Thor, "Sif's Choice" Sif/Fandral, rated G
Fandom: Thor (movieverse)
Title: Sif's Choice
Author: Paynesgrey
Characters/Pairings: Sif, Fandral, Sif/Fandral, unrequited Sif/Thor, Thor/Jane
Rating: G
Genre: Angst/Fluff
Word Count: 1,038
Warnings: None.
Notes: Takes place post-movie some time. Written for the Summer Mini Challenge for the "hopelessly" prompt.
Summary: Fandral tries to cheer up a brooding Sif.
Sif held her empty goblet loosely, leaning over the banister and gazing into the mesmerizing inky cosmic sea. Even with the Rainbow Bridge in repair, the view from the royal castle was still bewitching, and she felt herself get lost in it freely, even when she probably should have been celebrating inside with everyone else.
If only I could truly get lost in it, she thought with a groan. She frowned as she glanced at the empty contents of her goblet and sighed.
The muscle in her arm twitched for her sword, a reflex as automatic as breathing, when she heard someone approach her from behind.
“At ease, milady!” Fandral said, putting up his hands in surrender. He smiled lightly at her, and Sif relaxed. She noticed the twinkle in his eyes and automatically became suspicious. Fandral was her friend, but what was he doing here? Did he have something up his sleeve, some plan to play the understanding friend and coax her back inside?
“I know what you’re going to say,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t be out here brooding. I should be inside,” she said with a slight pause, glancing at him, “eating another chicken leg with Volstagg.”
Fandral shook his head with a jubilant chuckle. “Oh no, milady. Do as you will, and I am sure Volstagg would not have saved you that leg anyway.” A pause wedged between them and he joined her at the banister, looking into the stars.
“So, instead, you will keep me company, Sir Fandral?” Sif asked.
“I am a true servant of women, after all,” Fandral replied, and Sif grunted in her laugh. She couldn’t prevent the smile taking over her lips. “Honestly,” he began, his tone changing. “I wanted to see how you were faring. I know...and please don’t gut me for this, Lady Sif, but I know of your feelings for Thor.”
Sif tensed, looking away from his piercing gaze. Finally, she no longer felt his stare as he politely looked away.
“He waits for her, the mortal woman named Jane,” Sif said, stiffening. “The Mighty Thor may choose whichever lady he wants.” She braved meeting Fandral’s face and lifted her chin defiantly. “He does not have to choose me, and it is not my place to say otherwise.”
“But...” Yet, Sif cut him off, becoming incensed, her pain quickly burgeoning to the surface.
“Are you going to tell me that it was our destiny to be together? That everyone in Asgard had expected it to happen since the days when we were children?” Her voice was heated with anger, but Fandral did not reply out of respect.
“I’m behaving irrationally, of course. No one has believed that, and no one has carved it in stone like an ancient prophecy. No, my heart has invented it, and destiny is no more than a capricious trickster, like Loki himself.” Sif lifted her goblet, smashing it on the side of the railing and watching as the pieces fell over the side. Fandral watched with her, letting go of a heavy breath.
“You sell yourself short, Lady Sif,” Fandral says, reacting neutrally toward her anger. “It is not only Thor who may choose whoever he wants. You, the Lady Sif, a goddess to some on Midgard, may choose whoever she wishes as well - a choice not many ladies have.”
Sif met his eyes, and she smirked. “Is this a formal decree by Fandral, one of the Warriors Three and servant of women?”
Fandral chuckled. “You do not need me or even All-Father to make any such thing official,” he spoke, stepping closer to her. Sif felt a pool of warmth run through her as he covered her hand with his.
Her brow arched and she gave him a teasing smile. “Crossing a line, Fandral?”
“Merely consoling a friend,” he answered soothingly. “For as long as it takes so she can enjoy herself again.” Sif looked away, nodding. “Though I hope milady does not mean to enjoy herself tonight through sparring with me, but I will agree if I must. Though, I warn you, my stomach has been stretched thin with food, and I have consumed a lot of mead, and I do not take it as well as some.”
Sif laughed with delight. “You do not need to worry, Fandral. I do not wish to spar either, though it may alleviate some of my stress...later,” Sif said, looking at her hands, wishing she hadn’t destroyed the goblet after all. “No, I think I may go back inside and let my feelings fade. I will enjoy myself,” she said resolutely. “I will laugh, delight in everyone’s company, and maybe even steal a kiss in the hallways if I’ve lost my head enough.” She gave Fandral a sideways glance as he stared at her in anticipation.
“Well, milady, if you need a volunteer for that stolen kiss, I would be the first on your list,” he said bowing, and Sif laughed again, already expecting his reaction.
“I thought so. You’re ever the romantic, aren’t you, Sir Fandral?”
Fandral turned to her with a wide smile. “Hopelessly romantic, I’m afraid.”
Sif gladly took his hand as he offered it and drew her back inside with the festivities. She allowed herself to feel instantly relaxed as everyone met them with hearty smiles and greetings. The smell of mead and delicious food returned to her senses, and she almost forgot why she had left such a party.
Sif weaved her fingers into his, leaning closer against his arm. She craned her head toward his ear and whispered, “I wonder...if you should be afraid, Sir Fandral.”
Another pair of goblets was offered to them as Sif took hers readily. Fandral held his, watching Sif with some interest, his eyes dancing to the thoughts in his head as he measured the weight of Sif’s words and her inviting glances.
Would she take comfort in a friend in order to mask the pain already blotting her heart? As he said, Sif could choose any man she wanted - any man at all.
And of course, Fandral did make the first offer, and Sif was never one to deny the wishes a comrade and friend.
Title: Sif's Choice
Author: Paynesgrey
Characters/Pairings: Sif, Fandral, Sif/Fandral, unrequited Sif/Thor, Thor/Jane
Rating: G
Genre: Angst/Fluff
Word Count: 1,038
Warnings: None.
Notes: Takes place post-movie some time. Written for the Summer Mini Challenge for the "hopelessly" prompt.
Summary: Fandral tries to cheer up a brooding Sif.
Sif held her empty goblet loosely, leaning over the banister and gazing into the mesmerizing inky cosmic sea. Even with the Rainbow Bridge in repair, the view from the royal castle was still bewitching, and she felt herself get lost in it freely, even when she probably should have been celebrating inside with everyone else.
If only I could truly get lost in it, she thought with a groan. She frowned as she glanced at the empty contents of her goblet and sighed.
The muscle in her arm twitched for her sword, a reflex as automatic as breathing, when she heard someone approach her from behind.
“At ease, milady!” Fandral said, putting up his hands in surrender. He smiled lightly at her, and Sif relaxed. She noticed the twinkle in his eyes and automatically became suspicious. Fandral was her friend, but what was he doing here? Did he have something up his sleeve, some plan to play the understanding friend and coax her back inside?
“I know what you’re going to say,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t be out here brooding. I should be inside,” she said with a slight pause, glancing at him, “eating another chicken leg with Volstagg.”
Fandral shook his head with a jubilant chuckle. “Oh no, milady. Do as you will, and I am sure Volstagg would not have saved you that leg anyway.” A pause wedged between them and he joined her at the banister, looking into the stars.
“So, instead, you will keep me company, Sir Fandral?” Sif asked.
“I am a true servant of women, after all,” Fandral replied, and Sif grunted in her laugh. She couldn’t prevent the smile taking over her lips. “Honestly,” he began, his tone changing. “I wanted to see how you were faring. I know...and please don’t gut me for this, Lady Sif, but I know of your feelings for Thor.”
Sif tensed, looking away from his piercing gaze. Finally, she no longer felt his stare as he politely looked away.
“He waits for her, the mortal woman named Jane,” Sif said, stiffening. “The Mighty Thor may choose whichever lady he wants.” She braved meeting Fandral’s face and lifted her chin defiantly. “He does not have to choose me, and it is not my place to say otherwise.”
“But...” Yet, Sif cut him off, becoming incensed, her pain quickly burgeoning to the surface.
“Are you going to tell me that it was our destiny to be together? That everyone in Asgard had expected it to happen since the days when we were children?” Her voice was heated with anger, but Fandral did not reply out of respect.
“I’m behaving irrationally, of course. No one has believed that, and no one has carved it in stone like an ancient prophecy. No, my heart has invented it, and destiny is no more than a capricious trickster, like Loki himself.” Sif lifted her goblet, smashing it on the side of the railing and watching as the pieces fell over the side. Fandral watched with her, letting go of a heavy breath.
“You sell yourself short, Lady Sif,” Fandral says, reacting neutrally toward her anger. “It is not only Thor who may choose whoever he wants. You, the Lady Sif, a goddess to some on Midgard, may choose whoever she wishes as well - a choice not many ladies have.”
Sif met his eyes, and she smirked. “Is this a formal decree by Fandral, one of the Warriors Three and servant of women?”
Fandral chuckled. “You do not need me or even All-Father to make any such thing official,” he spoke, stepping closer to her. Sif felt a pool of warmth run through her as he covered her hand with his.
Her brow arched and she gave him a teasing smile. “Crossing a line, Fandral?”
“Merely consoling a friend,” he answered soothingly. “For as long as it takes so she can enjoy herself again.” Sif looked away, nodding. “Though I hope milady does not mean to enjoy herself tonight through sparring with me, but I will agree if I must. Though, I warn you, my stomach has been stretched thin with food, and I have consumed a lot of mead, and I do not take it as well as some.”
Sif laughed with delight. “You do not need to worry, Fandral. I do not wish to spar either, though it may alleviate some of my stress...later,” Sif said, looking at her hands, wishing she hadn’t destroyed the goblet after all. “No, I think I may go back inside and let my feelings fade. I will enjoy myself,” she said resolutely. “I will laugh, delight in everyone’s company, and maybe even steal a kiss in the hallways if I’ve lost my head enough.” She gave Fandral a sideways glance as he stared at her in anticipation.
“Well, milady, if you need a volunteer for that stolen kiss, I would be the first on your list,” he said bowing, and Sif laughed again, already expecting his reaction.
“I thought so. You’re ever the romantic, aren’t you, Sir Fandral?”
Fandral turned to her with a wide smile. “Hopelessly romantic, I’m afraid.”
Sif gladly took his hand as he offered it and drew her back inside with the festivities. She allowed herself to feel instantly relaxed as everyone met them with hearty smiles and greetings. The smell of mead and delicious food returned to her senses, and she almost forgot why she had left such a party.
Sif weaved her fingers into his, leaning closer against his arm. She craned her head toward his ear and whispered, “I wonder...if you should be afraid, Sir Fandral.”
Another pair of goblets was offered to them as Sif took hers readily. Fandral held his, watching Sif with some interest, his eyes dancing to the thoughts in his head as he measured the weight of Sif’s words and her inviting glances.
Would she take comfort in a friend in order to mask the pain already blotting her heart? As he said, Sif could choose any man she wanted - any man at all.
And of course, Fandral did make the first offer, and Sif was never one to deny the wishes a comrade and friend.