Fic: A Fool's Errand (Loki/Sif, Loki/OFC 4/6)

[bookishwench]

The next few days were a combination of frustrating trade meetings that swallowed vast amounts of time and more promising “accidental” meetings with Ragnhilde.

Loki had quickly picked up her usual routine and made a point of seeing her several times a day. The girl wasn’t stupid. She realized he was showing an interest in her, but she still seemed baffled by it. Gradually, Loki pieced together that no one had ever shown the girl attention. Her mother had died many years ago; her father spent next to no time with her, and when he did, he ordered her about like a serving girl. She had no siblings, and Tisana, who had used her beauty to claim the spot of most powerful girl in the palace even over the daughter of the Prime Minister, barely tolerated her presence, treating her as a social pariah. Loki suspected Tisana had purposely treated Ragnhild as though she were a burden and an idiot just to make sure that the other girl would never be able to challenge her position, at least not successfully.

Some of Ragnhild’s troubles mirrored his own, but Loki chose not to dwell on that uncomfortable realization. Instead, he used them as ammunition. He plied her with attention, making her all but drunk on his undivided interest. He asked her to accompany him on various outings, wanting her to show him the sights of Taphon. Granted, they weren’t very impressive, but he made a good pretense of appreciating them.

“I know we’re only a tiny colony,” Ragnhild said as she showed him a small forest that stood near a little lake outside of the town, “but it’s not a bad spot, really.”

“No, not at all,” Loki said, though when he compared the place to the roaring waterfall and deep woodlands of Asgard, the lake looked more like a leaky bathtub surrounded by sickly potted plants. “I’m certain those who live here love it dearly.”

“Well, that’s not me,” Ragnhild said, surprising him. “I’ve always wanted to travel, to see something of the universe beyond this place.”

“Asgard, perhaps?” Loki said, giving her a charming smile and letting her interpret it however she wanted.

“It’s crossed my mind,” she said, looking a little embarrassed as she lowered her gaze to the ripples lapping at their feet. “More often of late.”

“I am certain you would find our hospitality equal to that of Taphon,” Loki said, taking a picnic blanket from the basket he was carrying and spreading it on the ground near the lake. “I believe I brought along some of that excellent jam I’ve been getting at breakfast each day. Ah, yes, here it is. Join me?”

He sat on the blanket and patted a spot next to him. Ragnhild sank down beside him, her plain beige dress billowing around her legs, while Loki pulled a muffin out of the basket along with a jar of the jam. However, just as he was about to hand it to her, he drew the muffin back from her grasp playfully. He proceeded to keep it just out of her reach, a silly little game that set both of them giggling, until he had gotten her to lean far enough forward that their faces were a mere inch apart. Loki thought of Sif, imagining she was there in Ragnhild’s place, and his eyes warmed with remembered affection.

Gently, he closed the remaining distance between them and kissed her, letting his lips linger over hers as she drew in a startled breath. At this particular skill he was already quite a master, having kissed a fair number of partners, both female and male, for several decades. He knew precisely what he was doing. Within a few seconds, Ragnhild’s lips responded softly to his own, and he spared a thought to wonder if she had ever been kissed before. He stayed there for a handful of heartbeats, then pulled back until he had just enough room to speak.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, still close enough that his lips touched hers with the words, “but I couldn’t resist. Your lips are far sweeter than the jam.”

Ragnhild seemed dazed, taking several seconds to open her eyes, but when she did, the look she gave him told him he was more than halfway to his goal now. He smiled at her, a smile he already knew was tempting enough to give even the most prudish maiden sinful thoughts, then politely withdrew, going back to setting out their picnic. He heard her release a breath she probably hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

Loki strove for nothing further that day, playing the role of the dutiful, doting admirer. They ate, they chatted, they watched rather mediocre water birds paddling about on the aggressively ordinary pond and amused themselves by finding pictures in the clouds. That last one had nearly been his undoing since one cloud looked exactly like Sif, standing in full battle dress, sword upraised, and as he watched, the wind seemed to be slowly blowing her armor away, leaving him gaping and wondering if somehow his magic was subconsciously taking over. However, when Ragnhild pointed at the same cloud and said it looked just like a roast pheasant, he realized it had only been his own fancy that had painted the picture. However, he wasn’t sure he would ever eat pheasant at a banquet again without being deeply distracted.

The next day brought rain, and his plans to take Ragnhild further from the village and into the forest, where he hoped to move things another step or two along the path of dalliance, were foiled. Instead, they met at the palace’s library at her suggestion, an idea that intrigued him. Even Sif rarely wanted to spend any time in Asgard’s library with him. In addition, he was wildly curious about their collection of books but hadn’t had a good excuse to visit it yet. One never knew what treasures might be lurking on the shelves of a library.

The library turned out to be fairly small, but it was actually quite well stocked with a wide variety of books on different topics. To his amazement, there was even a decent selection of volumes on magic, which Ragnhild showed him at once, her hand resting in his.

“You mentioned your interest in magic, so I thought perhaps you might enjoy these,” she said, sounding nervous. “I know there aren’t as many as you would have at home, of course.”

“No, no,” Loki said, shocked that he wasn’t having to pretend interest at all. “These are very good works on the subject, including several we don’t have back in Asgard that I have very much wanted to read.”

Her face lit up as he ran his fingers over a few of the spines: A Guide to Shape-Shifting, Enchanted Contracts and Treaties, Sub-Aquatic Adaptations, Animal Familiars and Their Uses, and Curses of Deepest Peril. Loki was more eager to read some of these than to accomplish his task with Polettso or even to bed Ragnhild. What in Bor’s beard was this treasure trove doing here?

“Then you must enjoy them while you are here. I’m told they once belonged to my mother,” she said, smiling as she stacked a few of them on a nearby table, then uncertainly clasped her hands behind her back before continuing. “Loki, would you show me a bit of your magic?”

He raised his eyebrows. The only other people to ever show an interest in his powers were his mother and Sif. Anyone else regarded them as ridiculous or perhaps a form of cheating. The opportunity to show off for her a little was delicious. He looked around to find that the library was empty except for them, then nodded.

He took both of her hands and rested them in his palms, then concentrated, bringing to life a spark of green light that danced around her fingers. As it slowly rose a few inches in the air, it took on the form of a flower that opened from a bud into a full-blown blossom sparkling with emerald light. Ragnhild’s mouth opened in wonder at it, and he smiled proudly.

“How do you do this?” she asked, watching as the flower slowly rotated in her hand.

“It takes concentration and practice, but there needs to be a natural talent for it as well. Thor could try to do this for ages and would never get anything but a headache,” Loki said, chuckling.

Ragnhild looked at the flower very intently, then lifted her fingers and twitched them a little.

“I can sort of feel it,” she said, “like pins and needles on the tips of my fingers.”

“If it’s bothering you, I can make it go away,” Loki offered, preparing to dismiss the illusion.

“No!” she said, a little more loudly than he had expected, then repeated in a softer tone, “no. I think… maybe…”

As Loki watched in astonishment, the flower stopped rotating and remained still, then very slowly began to turn in the opposite direction.

“Are you…?” he asked, completely stunned.

“I think so,” she said, trembling with excitement. “You’re not pulling a prank on me, are you?”

“I’m definitely not,” he said, looking at Ragnhild and wondering how she had managed to figure this out on her own so quickly. “You have talent.”

Ragnhild blushed as she drew her hands back from the flower, which disappeared in a burst of colorful sparkles. Loki lifted his own hand and gently cupped her cheek, caressing her face.

“Remarkable,” he said, knowing it would flatter her, but also because it was true.

He kissed her again, allowing it to continue for much longer than their first kiss. He weighed his options carefully, gauging her reactions, and then very cautiously drew her more tightly into his arms. He encouraged her to open her lips to him, and when she did, he deepened the kiss, allowing himself to taste her, imagining all the while that he was holding Sif and wondering if perhaps he might be able to teach her some bit of magic as well. If the awkward daughter of a bumbling prime minister in a backwater like Taphon could do it, he was certain his beloved could as well.

They left the library hurriedly a few minutes later when the door opened and an old woman who looked like a caricature of a busybody ambled in. Ragnhild couldn’t help laughing as soon as they were safely down the hallway.

“Who was that?” Loki asked.

“The Widow Hawp,” she said, biting her lip but still chuckling. “She’s the worst gossip in Taphon. Oh, a few seconds earlier and she would have had the whole city know what we were up to.”

“And what were we up to, pretty Ragnhild?” he said in a low voice that purred like a great cat. “Remind me? I should hate to forget.”

“A bit of magic,” she said, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Of one kind and another,” he agreed, then took her hands and pulled her towards an empty room that looked like it had once been used for conferences, shutting the door firmly behind them.

With a quick movement, he lifted her onto the large table that stood in the center of the room, seating her on the edge so they were nearly the same height.

“Shall we continue that magic?” he asked, then kissed her again, this time more forcefully.

He was encouraged when she gave a low moan and responded in kind, her hands clutching the front of his shirt as though she were trying not to drown. Loki imagined it was Sif again, and his mouth twitched with the desire to hold her, kiss her, press her backward onto the ugly old table and lie at full length against her, bare skin to bare skin, until he had achieved his goal.

Deciding to risk it, he drew back from her to glance around the room. This wasn’t the right setting. An interruption now would be disastrous, and the door had no lock. They needed to move to his own bedroom, but he had no intention of bringing her there without her consent. He knew he was being a cad, but there were limits, and he would not take an unwilling partner, now or ever.

“Will you come to my bed, Ragnhild?” he asked, grasping her hands tightly in his own. “Please?”

Her eyes were wide, and she seemed thunderstruck, stammering, “Y-your bed?”

“I will do my utmost to give you the greatest pleasure you have ever known,” he promised.

“I-I have never known… that sort of… pleasure,” she stammered, unable to look at him and blushing furiously.

“I thought that might be so,” he said, then threw caution to the wind and be honest, adding, “and it is true for me as well. I have never lain with anyone before.”

His ego was gratified that she seemed surprised by his confession, but then she bit her lip and looked worried.

“What troubles you?” he asked.

“This sort of thing… it isn’t done on Taphon without shame heaped upon the woman if it becomes known,” she admitted.

“Then we shall keep it as a secret, you and I,” he said. When she still hesitated, he added, “I swear to you, I have taken steps so that there will be no child.”

She still looked unsure, but he kissed her again, this time more slowly, gently, treating her with the same careful regard that he intended to give to Sif.

“Refuse me if you aren’t certain,” Loki told her. “You are under no obligation. The choice is yours.”

Ragnhild looked up at him, her face twisting with her emotions, until finally she said in a small voice, “I can’t. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

She picked up the skirts of her dress and ran from the room, leaving the door swinging open as she sped down the corridor. He stood there, stunned, watching her disappear.

“Well,” he said to himself, “that could have ended better.”

He teleported directly to his rooms. With a sigh, he took a moment to straighten his hair and clothes, then went to the window and stared out at the rain that was still pelting down in the courtyard before shutting the curtains. He had no idea what to do next. He supposed he could continue to pursue the girl, but he doubted he would ever manage to bed her now. The idea of courting Tisana made him physically cringe. No. Absolutely not. Perhaps one of the girls from the group who copied her so enthusiastically? There must be someone who would do in a pinch.

The hour had grown late, and he changed into his nightclothes and climbed into bed. Pulling a book from the shelves, he sat up to read for a while to blot out his abysmal failure. Hours passed, and the words began to blur. He could just imagine how Thor would react if he knew, probably laughing so hard he would be pounding the table with his fist.

Suddenly he heard a real sound echoing through his rooms, though much more quietly. Dropping his book, he went to the door to see who could be knocking on it at this hour. He opened it to see Ragnhild standing there, panting as though she had been running. Her dress was askew as if she had pulled it on hurriedly after abandoning her bed. She looked up at him, and even before she said a word, he knew.

“I can’t bear being apart from you any longer,” she whispered. “I’ve gone half mad from my love for you. Please, will you still have me?”

Not such a failure after all, he thought.

“With the greatest pleasure,” he said, opening the door further for her.

The moment she crossed the threshold, he shut the door, locked it, and warded the room so no sound would escape. Then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, her body clinging to his as if for dear life.

The storm outside increased in intensity, sending torrents of rain against the windowpanes, the wind wailing like a living thing in torment.