The Wrong Prince, Chapter 2 - A Sif/Loki Fanfiction
The Wrong Prince
Chapter 2
Fandom - Thor (2011 Film), Sif/Loki
Rating - Teenage
Summary - Sif has never done what everyone expects of her, so why should they be surprised when she chooses the wrong prince?
Genre - Romance/Angst
Status - Work in Progress, Chapter 2 of 12?
Word Count - 1, 729 words
Previous Chapters - Chapter 1
Written for the prompt on LJ's Norsekink - Sif's the perfect Asgardian woman. She's of noble birth, she's beautiful, she's a great warrior. EVERYONE, from Odin Allfather to the lowliest servant, expects her to marry Thor. But then she and Loki elope.
Chapter 2
Just like to say again I only know Thor really from the film, so please make allowances for any mistakes with names of things etc (though please point them out!). Also, I've thrown in a few of my own ideas here, so I hope they don't conflict too much with canon. (And Loki/Sif are not really anti-canon in the film, you can certainly interpret their actions in a shippy way - they have bucket loads of intense chemistry in my opinion :-) )
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When she neared the great, golden gates of the citadel, Sif barely slowed her pace, the gatekeeper only just clearing the way in time for the lady warrior and her stallion to gallop through. She didn’t even have time to spare him a glance, her horse travelling as fast as it was able to on the narrow Rainbow Bridge. As Sif approached the palace walls though, she sat deeper into her saddle and pulled firmly on the reins, bringing them both to a steady, slower trot. When the guard on duty approached her, Sif leapt off the horse and landed firmly on her feet, barely pausing for a moment as she handed the reins to the guard, years of practice making the fluid movement second nature. She was about to thank the guard for taking her horse, when he happened to look down and see the inside of her right wrist, which had become exposed as her cloak had slipped. The look of disgust that crossed the guard’s face as he recognised the mark she bore, though gone in an instant, was as clear as crystal to Sif and she narrowed her eyes in the way long practiced after centuries of battle. The guard flinched under her steadfast and defiant gaze and at least had the decency to look ashamed at his reaction. Without sparing him another glance or a single word, Sif turned away and marched into the golden palace, her grey silk cloak billowing behind her in the speed of the movement.
Only once she was within the palace walls and out of sight of the scornful guard, did Sif give in to the urge to look upon her wrist and see the mark there which had been so repulsive to him. It was Loki’s mark, the sign of the God of Mischief, entwined with hers, Lady Sif, the Goddess of War, and it was a symbol of their elopement, their bond and their eternal marriage. The long horned helmet lay in the middle and was cut diagonally through with a sword on the right and a spear on the left, crossing in the middle and all encased by three never ending circles plaited together. The interlocking letters of L and S overlaid these insignias and all were surrounded by ancient rune markings full of ethereal strength and power. Sometimes the mark was difficult to see, but now it glowed brightly in an ever changing pattern of red and green light, spanning nearly the breadth of Sif’s wrist. It looked almost as if it were burning, but it gave her skin nothing but tingling warmth and, as she gently caressed it with her left fingers, the colours only danced before her eyes ever brighter. Though there were no others around, out of habit did she hide her smile as she looked upon their mark; the symbol of her relationship and connection to the trickster god. Even though it could still turn the faces of the most gracious of courtiers to revulsion when they recognised and remembered its full meaning, it filled Sif with a comfort and an affection she found quite difficult to describe. It swelled her heart and spurned on her footsteps ever faster as she marched through the magnificent and ornate corridors of the golden palace, heading towards the great library.
As the distance faded between herself and Loki, the mark on her wrist grew ever brighter, the colours spinning and swirling along their markings like rain drops over cracked, parched earth. Warming and quenching her skin as if they knew they were growing closer to their matching pair, to their rightful home. The sparkling array of green and red mixing and merging together took on meaning, intricate patterns, almost as if they were singing a soundless song of joy, a harmony resonating and growing in intensity with every step she took. The smile hiding in her eyes broke free and her mouth widened into a grin as she watched the colours dancing before her eyes, transfixed by the movement as her feet guided her along corridors they knew so well. The hood of her cloak hid her face from view, but those she passed along the corridor knew who she was immediately, the powerful lady warrior and they knew better than to cross paths with her. If some looked at her in reproach and resentment and others in awe and admiration as she returned from battle, Sif was not aware, she paid them no heed. The red and green lights playing across her wrist as she ran her fingers lightly over the mark, and the thoughts of the one she was seeking, was all Sif could care enough to comprehend.
She wondered if Loki was watching his mark, if he could see the lines adorning his wrist glowing in their brilliant brightness as she drew near. She wondered if he was waiting for her, as impatience to see her as she was to see him. The thought sped on her footsteps and she dropped her wrist to quicken her pace, her arms now swinging quickly beside her as she strode across the great corridors. Thinking, not for the first time, why the great library was so far away, why it was hidden in some far off corner of the palace, well away from the warriors entrance. It was too far and with every step she took, her mark glowed ever brighter, visible now through even the thickness of her silk cloak.
Sometimes, when she was with Loki, he would make the matching insignias on their wrists come alive; the sword and spear would do battle inside the rings, watched over by the horned helmet and cheered on by the runes. The two letters of their namesake sometimes joining in the battle, changing into red and green ghosts, caught in an endless battle that would never be won and never be lost. But a victory was never important, for there was no war to conquer anymore, not between the red and green spectres locked in their continual combat, keeping them connected and keeping them together, happy and with purpose. The figures dancing around each other in perfect harmony, perfect control and perfect balance, before joining as one, the colours merging as the battle, for now, was laid to rest. Sif would laugh and cheer as the figures played their parts, acting out different adventures as Loki’s brilliant imagination and magic was brought to life around them.
Sif still did not know how much of the magic embedded within the marks were laid there when they first appeared, when their wedding took place, and how much magic Loki had instilled in them since. The magic was deep, though, powerful and ancient and she could feel it always running through her veins, growing stronger when Loki was by her side. For as long as Sif could remember, the marks had always shone brighter when they were close, and would fade away to almost nothing when there was great distance between them. Thoughts of the other would bring back their glow, albeit faint, and Loki had shown her simple tricks and glamour for hiding their brightness when stealth and secrecy were needed. She rarely used the tricks he’d taught her, the mark and its playful lights always such a joy, but Loki instructing her in the ways to do so had meant more to her than she had ever been able to express. Loki, for his part, did little to hide the mark too, their brilliant glow always shining bright beneath the black, long sleeved tunics he often wore.
She had asked him, of course, countless times, how much the magic of their marks were due to him. But she was always met with a grin, a smirk and a quirk of the eyebrows as he sometimes deigned to answer, “My Lady Sif, why ever would I do such a thing?” Sif had never any reply, for it mattered little other than curiosity, and she usually only smiled and laughed at her mischievous husband, often having to wipe the smirk off his face with a kiss. Much as she had done the day they’d first appeared, when they eloped. Such a long time ago now, but an ever present memory within her mind, bringing her joy and happiness and a strong, almost overwhelming feeling within her heart that she could not express. Even if the events surrounding their marriage had been far from perfect, if events out of their control had forced their hand and clouded their happiness. Even if near everyone’s reaction had been filled with doubt and derision, ridicule and reproach. But Sif liked to look with warmth and fondness on that time, the more painful memories faded with the passage of many months and years, until only the happiest of those remained. They were never fully gone though, memories never fully erased and, reminded of the guard’s cruel expression, the painful recollections returned until Sif’s smile faded and the mark on her wrist lost some of its brightness and warmth.
There were never any regrets, not for Sif. How could there be? When the events that had transpired had only, in the end, brought her such happiness and contentment. Loki though, in all his self doubts, even now, would sometimes wonder and suspect. When the whispers became louder, or the stares more fierce, he would question her on whether she harboured any, would sometimes fail to believe her when she tried to tell him, show him, otherwise. At these times, Loki’s own doubts would fester and hers would grow in reflection, when the searing glow of their marks would fade and almost wither under the doubts. Until she wondered if Loki himself did not regret his decision. His idea.
For it was Loki’s idea, their elopement, as so many of their adventures over the years had been, with Thor and the Warriors Three. The trickster god playing his games and having his fun. Only this had been no game, they had no choice, not really. And so the doubts remained, at times, casting their shadow over their marriage. But then Sif always had been less caring of the whispers and the stares from the people of Asgard. She was a warrior and she was strong; she was used to fighting to get what she wanted.
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Okay, that's the end of chapter 2. Sorry it got so long and waffly - my muse rather got carried away! I'll try and rein her in a bit better in subsequent chapters - if anyone is still reading! If you are, thanks! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome!