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If Odin Allfather's position as King were likened to that of a magician, then it could be said that Frigga Allmother was not only his Lovely Assistant, but also the hidden springs, strings, and seams that turned the Magician's tricks into feats of magic. Where Odin was the Head, Frigga was the Hand. Odin sat on high, raining down benedictions and judgements, while Frigga worked not so much behind the scenes, but within them, making sure things ran smoothly. She was Queen, yes, and mother to the royal children and head of the Palace household, but she was no mere chatelaine. Odin's soaring Eagle counted for a lot, but it was Frigga's busy Bee that held the rule together.
Which is how she ended up seated across from Bjorn Jarlsson, solving her husband's problems for him. Bjorn Jarlsson was one of her husband's best lieutenants and one of the more influential men at court. He was also the sworn rival of one Sigurd Valisson, to whom Odin had recently granted a generalship along with a pretty plot of land to add to his already considerable holdings. Bjorn was made no less wealthy by his rival's advancement, but if Odin wanted peace in his court, he had to appease Bjorn.
"Your daughter Sif is a lovely girl," Frigga said "I'm sure she and Loki will make beautiful children together, when the time comes."
"Aye, but she's a wily one. I mean no offense, my lady, but I wonder if your Loki can handle her." Bjorn groused in his rough voice.
Frigga gave her most diplomatic smile. "Ah, but Loki has the makings of a bit of a wild one himself.I'm sure he'll manage. Besides, marriage has a way of... settling even the most restless of young people."
Bjorn guffawed and Frigga was silently thankful that Loki was a boy and was being married to Bjorn's daughter. She didn't like the thought of a daughter of hers going off to live in the Jarlsson household. They had terrible manners, great warriors though they were.
She liked Sif, though. The little girl was a feisty one, from what Frigga had seen, and pretty to boot. Loki was young yet, but he was growing into a bit of a trickster, and Frigga did not want to do Loki the disservice of betrothing him to a meek, mousey girl. No, he would need someone strong to keep him in check. Someone to challenge him. Frigga knew these things.
The Midgardians didn't call her the Goddess of Marriage and Family for nothing.
Sif wasn't shy. Not at all. In fact, her mother and father would have probably preferred if she'd been a little timid.
So when Sif was presented to the King, Queen, and the two princes (as if she didn't know Thor and Loki already, seriously, grown-ups were so weird about this ceremonial stuff) she stood straight-backed and proud, as defiant as a five-year-old girl could manage to be. Her parents had prepared her for the news, so she wasn't shocked or frightened when Odin set one hand upon her head and the other open Loki's and declared them betrothed, but actually looking into Loki's face, knowing that someday she was going to have to marry him... well, that was a little different.
She spent most of the engagement party being paraded around by her mother while people cooed like pigeons over her dress and what a lucky girl she was, to get to be a princess when she grew up and oh won't she make the loveliest bride and on and on and ON. She'd unsuccessfully tried to sneak off to play with Thor twice, caught each time by her mother who'd give her a stern look and then drag her through yet another round of well-wishers and supposedly important people Sif didn't even know or care about. Her only consolation was that Loki was getting the same treatment and he looked positively petrified.
Finally, after what seemed like ages of being tutted over, Sif and Loki were thrust together to 'chat' while the grown-ups watched them out of the corners of their eyes and pretended they weren't looking. Sif huffed. What did they expect her to do, kiss Loki? Ew. No. They had another thing coming if they thought she was ever going to kiss Loki.
Sif turned and stared unabashedly at her future husband, he sat fidgeting in his chair, trying to yank his heavy, formal robes into being comfortable to wear. Loki was okay, Sif thought. He wasn't mean or stupid, and he and Thor didn't laugh at her or try to chase her off when she joined one of their fighting games. He was just... weird. Short and quiet and given to pranks.
Loki flicked his gaze from his robes to Sif and wrinkled his nose at her.
"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna marry YOU." he huffed.
"Like I wanna marry you at all?" snapped Sif, galled into nastiness by Loki's tone and stupid mean face. "Like I'd wanna marry a stupid weirdo like you. I'm gonna be a warrior and I'll beat you up if you try to marry me."
"I don't wanna marry you! And you can't beat me up!" Loki snarled. "You're just a girl!"
Sif hissed and took a swipe at the young prince. But Loki was crafty and dodged her strike. He then reached out one skinny arm, grabbed a handful of her hair and YANKED.
Sif screeched and launched herself at him, tumbling them both out of their chairs.
Eventually Loki and Sif were separated, both bearing bloody noses and bruises and not so kind words about their future spouses.
Later, after Frigga had seen to Loki's injuries and sent him to his room with no supper and a smarting backside, she allowed herself a small smile.
Yes, she'd chosen well.
As a girl more interested in the arts of war and combat than weaving and crochet, Sif had to admit that being engaged since childhood to a prince of the realm had it advantages. For starters, she did not have to suffer the attentions of well-meaning but no less annoying boys. The whole of Asgard knew that Sif Bjornsdottir was spoken for and anyone who thought otherwise would have to answer to Odin himself. There was also the advantage of being a future royal and (if the very worst should happen) possible future queen. When Sif marched into the training ring at the palace and stated that she wished to learn the art of battle, no one dared to send her back to her mother or her embroidery hoop. Pending second princess or not, no one wanted to be on the bad side of a future member of the royal family, least of all one as fiercer as young Lady Sif.
Sif didn’t lie down on the job though. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was riding on anyone’s coattails, least of all Loki’s. Plus she remembered her oath to Loki: she might have to marry him someday but she wanted everyone to know she was capable of beating him up. So she proved herself, inside the ring and out of it. She learned the martial arts alongside Thor and Loki and as she grew from girl-child to young lady, she likewise grew from Prince Loki’s little bride to Lady Sif, the Shieldmaiden of the house of Bjorn.
Still, for every warrior there is fear, and for every battle won there is a defeat. Sif was still bound to Loki by law and tradition, and future princess and flouter of womanly roles though she was, there were rules that even she had to bend to.
Courtship.
The wedding was still years off (not that you would be able to tell, with the way Sif’s mother spent much of her time preparing for it), but formal courtship was a long and drawn-out process, and Sif was convinced that half of the rules were made up just to torture the young people sentenced to marriage. At first it was simple, almost unnoticeable. Like most noble children, she spent a lot of time on the palace grounds, attending lessons with others her age and socializing within her social strata. She had also always spent a lot of time with the princes because of her father’s relationship to the King as well as her own friendships with them. So when she and Loki were paired off and told to go take walks or meals together (under the close supervision of at least one chaperone, of course) it wasn’t so very different than the leisure hours Sif spent with the brothers almost every day. At feasts and other formal celebrations Sif was always seated next to Loki, but then Loki was always seated next Thor, so that wasn’t so much like courtship as just getting to sit with her friends.
But that was all when she was a young girl. Now that she was ‘blossoming’ as her mother put it, there were more duties, more processes heaped upon her. Gifts had to be given, visits had to be paid, hope chests had to be provisioned. And, horror of horrors… bundling.
The night after Sif turned seventeen, Sif’s mother sat her daughter down in front of a full-length mirror and brushed her long dark hair for what seemed like at least an hour before sectioning out the strands and braiding them into a multitude of plaits and then weaving those plaits together into an elaborate arrangement that fell down Sif’s back in a shimmering blanket of intricate twists and loops. Usually, when she readied herself for bed, Sif fixed her own hair in a single braid or simply left it loose, but tonight her mother had insisted on working Sif’s locks into a fanciful design Sif was certain would not be comfortable to sleep on. She was given a new, gloriously embroidered and frankly just plain uncomfortable nightgown and slippers (she never wore slippers if she could help it) and her mother even dabbed scented oil behind her ears.
“You look beautiful, my love.” Sif’s mother cooed, teary eyed.
Sif glared at her reflection in the mirror and thought she looked like a roast goose, all trussed and adorned for a feast. Blech.
“This is ridiculous.” She griped. “It’s not like Loki and I are going to-“
“Hush, dear.” Interrupted her mother, serene as ever.
Sif was led to Loki’s chambers in a parade-like fashion that made her cringe with embarrassment. She was accompanied by her mother, her father (Oh Hel), her mother’s two handmaidens and a Palace guard. Wrapped in finery and being escorted down the gleaming golden halls of the East wing, where the royal family lived, Sif once again felt more like a braised pig than a princess. Queen Frigga stood with her own small retinue outside Loki’s rooms and greeted Sif warmly. Sif liked the Queen but she would have been more comforted by Frigga’s greeting if she weren’t surrounded by onlookers.
In stark contrast to the pomp and circumstance of simply walking to Loki’s chambers, actually doing what she went there to do was simple and unaffected. Sif hastily wished her parents and Frigga a good night and ducked into Loki’s apartments, shutting the door behind her.
The receiving room was empty of people save for a single lady-in-waiting, who barely glanced up from her nalbinding to nod respectfully in Sif’s direction. The door leading to Loki’s bedroom was shut and Sif could see soft golden light spilling out from under it. Was she supposed to knock first? Loki knew she was coming and with the small army of retainers and parents outside in the hall surely he was ready for her…
Oh Gods, that last thought. Ready for her. What the Hel was wrong with her brain?
Sif felt the lady-in-waiting’s wry gaze on her and steeled herself. Didn’t she best Loki in staffs just yesterday? She could walk into his room. She was supposed to be there, after all. She definitely did not blush as she practically stomped over to Loki’s door and rapped smartly on it with her knuckles before throwing it open and marching inside.
Loki sat on the bed, wearing his nightshirt and dove grey housecoat, reading an old tome about the same size as a paving slab. He barely glanced up when Sif slammed the door shut and fixed him with her fiercest look.
“What on Asgard are you wearing? A giant doily?” he asked pleasantly and Sif lamented not having a rock or some other heavy thing to throw at him.
“I could say the same for you.” Sif snapped. “Is that your dress or are you borrowing it from your mother?”
“Ha ha ha.” Loki deadpanned, but he plucked at the sleeve of his housecoat with a slight grin.
“Happy birthday, by the way.”
“My birthday was yesterday. And you already said happy birthday to me.”
Loki snorted and shut his enormous book. “I’m trying to be nice. Do you have any idea for how long my parents hounded me about how I’m supposed to conduct myself tonight?”
Sif rolled her eyes and turned so Loki could see her hair. “Look at what my mother did to me. She expects me to sleep on this.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation it looks pretty.”
Sif huffed but relaxed a little. She had thought Loki would make fun of her hair like he used to make fun of her dresses when they were little.
“I’m tired. Getting all tarted up took forever.” Sif said quickly, resisting the urge to twist her fingers together. “Where’s the board?”
Loki set his book aside and leaned down to reach under the bed. He pulled out a long, beautifully carved plank of dark wood with deep slats cut into either end, meant to hook over the head and foot boards on a bed. It was large piece of wood but Loki lifted it fairly easily and Sif helped him slide the slats into place, effectively bisecting Loki’s bed. The bed had already been laid for two, so Sif wasted no time in hurrying under the covers. When she was fully covered she slid off her frilly dressing gown and slippers and tossed them on the floor, leaving her in her nightgown.
“Good night,” she said with as much of an air of finality as she could muster.
Loki shifted next to her. “I think we’re supposed to spend the night talking of what we’re going to name our children and other such wholesome subjects.”
Sif buried her face in her pillow.
“Shut up, Loki.”
“Let’s have ten and name them all Loki Junior.”
“I’m trying to sleep. Didn’t your parents tell you to be nice to me?”
“Well I suppose we could name the girls Lokia if you like…”
Sif sat up and tried to sock Loki with her pillow. He snatched the pillow out of her hands and sat on it, the little wretch.
“Darling, my lovey-dove, sweetness and light, what troubles you? Come, tell your beloved husband your thoughts.”
“You have no idea how quickly I can end you.”
“Please don’t be upset, precious.”
Sif didn’t really know how she managed to leap over the bundling board and tackle Loki, but there she was, straddling his hips while beating him soundly with a pillow while he laughed and tried to fight her off.
“You know-oof!- you can’t do this after- ouch, watch it!- we’re married!” Loki said a little manically in between blows to the face.
“Is that so?” Sif growled and hit him again.
“Yes!” Loki managed to grab hold of one corner of the pillow and attempted to wrest it from Sif’ grip. “For I will be your Lord Husband and you my delicate Lady Wife, eager to bow to my whims- ack!” Sif tore the pillow from Loki’s hands and got in a rather impressive strike to Loki’s head.
At some point in the fray, Loki finally got a hold on the pillow and tossed it across the room with one hand, the other hand occupied with Sif’s, who had wrapped her long fingers in a death grip around Loki’s thumb in an attempt to get the pillow back. Then, as young people are wont to do, both Sif and Loki realized the inherent innuendo in their current situation. Sif’s nightdress had gotten rucked up around her thighs, which were planted firmly on either side of Loki’s narrow hips. The cord holding Loki’s robe shut had come undone, revealing his own white nightshirt, which had also gotten a bit… mussed to say the least. They were flushed and their breaths came in deep, quick pants.
“Sire! My lady!” Sif whipped around and Loki sat up as much as he was able to see the Lady-in-waiting, obviously drawn by the noise of their wrestling match, standing in the open doorway.
Sif felt her entire body go red… well more red.
Loki was the first to act, shoving Sif off his hips and hastily retying his robe.
“Sorry, Hilde, my apologies. We just had a minor disagreement, you understand…”
Sif fairly vaulted back over the bundling board and tried her best to burrow as far into the bed sheets as possible. She glanced back at Hilde just in time to see the woman’s shocked expression twist into a sly, knowing grin.
“I understand, my Lord, completely. I must ask, though, that you… contain yourself. I have a responsibility towards yourself and the Lady Sif, you know.”
“Yes of course, it won’t happen again.” Conceded Loki, pulling out his most charming grin. Hilde shot the teens another knowing look and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Sif could hear her take a chair and drag it across the receiving room to place it right outside Loki’s bedroom door.
Loki collapsed into his pillows, covering his scarlet face with his hands, giggling madly.
“Oh for… By great Odin’s raven.” Sif moaned into the linens “That was the most embarrassing thing that has ever happen to me. Oh my Gods…”
Loki just laughed harder. Sif shot up and glared at him.
“And you know she’s going to tell Frigga. It’s her duty as our chaperone.” She said slowly, with a nasty smile. Loki abruptly stopped snickering and Sif could see his ears going even redder. She felt very triumphant until Loki said
“And I’m sure my mother will feel obligated to tell your mother as well.”
Sif groaned and hid under the covers.
“Put the light out. I want to put this humiliating incident behind me and go to sleep.”
“Of course, dearest wife.” Loki simpered.
“Shut your mouth and go to sleep, dearest husband.”