1963-10-16 - Sour Moods and Good Tidings
Summary: Thor and Sif speak spell before departing for Asgard.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
thor sif 

The sun rises on a cool October day, and from the evening before, there's been neither sight nor sound of the Thunderer. He's been absent from the feasting 'hall' of the 'Asgardian Embassy', absent from his chambers, and absent from the newly styled Rancho Siffy. To have checked his chambers, there is little evidence in terms of personal effects; armor is gone, Mjolnir is gone.

Now, the eldest Odinson returns, his expression almost somber as he enters the front door, dressed in 'casual Asgardian'; tunic, breeches, boots, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, with a cloak over all.

"Sif?" It's a basso voice that carries across the house. "Sif? Are you still abed? I mean to travel to Asgard when you are ready." He doesn't even have to yell in order to be heard, and he strides into the back kitchen, checking to see if there is any sight of his Sword Maid.. and heart.


Lady Sif was in her chambers. Dressed for the morning yes. But she was busy. The slew of boxes that lain around her room unpacked with a toss of clothing, old and new upon the bed. The decor that filled the other boxes were spread unceremoniously across the room which was in dire need of hanging or proper placement, almost a memory or duplication of what she had of her chambers in Asgard, a memory of home. And she stands in the middle of it all for a time, thoughtful. Unmoving, arms folded about her chest until the click of the front door was heard.

Only the Thunderer was brave enough to breach the doors of Bellator, so there was no clue as to -who- it was, only when he would sound out.

And there he is!

"I am not." She calls out evenly, drawing herself to the door to emerge, a curious look upon her face. "Tis not an urgent matter, no? While I do miss the home I need a little more time to prepare. I am searching for a gift for Frigga, though it seems I cannot find it. Lend me your hand?"


There, there is the voice in response, in the back rooms. Sif's chambers.

Thor wanders back, his mood 'down', his manner and mien echoing the sober pose. "I was going to meet with the All-Father in keeping with Loki's advice. The sooner to Asgard, the sooner I can look to the good of Midgard." He takes a deep breath and tries again, "Look to the good of the Realms. I still have to discover what it is that Muspelheim is doing, and that…" Thor is definitely 'off'.

It's only a couple of steps down the hall to the door of the chambers when he holds his hands out for greeting, "What is it you wish to give to my Lady Mother?"


"Aye. I agree. And I will be by your side as promised. But this is most important." She reaches out to take his hands, her thumbs brushing along the back of his fingers, his somber mood noticed. She was not blind, but the question was answered with a little smile. "A gem, encrusted in stalactite. T'was a small thing, not held by chain or metal. Encased in a box, from our time beneath the earth in which we fell. But that can wait for now. I can give it to her at any time, long as I have breath."

She slowly releases his hands, though one does reach to brush along his arm. "Tell me. What troubles? To not see you smile so draws a pain to thy heart. Is it the many travels that we are to embark upon?"


Thor leans forward to press a light kiss on Sif's cheek; a familiar, fond greeting. "Ah. A most unique gift, to be certain. Did it pass Loki to be sure that there was nothing harmful in it?" Though the thought is almost laughable; Frigga is the one who taught Loki almost everything he knows. The Student quickly learned more, and now it's questionnable as to who holds the greater magic.

Once the greeting is completed, Thor opens his hand, the light touch gone before he shakes his head and tries a game smile. "I spent the last evening at the place they now call Lindesfarne. Where we once fought heartily. There were a couple of mortals there, visiting the ruins and speaking in hushed tones. Some things forgotten, but they told well the stories from that place."

He cants his head and reaches for the bit of gold that now hangs upon Sif's throat as a trophy. "A lovely conceit, my Lady Sif? Is Midgard bringing out their idea of female from you? Was this bestowed upon you for a deed done in gratitude or from one whose heart you have broken?" Thor looks to the boxes and shakes his head. So much within is unfamiliar to him; the trappings of a realm that is no longer 'his'.

"I spoke to Princess Crystalia last night to apologize to her and tell her that I no longer seek a suit. She was disappointed, but wished me well. I told her that Attilan was still within her grasp, should she desire our aid."


The kiss was met with a close of her eyes, a lift of her hand to brush gently across his cheek. A kiss in return to him by touch alone, for she fears if she returns the exact same gesture it would lead to a delay in the plans of travel. "Does he need to? Really?" This was said with a grin, and soon a chuff against his shoulder, which soon leads to both arms to hang upon them to steady herself. "And did their stories bring about this nostalgic state that you are in? Or is this something else?"

As he reaches for the locket that hangs upon her neck, her chin lowers to view the little thing within his grasp. It was small, the chains itself tiny, a dark and near old gold. The locket itself is incased in a decorative writ, swirls engraved upon the old gold itself with a little hinge that connects the two ovals. "In a sense.." She murmurs quietly, her hands drawn from his neck now, her fingers clasping the locket itself as she presses the little hitch that keeps the locket itself closed. "T'was found upon my pillow." As she opens, it houses a small painted picture of her and Heimdall in their youths; younger Sif hanging over Heimdall's shoulder in what looks to her attempts at biting his face, and he pulling her hair. It was no guess as to who arranged for such, and delivered by a servant.

Though, his mention of speaking with the Princess has her brows rising, then lowering in understanding. There was no insult, no snide remark, only a return of her arms upon his shoulder, fingers laced behind his neck and a lift upon the tips of her toes to draw him into a hug. A gentle one at that. "I see.." She murmurs softly. Does she dare bring it up?

Yes. This is Lady Sif.

"Is what she said there after the reason for this dour mood?"


"I remained silent, simply listening. They'd directed comment or question to me, but I pretended ignorance. I was not in a story mood."

Thor looks to the newly discovered locket, and when it's opened, he can swear that he can see the motion of the pair in the picture; the slow capture of life in a moment, seconds before and seconds after. "Your brother misses you." It's closed with a soft *click* before he looks back to her face, her eyes. Hands wrap about her middle for a return of the hug, and there he rests for a long moment, even if it's only a couple of heartbeats.

"She was vexed in that I'd asked her to at least try to see if she could care for me in those early days.. when she was still sharing the bed with her heart. And disappointed that I had wasted her time because I couldn't see what was before me." So, all Thor's fault. Yes, indeed. "Now that Asgard is in no danger of having one not of Asgard upon the throne as Queen, if you wish to depart my side, I make you that offer."


Sif lets out a chuff of a laugh, then a nod at both accounts. Her brother misses her yes. And the understanding of not being in a mood to tell a tale.

The hug was met with a slight, slow sway. An attempt at a dance perhaps? A need to comfort? But either way, her arms do not remove from around his neck, even if he chooses to pull away within a time. "Tell me.." She says quietly. "..have you shared a bed with her in return?" Matters of the heart, such as this, is almost futile, guaranteed to bring about argument. "I've never understood the manner in which you courted her and why. But the heart is the heart, and is the heart.." She could go on and on. "..yet it wants what it wants when it wants."

She pulls away from him then, falling deeper into her mess of a room as a box was nudged over with a foot. "You think me to run away now that you are upon open market?" She asks quietly. "I shall cross swords with you if you speak of such again." Her head shakes fully, taking a step deeper to kick over a box, another one, that spills it's contents upon the floor. "If you were not Prince, do you think that I would have eyes for you? If you were not an Odinson, do you think that my heart would beat the way it does when you laugh? Smile?" She was a little hurt, clearly, but she presses on. "A threat of the throne does not frighten me. A threat of not having one either does not. You could be a peasant. A lowly man. We could deny Asgard together and flee across the nine realms, painting our stories across the stars. It matters not. Only you."

And again, to drive the point home.

"Give me that offer again. Outside. And ready Mjolnir, it will be needed."


"Shared a bed, yes. Shared a bed as lovers do?" Thor exhales and shakes his head, "No. She and I were never… close." There's no little self-consciousness in that admission, and while still in the brief embrace, he rocks his head forward so it might come to rest upon Sif's own. "She hadn't yet cared for me in such a way." Not that it is technically needed, but the Prince isn't one to simply go out and find himself a bed to share for the night. Part of it is him and part of it is his position, drummed into his head from the earliest of times. The others, they were allowed to excess. Not him.

"She insisted upon Father's permission and her own sister's before she would even allow suit. And even after, she believed it to be a political endeavor, separate from the heart. She had told me once that she knew that one day she would be asked to marry for purpose, and that she could do worse than me."

When Sif finally pulls away, Thor finds a spot that is cleared enough so he can lean against the wall, his arms rising to cross before him. He watches as the contents spill across the floor, and his brows rise at things revealed. Pulling his gaze back to the lovely swords maid, he allows for a ghost of a smile. It's weak, but it's there. "You need not threaten me at the end of a sword again, my Lady Sif. You have my attentions." He chuffs a soft, rumbled chuckle, "And the threat of a throne is a very real thing."


"Well.. it's obvious she missed out." Sif kids! Kids! But yet, there was nothing that Sif could say in that moment. Crystal, she thought, was an honorable woman full of surprises. In battle, she would enjoy fighting at her side or against her in a friendly spar. If.. her kind believed in such things. So there were no ill words, but a silent gladness that her wrath was not expended upon the Odinson.

"Do I?" She asks quietly. "Truly?" She turns to look at him then, a bright gaze crossing her features as she approaches, then veers off towards the dresser drawer which was pulled asunder and the undergarments flung.. piece by silky piece.

"I understand this. Yes. And if it is to be, it is to be. No more, no less my beloved." She finally stops, retrieving the small box that she would give to Frigga, though she does not smile. There was a little frightened look upon her face as she finally faces him, a look that no one else shall ever see. "But I am scared." She confesses, her tone quiet. "Scared of this. Scared for us. Never have I thought that this would be the outcome of our long lives. That we would be where we are at this moment, exchanging glances. Sharing a kiss. Embracing.." Her eyes close, and soon her head shakes.

"But. I have found the gift. Shall we call for the Bifrost?"


Thor watches as Sif first approaches, then veers off. It's that drawer that draws his attention once more; the filmy lace things that are tossed from it. Brows rise and he pushes off the wall that supports his lean to cross the room in order to crouch and pick one of the dainty, feminine objects that had just been tossed. "Aye." That ghosted smile shifts to something that is definitely present, if only for a moment- a lopsided, boyish smile. "You do."

It's put down again, but in the drawer where it had been. It's brought him closer, and to see the look of disquiet, of fear spoken, his expression shifts. He reaches out to take her in his arms, however briefly, and he looks down at her, his tones soft. "This is like another battle, my lady. Only it is against yourself.. the day has come, and I would that you were happy in the thought." He chuckles, the sound quiet, "It is a hardship to bear, I know. But for you to be at my side means that Asgard will survive another ten thousand years."


And that dainty object? Hoisery. Those things that trap the legs. Those things that itch and feel as if there were ants crawling upon the skin. And it prickles! The darned things. Made by Hel herself. And yet women are forced to wear them beneath their skirts and not have legs bared, or clothed in leather skinned from a beast and tailored for battle.

Yet it was all forgotten that he had even touched it, by bringing her forward into his chest, in which she remains close by cementing it with a wrap of her own arms around his waist this time, comforted. "Aye. A battle that I cannot use my fists nor my swords. It's frightening. Yes. But.. I am happy." She laughs a little, and once again creates that lift upon her toes so that she could kiss underneath his chin. Scruffy his beard as it was, the kisses were soon extended to his jawline and the lobe of his ear. "Summon the bifrost." She whispers, then draws herself away.

It was then that she readies herself for departure. Cloak thrown upon her shoulders, and weaponry carried within a satchel made from the looms of their home. "Not if the likes of us bear offspring." She comments. "Imagine this. A child, son or daughter, with a temper that is more grand than her or his mother and father. Who also controls the strike of light and wields the sword like a god or goddess." She grins, this little fable causing her to laugh.

"It will tear from its mothers womb angry. It will push over a pillar in the All-Father's chambers and attack Frigga with unfailingly cuteness that all of Asgard would be lost." Terrifying concept. Sif just frightened herself yet again, but it was covered with a smile. "He or she would lift Mjolnir, and knock their father back to Alfheim.. but yes. We must depart. I am ready."


Warm in his arms, and strong. There was yield and there was pressure, and Thor smiles at the kisses. He rocks his head forward in order to catch at least one kiss, but before they could become too engaged and entangled, Sif draws herself away. An exhale of soft frustration sounds unbidden before he inclines his head. "The bifrost." His tones are rough before he clears his throat and tries again, "Home again."

Holding his hand out to guide her out, Thor walks the halls until they're outside. Then, he looks up before he calls up, "Heimdall! Your sister and I are to come home!" Look ma, no goats!

In the blink of an eye, a beam of blinding light of multi-colored hues breaks through the sky and lands upon the earth where the pair stands, bringing them up to stand upon the rainbow bridge that leads to Asgard.

As it is a 'royal' contingent, guards are there for an honor procession, and Heimdall is present. He bows, hand pressed to his chest to greet first the Prince before he smiles to his sister.

"Welcome home," is intoned. "All have been told of your arrival."

Thor looks back and grins at Sif, a late reaction to Sif's musings. "Proper young prince, then." Brows rise, and he takes a deep breath. "Shall we?"


No amount of laying sod would repair the grass for the arrival of the Bifrost. The gate itself scorches the earth, unleashing a rallying winnying of the Clydesdales who kick up a fuss in their stables, and gone was Thor and Sif to home.

A thousand years and more, the travel by way of bifrost was never easy. The transition from Midgard to Asgard startling, bereft of colors that one could only see from the sky after a simple raindrop mist and the way the light catches. But here, beneath their feet, they walk upon the rainbow bridge in greeting with the guard and a brother who was long missed. And promptly ignored. And that is the way that she shows her love for him, for punches would come soon but not in the presence of duty.

(She does cut a smile for her brother after all, a slight twist of the shoulder to see the gift that rests upon her sternum.)

The weaponry that she carries within the bag is offered up to one of the servants present, along with a squeeze of a shoulder and quiet tidings before she looks to Thor. "Yes. We shall." And then the walk. Not a march but a stroll deep in thought, for they were to part ways soon, Sif would not be present for the meeting with the All-Father, for her sights are set upon elsewhere. Box tucked beneath arm, her intentions made known. "Unless you have need of me, I will not be by your side as you speak with your father. Instead, I shall spend my time with Frigga. I miss her, this you know."

More like, a girly thing. As a child she'd cry to Frigga, throw her tantrum and was steadied with a warm hand. And as a young woman? She'd throw her tantrums and would be steadied by a warm hand. Not much has changed, but the conversation she intends to have.. different.


This is as it always has been, and it's comforting. Thor takes his stroll, his tones soft as he walks. "Mother will be pleased to see you again. She will wish to walk the gardens with you." He nods his head, confirming her thoughts. "My discussion will be with the All-Father, and not my father." As if there's a difference. In Thor's mind, there is. "We'll meet for dinner at meetings' end, or…?" Thor's brows lift, "Will you be taking your meal with Mother?"


"Mm.." Sif comments quietly, a glance aside to him before her hand reaches out to brush along his, and with a close of a distance to bump shoulder to bicep as well. "I do miss the gardens." She says quietly. Though once confirmed that he was there on business, her nods her head, her gaze looking straight ahead, her pace quickening to step and stop in front of them of where they will part ways.

"It all depends on if she'll have me, and if your talk with the All-Father extends to the morrow." Her shoulder lifts in a shrug. "But either way, I will take some sort of dinner, be it in the comfort of the halls or bedchambers alike." There was a grin then, and a quick look left and right. T'was not that she was ashamed, but she enjoyed showing affection away from the prying eye. "In case I will not see you, may I beg the Prince a kiss?"


Thor smiles without looking down at the brush at his hand, and he reaches out to make contact in order to give her hand a squeeze. There are just some things that are ingrained.. particularly when they get closer to the palace. Royalty is royalty, and eyes are always upon them.. particularly those that do not belong to Heimdall. "I have no doubt she'll have you. Word about your dealings with the mortals? Mother is as shameless for information and gossip as the next person, only she is more clever in the asking." And she usually has reason behind her inquiries.

He slows before they are to part ways, and he looks over her shoulder even as she checks to see if they are alone. "In case I do not see you, and in case you forget me in those hours we are parted," and he leans to press a light kiss upon her lips, a hand rising to cup her cheek.


"I will not spare my tongue in telling her the tales of the mortals I've witnessed. She will doubly be pleased." Sif grins, for there was a time when she posed for a shoot, and she spied a woman slapping the other, and unleashing various food sorts upon the set. Sif watched with budding interest, as wails and shouts were thrown, hair was pulled, and how vicious they were once separated by men who no doubt the women could have folded in half.

And another fell and lost his shoe! Sif laughed for -days-!

But the kiss, she allows herself to linger against him for a moment. There was much regret to leaving hastily, which was told by the way her fingers curl against his garb, tightening and releasing with a soft groan as she departs his touch. "Until then, God of Thunder. I will bring to Frigga your good tidings."


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License