Fic: Sif's Heart (Rated M, MCU) Loki/Sif 2/8

[bookishwench]

Please see the notes from Chapter 1, particularly in regard to trigger warnings.


When the ale had come to their table at the tavern, Loki and Sif had clinked their tankards in celebration of her victory, but he knew she had claimed another one, whether she knew it yet or not, over his heart. He was as drunk on her as he was on the ale, which he drank a touch too much of in sheer nerves. However, he managed not to make an utter fool of himself, and as the evening ended, he went home to his apartments at the palace, she to her parents’ home, and he dreamed of his goddess of victory.

The next few days were, as Loki recalled them many years later, a wonderful dance of tender yearning and hopeful flirtation. He courted her gently, carefully. While she was a warrior on the field of battle, he wanted to treat her as the great lady she was. In truth, he may have been a little too subtle as it took her a while even to realize she was being courted.

“Loki,” she said as they walked together towards the still-hated training one morning, “I need to ask you something.”

“Ask,” he said. “I guarantee no answers, of course.”

“Of course,” she said, laughing. “And if you do answer, it’s likely as not a lie.”

“Possibly,” he said. “It depends on the question.”

“You told me once that you fancied Einar,” Sif said, glancing sideways at him while they walked.

“So I did,” Loki admitted.

“And you don’t now.”

“No,” he said, distaste in voice, “no, I most certainly do not.”

Sif walked next to him, an expression of mild confusion on her face.

“You still have not asked a question,” Loki said, giving her a grin.

“It’s just that, after you said that, I assumed…” her voice trailed off.

“Do you recall I also once mentioned I had some interest in Inger, the baker’s daughter?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but nothing came of it.”

“Nothing came of Einar as well,” he pointed out.

“So, forgive me, I might be prying too much,” she said, her hands twisting in the straps of her bag.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you flustered before,” he said, enjoying himself thoroughly. “Please, pry away.”

“What do you, I mean, you’ve been very attentive recently, not that we haven’t always sought out one another, but this feels different, but then I thought perhaps I was mistaken since I believed you would hold no interest, however—,” she looked at him, and his smothered chuckles broke out in full blown laughter.

“Quite the sentence,” he said.

“Fine. I’ll be direct. Do you prefer maids or men?” she asked.

“Yes.” Sif’s eyes blinked a few times, and he took pity on her and explained, “I have come to the conclusion I prefer whomever I prefer.”

“Oh,” she said, the word carrying sudden understanding.

Loki took a deep breath and stopped in the middle of the street, taking her hand and looking at her directly, his mood now serious.

“And if it would be what you prefer, I should prefer you above any others I prefer,” he said, smiling at her and hoping, hoping, hoping, and the soft squeeze of her fingers in his hand in response and the blush that painted her cheeks spoke her own choice.

At that moment, the bells rang out for training to begin, and with a strangled grunt of aggravation and a roll of his eyes, Loki asked, “Can we skip just this once?”

“We’re covering defensive and offensive tactics against incendiary projectiles,” she said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion as she jogged off ahead of him towards the training field.

“Right,” he said to no one. “Couldn’t possibly miss that for something as minor as romance.”

Then he followed, his heels pounding the pavement and his heart as light as air. He found it impossible to stop grinning all day, at least until Trond pummeled his face into the ground for the third time. However, the grin reappeared as soon as they were seated once more, supposedly studying a diagram of a battle several eons ago on a planet whose name had no vowels, and Sif sat beside him, lacing their fingers together beneath the table.

When they left for the day, they automatically went to their tavern, ordered ale, talked and laughed and enjoyed one another’s company, but after their drinks, Loki didn’t return to the palace, accompanying Sif on her walk to her parents’ home instead. The stars had come out, dappling the road with silver beneath the dancing leaves of the trees, creating a soft, gentle sound like the sea. Her hand was in his. The walk felt too short when he saw the roof of her home, and they paused in a small copse of willow trees, their hands still joined. After a few moments, he turned to her and smiled.

“Sif,” he asked her, “may I kiss you?”

She returned the smile, lifting her face and pressing her lips to his.

Brief, sweet, and simple, the kiss passed between them like a whisper, soft as summer rain, warm as fresh bread, tender as the petals of a rose. They drew apart, and he stroked a finger down her cheek.

“My warrior queen, I didn’t know you could be so peaceful,” he said, his mouth quirking upwards in amusement.

“And I did not know my wicked prince could be so gentle,” she said, placing another brief kiss on his lips and then turning to go into her home.

Once her door shut, Loki whirled about in a circle, delirious with joy, laughing and yelling wildly “Yes!” over and over to the moon above.

“You do realize that I can hear you, right?” Sif’s voice called from her open bedroom window. “For that matter, so can half the worlds of Yggdrasil!”

“Let them listen! Lady Sif kissed me! Do you hear that, Vanaheim, Midgard, Jotunheim? Let me say it louder, then! Lady Sif kissed me!” he yelled back.

He was promptly hit in the head by one of Sif’s boots.

“Good toss, my sweet! Until the morrow!” he called, waving the boot in the air like a trophy and literally skipping down the road.

The next weeks were the closest to heaven Loki thought he was ever likely to come. He smiled so much his face hurt. His fighting skills improved, even allowing him to send that idiot Einar hurtling face first into the dirt. But it was his magic that was incredible. Feats that had eluded him before now came easily, and his power increased with each day, as did his love for the Lady Sif. Unfortunately, their happiness attracted too much attention, and eyes watched from the shadows, waiting for a chance to seek revenge for their imagined wrongs.

On a beautiful, golden morning when there was no training, Sif and Loki planned to attend the market being held in the city. The farmers and merchants came from the countryside to offer their wares, crying out their goods in song, and the shoppers went from stall to stall laden with their packages, going home poorer in gold but carrying treasures of fresh cheese, sweet pastries, fine wines, and beautiful garments in every shade of the Bifrost. It promised to be a merry spot, full of friendly spirit.

Loki arrived early at Sif’s parents’ home. Her mother and father were both away visiting her aunt, a fact that made Loki’s brain churn with a number of possible scenarios, each more deliciously sensual than the next. As it was, he bided his time, offering an arm to his beloved and taking a moment to appreciate her dress. Instead of her usual attire of battle gear or practical but simple garb, she was wearing a festive dress of deep emerald green silk with deep bell sleeves, a scooped neckline embroidered with gold thread and bordered with delicate lace. He almost blushed at the thought of his color clinging close to her skin, brushing against her legs and bosom, and by her choice. Her dark hair was braided, nothing overly intricate, but it suited her perfectly. She was simply the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and she was on his arm for all of Asgard to see.

They passed a happy day together, watching the comings and goings of the townsfolk and countryfolk while leaning against one another on an old stone bench in the square, Loki’s arm around her nearly bare shoulders, she resting her head against his side. It was like the whole market was a show put on only for them. The colors of banners and holiday clothes made the scene a lively tapestry of red, green, orange, yellow, blue, and every other color imaginable. Musicians played folksongs at the small bandstand, and eventually Sif pulled him towards the open space that served as a dance floor, coaxing him to dance with her to the music, he following in her footsteps when he remembered to do anything other than stare in wonder at the stunning beauty who had chosen him in return.

That was when he literally bumped into Thor.

“Brother!” Thor called out, letting go of the buxom redhead whom he had been twirling through the steps of a folkdance with surprising grace. “And Sif! So good to see you both!”

“I wasn’t aware you had returned from your diplomatic voyage yet,” Loki said, wondering if Thor ever spoke in a sentence that didn’t end in an exclamation point. He supposed there was an occasional question mark, but usually his tone sounded like he was enthusiastically advertising a livestock auction.

“The visit ended early and Father and I came home before dawn this morning!” Thor said. “I slept until past noon! I was hoping to see you here!”

“Well, you have,” Loki said, feeling cold dread in the pit of his stomach. It was foolish, but every female had always gravitated towards his golden brother like iron filings to a magnet, and he had a ridiculous but sickening image of Sif being pulled away from him and into Thor’s arms with a loud clang. To hide his feelings, he added, “I’m glad you are well.”

“As am I for you!” Thor said, then looked at Sif, raising an eyebrow. “Sif, I do not believe I have ever seen you grip my brother’s hand like that before!”

Loki looked down to see her calloused hand in his own, and she turned to Thor and said, “You missed a few important events while you were gone.”

Sif placed a pointed kiss on Loki’s lips, and he thought he might die of happiness right there.

Thor gave a great bark of a laugh and punched Loki so hard on the shoulder he found himself pounded half an inch into the ground like a tent peg.

“Good! I have long hoped the two of you might find happiness together! You are a perfect match! Are they not, Hilde?” Thor said, asking the redhead.

Well, Loki thought while rubbing his shoulder, at last, a question mark had happened to break up the monotony.

“My name is Reidun,” she said coldly and strutted off in a huff.

Loki and Sif both tried to keep from laughing as Thor said, “I had better go after her as she seems angry! Again, I am very happy for you! We must drink mead together tonight at the tavern to celebrate!”

“Yes, yes, do hunt down Hilde,” Sif said, and he nodded as he took off through the crowd.

“You do realize that was Reidun?” Loki said.

“Of course.”

“I knew there was a reason I chose you.”

The afternoon passed too swiftly, and the sun became low in the sky. The shadows of the market stalls grew, and the musicians stopped playing and went home. A few shops remained open, but there was a sense that the day was ending.

“I suppose we should go to the tavern to meet with Thor and whatshername,” Loki said.

“It’s going to be packed in there,” Sif said, frowning.

“And I guarantee Thor won’t be on time,” Loki said. “Unless we want to earn the ire of the commoners by punting a party of them from their table, we should go now or risk not having a spot at all.”

“Yes,” Sif said, then stopped. “Loki, have you seen my bag?”

“The brown one with the drawstrings?” he asked. “You had it at the baker’s stall, I remember.”

“Yes, but I don’t have it now,” she said, looking through the pockets of her dress. “No, it’s missing.”

“Pickpockets?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said, embarrassed. “I think I left it next to the display of pies.”

“Shall we go see if it’s still there?”

“No, you go on ahead and get us a spot in the tavern. I’ll be along in a few minutes,” she said.

“You’re sure?” he asked. “It’s no trouble.”

“No, really, I feel stupid enough as it is. I was just staring open-mouthed at that delicious—"

“The strawberry rhubarb pie, if I recall,” Loki finished.

“Possibly,” she said, then gave a sly grin that made his heart race and added, “or possibly something else. I do remember you leaning over that display of tarts with your back to me about then. The view was distracting.”

She winked at him, then moved quickly towards the direction of the baker’s stall at the opposite end of the square.

Loki grinned with anticipation at her retreating form, then went to the tavern and waited a handful of minutes for a table to open. Shortly after, Thor and his redhead joined him, and when Loki explained Sif would be along momentarily, they ordered four meads. However, Sif had still not appeared by the time the tankards arrived. A chill ran through Loki, a presentiment, as his mother would have called it. Something was wrong.

“I’m going to check on Sif,” he said, rising from his seat.

“Most likely she saw something at one of the closing stands at a bargain price and stopped to haggle,” Reidun said.

“Perhaps,” Loki said, but the sense of foreboding was stronger now.

By the time Loki opened the tavern door and stepped out into the darkened square, he was beginning to panic. There wasn’t a single stall left open. Everything was shuttered and silent. Dim candlelight filtered through the windows of a few shops where the owners also lived, but nothing more.

“Sif!” he called out, but there was no answer.

He took a breath, called on his magic, and listened hard. He couldn’t hear her, but there was laughter not far away, and it was the sort of laughter that sounded unclean, as though provoked by horrible things. He ran in the direction of the faint noise, which gradually started to become clearer, filling his ears with scraps of sentences that terrified him.

“. . . stupid bitch thinks she can fight!”

“Know your place now, don’t you?”

“I bet you wish you were home cooking right now, stupid whore!”

“Hurry up, Dag! When you’re done with it, we all want a go.”

“At least for once she isn’t running her mouth. What’s the matter, girl? Don’t you like this? I have more where that came from, and you’ll get it soon enough!”

“See what happens when you tart yourself up, try to be pretty? Go live in a gutter, slut!”

“The gutter will be the only place she’ll be able to live after we’re done with her!”

“Ow! Don’t try that again, wench, or there’ll be more work for the point of this blade right on that ugly face of yours!”

“How’s it feel to be the loser now, you worthless shit!”

He followed the sounds with more speed than he thought possible and stopped in an alley behind a shoddy livery stable, dark as pitch except for moonlight. He saw them, all five of them, huddled around her once again. They had thrown Sif into a corner, her back against brickwork. She was tied with ropes as thick as his forearm which had been looped around her feet, wrists, and waist, the ends secured to hooks on the wall usually used for hanging heavy blacksmith equipment. Blood was dripping from her forehead and running down one of her arms. In that split second, he also saw that the front of her dress had been torn open, and Dag’s hands were groping at her bare breasts while he forced his mouth onto hers.

The only reason Loki didn’t incinerate them where they stood was his anger was so great he feared he might not be able to protect Sif from the blast. As it was, the cry that erupted from his throat was deafening, and all five of them turned around. Loki noted each was heavily armed, not with practice blades, but with sharpened swords.

“I swear to you, if any of you touch her again, you will all die,” Loki said, spitting the words at them, crackles of fire surrounding his head.

Dag deliberately looked him in the eye as he clawed at her left breast hard enough to leave lines of blood, Sif’s furious screams blunted by a gag. Her eyes were filled with anger, not fear, Loki noted.

“You have made your choice, then,” Loki said calmly, though he was shaking with rage.

Later, Loki would be unable to remember many things. He had no idea where he pulled the knives from. They simply appeared. He wasn’t sure how he had managed to throw them hard enough to stab Trond across his hamstring and Stig right through the palm of his left hand, but their screams proved he had done so successfully. He did remember recalling the blades to him and sending them forth again to slice through the ropes holding Sif to the wall. As they were doing their work, Loki approached Arvid and threw him bodily at Ilar, taking both of them out at once. Arvid’s knee smashed into the wall and spurted blood in every direction. He screamed, and his sword fell from his grip. The collision had sent Ilar careening head first into the brick wall, and he lay motionless on the ground, leaving Dag standing alone.

“So,” Dag said, swinging a broadsword that was practically his own height, “I believe you said you would kill me if I touched the bitch, right?”

“No,” Loki said. “I said you would die. I’m not going to kill you.”

Dag gave him a confused look.

“I am!” Sif yelled, the gag now lying on the ground and Arvid’s dropped sword in her hand.

Dag’s last words were a confusion of curses and fear, but he fell silent when the sword sliced across his throat. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Sif dropped her sword with a clatter and staggered where she stood. Loki was by her in an instant, gently helping her to sit on the dirt floor, removing his cloak and carefully wrapping her in it.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked, his voice insistent.

“They slammed something into my head from behind,” Sif said, and he noted blood coming from the corner of her mouth. “It knocked me out. I came to in the alley, already tied up and gagged.”

He felt the back of her head and his hand came away bloody. She winced in pain.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said. “We’ll get you to a healer at once.”

“Brother?”

Loki turned and saw Thor and the redhead standing at the entry to the alley.

“What has happened? This is an outrage!” Thor yelled, lightning beginning to flash in the sky above.

“Thank the Norns! Thor, we need to get her help quickly. It will be faster if—”

“I shall use Mjolnir,” Thor said at once, his voice gentle as he lifted Sif from the ground.

Some tiny part of Loki’s brain that wasn’t exhausted, terrified, or enraged noted that Thor had at last spoken in a normal tone. Loki hoped he never had cause to do so again.

He watched as Thor flew off into the night, carrying Sif towards the healing room, glad for once for his brother. He could trust Thor to take care of Sif. She wouldn’t come to any more harm tonight. However, Thor had also conveniently left Loki standing almost alone in the alley with the scum who had attacked her.

“I’ll just… go…” Reidun said, backing quickly towards the street. “I’ve seen nothing. Come to think of it, I wasn’t even here.”

“Wise,” Loki said, striding back towards the fallen curs with such intensity that the air crackled behind him.

The guards were sent to collect the attackers, but when they reached the alley, they found only scorch marks on the earth, a few oddments of clothing, and some broken swords. Everything else had been reduced to ether. They looked at one another, shuddered, and left, but they felt no pity.

Chapter 3