The Wrong Prince, Chapter 4 - A Sif/Loki Fanfiction
The Wrong Prince
Chapter 4
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 4 of 12?
Word Count - 2, 205 words
Previous Chapters - Chapter 1, Chapter 2 and Chapter 3.
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 4
There were only a limited number of places Loki would hide when he wanted to be found by those closest to him and that day had been no exception. That day when finding Loki had set them on a path they had no control over, a path that changed their lives completely and forever. For it was when Sif found Loki that hot, summer’s day, that he shared with her his troubles and set in motion the wheels that turned to bring about their infamous marriage. If Sif had known what was about to happen, perhaps she would not have been in such a rush to find him, maybe she would have slowed in her search, given up the hunt sooner and not let the events come to pass. Or perhaps she would have simply found him faster, eagerly hurried to his side and pushed him to the truth harder, brought about the chain of events leading to their elopement quicker. As it was Sif could never have known what awaited her at the end of her search, so with her mind only focused on finding Loki and forcing him admit to what was troubling him, she went through his usual haunts.
Sif tried the nearest place to the training grounds first, which was the great and majestic library, a place Sif herself never visited unless she aimed to find Loki there. At the back of the library, where the shadows lengthened, the marbled floor lay cracked and the dust that hung over the shelves was thick enough to write her name in, and plenty were the times Sif had done exactly that during her childhood. Where the great, hefty books with their ornate and intricately carved covers were yellowed and scratched, the text faded and worn and the pages curled with age. Where the great words written within spoke of magic and spells beyond those of all but the greatest of sorcerers; powerful magic that had laid to rest trapped in their thick bindings for centuries. Behind all this, at the bottom of the long row of dusty shelves and dirty flagstones, lay a small, almost hidden alcove, a small bay window with a seat just about big enough for two, the soft cushions now threadbare and faded with age and use. Here, Sif could usually find the trickster; his head buried in one of the ancient texts, his face tight with concentration and smeared with the dust upon the pages and the ink from his quill as he scribbled his notes down. But he was not here to be found this day; the seat below the window, which looked out upon the sprawling gardens of the palace, remained devoid of any life or any books, of any dust or any ink.
Without another thought, and without a single word, Sif turned on her heel and walked briskly out of the great library, resisting the urge to sneeze from all the dust and all the more determined to find the mischief maker now that her first attempt had failed. She decided quickly that he would not be in his chambers, nor anywhere else in the palace; not on a blazing hot summer’s day like today. He would be outside in the shade, away from the scorching sun, where the air was cooler and fresher. So Sif headed straight towards the palace gardens, to the distant corner near the bottom end of the rose garden, far away from the main palace. Where the thick, intertwining branches of the cedar and oak trees sheltered the ground from the blazing sunlight and the dense, high hedges surrounding the palace garden’s cut back a few feet to form a shallow opening. Where the nearby weeping willow hung down in wisps and curls, hiding the small bench that was perched there from view, weathered by the hot sun of an Asgardian summer and the bitter, biting cold of an Asgardian winter and tilted with age as the thick roots of the trees and the overgrown weeds tried to push it over.
The dilapidated bench sat empty though, as lonely as the surroundings and as empty as the air, the only sound and movement being the faint stirrings of the leaves in the trees as the wind filtered through, a gentle breeze doing little to ease the blistering heat beating down around the enclosure. Sid did not linger though, despite the tranquillity and coolness of the shade, for there was no doubt now in Sif’s mind as to where Loki would be and she headed there without another thought. She would have gone there straight away if it wasn’t for the distance, for it was the most likeliest of places to find the God of Mischief on such a day as this. Away from the gardens and past the sprawling houses and busy streets that made up the small town next to the golden palace. Past the outer walls of the citadel, past the meadows full of wild flowers of every colour of the Rainbow Bridge, dancing merrily in the faint, cooling breeze. Past the first, great ash and elm trees of the forest and just within their thick walls, where the light was sickly and pale and the floor a tangled mass of roots and fallen leaves. Where the only sounds to ever be heard was the wind whispering through the trees, the distant grunt and rustling of beasts burrowing through the undergrowth and the occasional squawk of the birds of prey as they crashed down through the thick canopy to capture their prey.
Sif had long ago stopped being afraid of the forest and the stories of the beasts that lived there. Even as a small girl, she had followed the two princes in without question and had now faced many of the beasts that lived within its mystical depths, even slaughtered those few who dared to challenge them on their adventures. So the quiet, deathly stillness, the sudden, startlingly loud crunch of the creatures that lived there and the stifling, muggy air of the forest did not alarm her. With a determined stride she stepped off the main path, following the faint markings in the undergrowth with confidence, the way long etched and burned within her memory. It was not far off the main path, but Sif had never known another out of their trio to walk this way, not since her, Loki and Thor had discovered it in their youth, many centuries ago. Sif had sometimes wondered if Loki had protected it somehow, cast out his spells to deter any visitors and hide it from their searching gaze. She always forgot to ask him though, whenever the thought struck her and she questioned now whether it was because she was afraid of the answer he may give.
Despite the uneven ground and the tangled roots and rotten leaves that lay beneath her boots, Sif’s footsteps never faltered, not until she stepped out of the thick wall of gnarled trees and into the opening that poured through with sunlight, blindingly bright after the dimness of the forest. It was not the sudden, burning sunshine that caused Sif’s footsteps to stop though, nor was it the whip of the cool wind that swirled around the clearing and whipped her hair across her face. Neither was it the distant pounding of the waterfall further upstream, nor the river that gushed and raged along its narrow channel, rushing down hill with all the speed and vengeance of an army hurtling towards battle. The sound, though distant and faint, was deafeningly loud to Sif ears as she stepped out into the opening, the sudden noise a stark contrast to the quiet silence she’d grown accustomed to on her journey here.
It was the figure sat in the centre of the clearing that stopped Sif’s march in its tracks, his head bowed down and his back slumped in defeat. Loki, the trickster god, the second prince of Asgard and the reason for her fervent quest, sitting there so dejectedly, looking so lost and lonely, so small against the tall, mighty trees of the forest surrounding him.
The sight of him made Sif’s breath catch in her throat and her heart miss a beat, before it started to thump loudly within her chest. He looked so sad sat there, like the boy she knew from her childhood, with his hands by his sides on the damp earth and his feet dangling over the edge of the bank, into the cool waters of the pool below. The books by his side lay unopened, stacked neatly in a small pile and his face was cast in shadow, the great oak that spread its branches out into the clearing throwing half the pool in darkness.
Loki showed no acknowledgement of her presence, no sign that he had seen her, but Sif knew he was well aware that she stood there, at the edge of the clearing, watching him. No doubt he’d thrown out spells across the open space, along the main paths of the forest, to warn him of any approach. He was sure to have heard the sound of her footsteps, rarely quiet and even less so on the crunchy leaves of the forest floor. But he did not turn towards her, nor speak nor even move. So Sif stood and watched him for a few moments, watching as a few stray beams of sunlight broke free of the great oak and poured through, dancing across Loki’s face in time to the wind that sang around the trees, stirring the leaves and causing the sunlight to flicker and shift. She watched him because she was unsure of what to do, what to say to the man in front of her. The words that had formed in her mind on the walk here felt heavy in her mouth, they choked in her throat and froze on her tongue. It was not like Sif to prepare in advance like this, she usually planned, decided and acted within the space of a single breath, but the journey here had leant itself well to planning her speech. Only now those carefully chosen words fell away and left her feeling awkward and nervous, unsure of herself and what to do.
It was not a feeling Sif particularly liked and rarely did she experience it, so with a firm shake of her head she forced herself to march forwards, to sit beside him by the waters edge, wrapping her arms around her knees and holding them up so her boots did not get wet in the deep pool. As she sat, she was ever careful to keep her distance from him, to not let herself brush against his body or move herself too close. It was ridiculous of her really, this distance she was careful to maintain, for had they not only last night stolen kisses under the Asgardian starlight and whispered sweet nothings softly into each others ears? Had they not crept away from the banqueting hall, shrouded from sight and holding each other close, sharing a bed in her chambers? But that was last night and this was the bright light of day, where things were so much more real and potent, where it was so much more difficult to hide. For their actions now could not be so easily forgotten, the words they spoke and the truth they acknowledged so easily ignored. Her courage, usually so strong and fierce on the battlefield, so hot and burning within her veins when faced with a fight, a challenge, was failing her. It was too easy to let the words remain unspoken, to let the distance that had longed since plagued them, though far worse since the mortals visit, remain.
But today Sif had sought out Loki with one purpose in mind and she was determined that this time she would not fail, that she would not give in to the fear and doubts that pressed at her thoughts. Summoning as much courage as she could, imagining herself not facing her childhood friend and lover, but an enemy she had to fight, a battle she had to win, Sif made her move. She quickly pulled off her boots and stockings and let her legs dangle into the deep, cool water, shifting towards Loki until their bodies were just touching. When Loki did not move, Sif continued, her actions quick and decisive before her confidence failed her. She reached out and placed her hand over his on the hard ground and let her feet wrap around Loki’s loosely in the water. She stayed like that for a few moments, seeking out greater courage and, when Loki still made no reaction to her presence, she took the final step. Reaching out with her other hand, she gently brushed his thick, dark hair away from his face so she could lean down to whisper in his ear, “Please Loki, tell me what it is that bothers you.”
Sif did not know what reaction she expected, but it was not this. Not for Loki to turn towards her slowly, to let the truth spill from his lips so easily. “He wants you to marry Thor.”
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Thanks to everyone who's still reading and I'm sorry my muse got rather carried away with all the heavy descriptions! I hope you're still enjoying it though, there's more chapters to come. Anyway I'd love to know what you think, good or bad! Thanks!