ammunition as well.
Chaos erupted once each of the three girls were struck, the final ascent being Gundrun's reaction to an assault on a judge. She stormed down from the doghouse and equipped herself with a snowball per hand, nailing both her older and younger brother. At this point, Loki was creating snowballs by the dozen, stacking them up and just all around pleased with himself for making a disaster of his trial. Somehow, he had not been tagged in the crossfire, so when a stray snowball came rolling up to Volstagg's feet, there was nothing else to do with it but nail Loki directly in the side of the head.
Volstagg could not have predicted what happened next. The children all froze mid throw at the sight of Loki. Not only was he glaring daggers at Volstagg with a look of utter insult, but his skin had turned blue where the snow had hit him, and one eye was now red. The kids had never seen a frost giant up close before. They were both stunned and fascinated.
The children all dropped the snowballs from their hands, watching as Loki removed the antlers from his head, setting them on the doghouse, then casting his gaze over all of the children. His skin began fading back to normal and his eye restored its familiar green. He then removed his cloak and then his bracers, setting them next to antlers. The children were exchanging glances and shrugs with each other. Rolfe and Flosi seemed frightened while Hildy and the little ones were in awe and slightly confused.
Loki rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, a crafty smile now broadening his mouth. He lifted a snowball from the top of a stack, holding it out for everyone to see. He then began blotting it over one arm, creating blue polkadots on his skin.
Flosi's fear instantly melted away into enchantment. She giggled and hopped over to the snowball stack, snatching one up, her eyes beaming with delight. Loki greeted her with a nod, the wordless granting of permission for her to paint his other arm if she pleased.
She went directly for his face, smearing snow above his eyes to simulate an overabundance of blue make-up. Loki flinched but did not resist her. Volstagg even swore he heard Loki's laughter mixed in with Flosi's. The other children were quick to join in, crushing snowballs onto Loki's skin and reacting with amazement when they discovered the patches of skin that hid Jotun markings.
Volstagg could only sit back and watch with his own amazement. Never in a hundred millennia could he have expected such a scene to unfold in his backyard. Besides his surprise in the trickster prince's patience and tolerance with the little hellions, Volstagg was touched by his children's fascinated acceptance of Loki's true lineage. And all because he conjured them up a few snowballs.
Perhaps all of Asgard could take a lesson from these kids. Acceptance was the only path to peace with Jotunheim.
Hildegund emerged from the back door, planting a flour-dusted hand on her hip as she took in the events. Even she was taken aback, and not in the 'oh dear Ymir run for the hills you've upset your mother' type of situation, but in a good way. Loki was indeed passing his tests with flying snowballs, but the trial wasn't over.
"The lot of you demon spawn wash up and coming inside for lunch," ordered Hildegund, "frost giants and bearded children as well."
Loki's final test was yet to come: Hildegund's cooking, which to any reasonable soul, be it an Aesir, Vanir or Jotun, should be a delectable delight, but to a finicky fruits and berries nibbler, it was going to be interesting.
The children stampeded inside, leaving Loki standing in a slush-filled witness stand. He collected his cloak and bracers, his skin still blotchy and his hair a mess of snow and braids. He looked pretty pathetic but was somehow keeping his spirits up.
Flosi doubled back upon reaching the door, deciding Loki needed to be led inside by her blushing escort. She took him shyly by the hand. Volstagg approached the two, giving Loki a goodhearted slap on the back, which knocked the remaining snow from his body. His skin was slowly reclaiming the color which Odin's spell had forced it. Volstagg noticed an uncomfortable shudder in Loki when that happened. He couldn't imagine what it felt like to live under the guise of magic for ones entire life.
"I should forewarn you, Mischief Maker," Volstagg said in a friendly manner, "to refuse my wife's cooking will bring greater harm upon your body then to break your dietary oath."
Loki didn't say anything, just beheld Volstagg with a sickened expression. Was his face going to turn green now?
"Unless you enjoy a beating from a wooden spoon," he continued, "then by all means fill your plate only the flora."
Loki groaned as Flosi led him through the door. Volstagg followed right behind them.
He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this.
The pub was alive with a hospitable revelry. The live music was catchy but not overwhelming, the wine was smooth and went down all too easily, and the maidens, well, Fandral hoped they too would be smooth and go down too easily.
But that was a pleasure to abstain from until his...drinking partner arrived.
The louse had better arrive on time. Fandral only had so much resistance after so many glasses of wine, especially on a night like this when, oh how should he phrase it, the apples were ripened to pick. The girls were all so beautiful, all in their own way. Some long, lean and elegant, sure to seduce with a sultry word. Some petite, sprightly, very energetic, and guaranteed to make him laugh. There was a girl to suit each of Fandral's moods it seemed, whether he was exhausted from a day of battle and needed pampering, or when he was feeling extra lively and needed someone to toss around on the dance floor.
They were a fascinating species, the nymphs of the nightlife. Strange how morning light always had managed to shine off the veneer, though. It's not like he planned to be the Master of the One Night Stand, it was just that, well, he always had someplace to be at dawn's light, like the training grounds. He very couldn't leave Lady Sif and others waiting now could he?
Not the way His Royal Slyness, the Tardy Trickster, was making him wait—ah, finally. There he was.
Fandral caught his eye with a forced smile, beckoning him to the empty seat at his table. He watched as Loki weaved through the crowd, the light catching his casual attire in passes. He was wearing that green linen shirt with only his gold bracers for armor, what Fandral recalled was his most comfortable clothing. He had to admit it was attractive, the way the tunic split at his neck to show off the pronounced collar bone, but that didn't mean he wore green half as well as Fandral wore it. Loki should just change up his wardrobe already, quite bringing shame to a perfectly good color. Green was a symbol of life anew, and fertility, but when Loki wore it, all one could see was poison and envy. What Lady Sif saw in him was indeed a quandary.
Loki fell into the chair with an exhausted sigh, leaning his head back and hugging his arms over his stomach. "Wine," was all he said.
Fandral raised a brow, pouring the bedraggled prince a glass. "I take it my comrade's hellspawn really put you through your paces?"
"The children were manageable," Loki said, tilting the entire glass down his throat. "It was that woman's cooking that was unbearable." He slid his glass forward for a refill, which Fandral granted him. The more sauced he could get Loki for this encounter, the better chance he had at making him fail his test.
"What on Asgard are you talking about?" Fandral said, refilling his own glass. "Hildegund's culinary prowess is one to be praised, even by the standards of stuck up royalty. Her boar roasts are divine, blissfully seasoned and cooked just perfectly so the center is sweating with bloody—"
"Enough," Loki barked, now leaning forward and going more pale than usual. He needed a moment to breath deeply before he disappeared behind his wine again.
"Right," Fandral sipped from his chalice, "no more talk of food. Not when there are..." he paused to catch the eyes of a pair of maidens, "more interesting topics to engage in." One tilt of his head called the pair over, the two he had made prior arrangements with. They were to be all part of the trial.
Loki glanced up in suspicion when the maidens arrived. The red head slid easily onto Fandral's lap, flopping one arm over his shoulder and helping herself to the wine in his hand. The second maiden swayed up to Loki's side, her appearance exotic in comparison to Asgard's fairer skinned selection, her complexion the color of enriched ale, her hair the blanket of midnight, sprinkled with tiny gems that could have been stars. Fandral had figured Loki would prefer her of the two, black hair being his thing and all.
"My Dashing Darling," said the darker woman with an indecipherable yet alluring accent, "aren't you going to introduce me?" Her fingers were already combing through Loki's hair while she circled behind him, checking him out. Loki just watched her from the corner of his eye, stiff and still suspicious.
"Of course, my enchantress," Fandral said, smiling in response to Loki's narrowing eyes. "I'm sure you recognize our renowned Prince, the immortal Loki of Asgard?"
"Mmmhmmm." The woman coerced Loki to lean back and eased then herself into his lap. "I know royalty when I see it." Loki's eyes fluttered as she continued to toy with his hair and traced her decorated nails down his cheek bone.
"Loki, I'd like to introduce you to Aetta," Fandral said while topping off Loki's glass. He could barely see where he was pouring with all the affection being slathered upon him by the soft young thing in his lap. She threw a cheerful wave in Loki's direction, bouncing when she spoke.
"And I'm Gerti."
"Sweet, sweet Gerti," Fandral purred, snaking his arms around her cinched waist.
Loki didn't even acknowledge Gerti, too preoccupied with what was in his lap. He was clearly drained from his adventures with The Volstaggs, just as Fandral hoped he would be. That was all part of the test: wear him down, get him drunk, skew his judgement. If Loki wanted to commit to Sif, he would have to learn the hard way what that entailed. He would have to abstain from certain pleasures if he was to be deemed a worthy lover.
Fandral knew he wasn't the only playboy among them. Loki too had his game, his cravings. Fandral had witnessed it on multiple campaigns in foreign lands, the Vanir and Elven women Loki had seduced into his tent over the years.
The crafty sorcerer was no novice in the field of the fairer sex, although he was no novice to cheating either, using his magic to enchant where his words failed him. That was the only rational explanation why those two sword vendors in Alfheim had favored Loki's company over Fandral's. They were not in their right minds, clearly. Loki wasn't half the artisan with a blade that Fandral was. No other force besides a manipulative, unnatural magic could have lured those two into Loki's company instead of his own.
Fandral glanced in Loki's direction, fighting back a very unwanted twinge of envy. From the back, Aetta could be mistaken for one of those Women of the Blade: tall, muscular, irresistibly forward. Come to think of it, she could almost be confused for Sif if one didn't see her darker skin beneath all of that hair. It wasn't the same texture but the length and color were close enough. She was a the finest goddess-for-hire Fandral could find.
So why was it that Loki was playing hard to get?
"More wine, My Prince?" Fandral offered, urgently, not waiting for a response before topping off his glass.
"Aww, you're so nice," Gerti cooed, tracing her finger around his goatee. Fandral could only half return her affection, to caught up in watching Loki.
"I don't wish to be rude," Loki finally spoke up, easing Aetta off of his lap as he stood, "but I really must go wash up before I proceed with these...activities." He forced a smile then disappeared into the crowd.
"Wash up?" Aetta blinked at Fandral. "Is he serious?"
"Worry not, my tigress," Fandral assured. "He spent the day in the wilds, playing games with children. He truly could use a wash."
"He should have done that before he came here," Gerti added.
"There are many social graces Loki should do that he does not," Fandral explained with his best attempt at a silver tongue. "But that is all part of his charm, right?"
"Whatever." Aetta claimed Loki's chair, as well as his wine glass. "So long as you still pay in full, he could stay in the washroom all night for all I care." She drained the glass then smashed it on the ground. "Another!"
Fandral didn't mind a little break in the trial. He could occupy himself with Gertie's lips, enjoy her sweetness. She was a peach in flavor and in feel. So cute. So irresistible. He broke the kiss only when he heard the the glass Aetta had shattered crunch beneath someone's boots. He assumed Loki had already returned.
He looked up. He was wrong. It wasn't Loki. It was Sif.
"Ladies, if you please," Sif ordered, "I need a word with my comrade-in-arms."
Fandral blinked, surprised. Her tone was not one to be trifled with. He signaled for the escorts to excuse themselves for a moment, which they did with shrugs and eye rolls. He didn't even watch them walk away, too focused on Sif's highly unlikely presence.
"Sif, darling," he said, offering her Loki's chair. "I thought you were staying in Glasir for a while."
She refused the chair, just kept standing at his side, strangely close, enough that he could smell her leathers. She was dressed down, wearing only her chain mail shell over a thin sleeveless shirt and her armored skirt. He rarely got to see her muscular shoulders without their plated armor, or the curves beneath her breastplate, which metal links exaggerated so...femininely. She looked beautiful.
"I have an urgent matter to discuss with you," Sif said, her gray eyes appearing a warm hazel in the pub's fire lit ambience. She had them locked intently on him.
"You wish to speak with me?" said Fandral. "Not Loki?" He wondered if she even knew whether Loki was here.
She took as step closer. "Yes, you." She then claimed his lap, those luscious eyes lining up directly with his. She was close enough that he could feel her exhale across his lips.
"S-sif. What are you...W-what's going on?" Fandral forgot how to formulate sentences once her fingernails began combing through his hair. His hands had somehow ended up on her hips, obviously acting on their own accord. He wouldn't have put them there. This was Sif for Odin's sake!
"It's always been you," was what she whispered before she connected their lips.
Fandral's hands weren't the only thing out of his control. His entire body had become defiant. His lips accepted her fully, his voice mewled into her, his heart raced wildly and his...um...well...the rest of him was already 'up' for the occasion. Probably because of Gerti. He would stick with that story.
Gerti, Gerti...who was Gerti again? Who was any other woman when the Lady Sif was devouring him whole. By the Great Tree could she kiss. Did that surprise him? Not really. She was gifted with how many other physical masteries? Too many to count. Too many for her own good. How many times had he told her to pick a weapon class and stick with it. Fuck it. Why was he thinking about that now? He should be worried about Loki's reaction to finding them lip locked, her hands making a ravished mess of his hair, his hands slyly working their way under the chain mail, a thin tease of linen separating them from her skin.
This was so wrong. All while being so right. She smelled divine. Like honey, specifically a honey glaze. She must have just come from dinner. In fact, Fandral was certain she had, because she tasted like honey-glaze too. Honey-glazed lamb shank to be exact. That was a dish signature to Hildegund's cooking. Sif must have gotten the recipe. Wait, why was he thinking about recipes when Sif was slipping her tongue into his mouth!?
This was so right. And yet so wrong. With her probing tongue came even more questionable flavors. Was that...the same wine he had been drinking? Sif never drinks wine. She's strictly an ale girl unless it's an emergency situation. Had she come from an emergency? Was she not in her right mind? That would explain this behavior. He should probably ask her if everything was okay.
But first he would...comfort her just a little longer. She obviously needed it, what with the urgency of her lips, the scratching of her fingers, and the tensing of her abdomen, which he felt beneath his massaging hold. And what a tensing it was. Her muscles felt like they were expanding, and the weight upon his lap increased. Everything was changing for that matter, the temperature of her skin, the texture of her lips, even the clothing upon her body.
Something wasn't right.
Fandral's eyes popped open. Staring back at his were a pair of vivid emeralds, Loki's eyes. He heard himself make a shocked noise as he shoved the imposter off of his lap.
"What in the blazing balls of Surtr are you doing?" Fandral leapt from his chair and began alternating between wiping his mouth and spitting. His outburst had pulled the attention of everyone in the pub, including Gerti and Aetta, and they all watched in tickled amusement.
Loki righted himself, smoothing down his tunic and wiping his mouth only once. He wore a smug smile as he too watched Fandral battle the shade of pink he was turning.
"Now those two boys spending the night together," Aetta chimed in, "I would pay to see."
Fandral pretended he didn't hear that. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Long ago." Loki grinned.
"Why would you do that?" Fandral was now fussing with his hair, as if he could shake out the feel of Loki's fingers. He felt dirty. Used. Violated! He wouldn't be able to properly make out with a woman for at least a week now.
Loki's air of satisfaction was nauseating. Fandral watched in disgust as he poured himself a glass of wine and sipped it like it were his victory cup.
"Looks as though you've failed," were Loki's departing words, his hair whipping around as headed for the exit.
"I failed?!" Fandral called out after him. "I wasn't the one on trial. It doesn't work that way. You're not allowed to do that?"
His cries were futile. Everyone could see it. Loki had gotten him, and he had gotten him good. How utterly embarrassing.
"All's fair in love and war," a man offered with a clap to Fandral's back. He didn't see who it was, still too stricken.
He fell back into his chair and took a long pull from the bottle–not even bothering with his chalice–trying to piece together what had just happened. Technically, Loki failed the test. He didn't abstain from physical pleasure after all. Yet, it wasn't exactly a story he could approach Sif with as ammunition to dissuade her from Loki's side.
"Hey Sif," Fandral imagined himself saying. "Stay away from this guy. You can't be with him because I made out with him, because I thought he was you."
Yeah, no. That would never fly.
Fuck it, Fandral sighed, connecting his lips to the bottle again. So Loki passed his first two trials. Good for him. He would need the ego boost for his final trial. Hogun was not one to be easily enchanted. Fandral could only hope the Third Warrior didn't put himself in a situation to get kissed. That may be Loki's greatest secret weapon yet. He almost couldn't blame Sif for falling for him now.
Wow. What a tongue.