Work Text:
When she thinks back to her first visit to Alfheim, Sif remembers mostly the shivers that ran down her spine as she looked at the dark forest before her. Mirkwood, they learn is its name in the strange, lilting Elven tongue that few Asgardians bother to learn more than a few phrases of. The Allspeech – what the Light Elves call the Common Tongue – suffices for their infrequent visits. Sif pays little attention to the finer points of Odin’s briefing, mostly wishing she could have been granted permission to go with Thor and Hogun to deal with an infestation in Vanaheim. At least she knows what to expect there.
As their party enters the forest, the trees press in close, looming over them and blocking out Sif’s view of the sky. Nothing at all like the forests of her home. Asgardian forests are golden and green, the sunlight playing through the leaves and dappling the ground with pale shadows. But here, this forest…it houses vile things, things that hide here from the light. Her companions seem less bothered, but Sif shudders and looks forward to returning home.
Her instincts scream at her to turn around mere moments before she hears the unearthly shrieking, and the beasts are upon them. Fandral, just behind her, yelps and draws his sword to meet head-on the one that had snuck up on him. Sif whips around, her staff unsheathing its blades just in time to slice off one of the spiders’ hideous legs. It shrieks and leaps at her, and she smiles, thrusting her blade into its open mouth.
Though the Asgardians are strong warriors, many of them are more accustomed to fighting human opponents than beasts, and Sif hears cries of pain from both spiders and men as the battle continued. The twenty warriors had been given instructions and training on Asgard to deal with the vermin, but it seems to Sif that as soon as she takes one spider down, three more have surrounded her. They’re forcing her, and them all, deeper into the forest.
The giant spiders are more intelligent than she’d assumed, she quickly realizes. They’re herding the Asgardians into a dense wooded area with few escape methods. Sif guts one of them with a roar of rage, furious at herself for not realizing earlier. The forest has thrown her off balance, and now she might pay for it with her life.
She hears Fandral cursing somewhere nearby and whirls around to see him wrestling with one of the spiders. She slices off its head, nearly taking off Fandral’s own, and he springs up with a grin. Her companion is nothing if not good-natured. “Quite a welcoming party they’ve sent for us!” he gasps. “Almost as if we knew they were coming. Do you think they have spies back home?”
Sif rolls her eyes as she dispatches another neatly, not having the breath or the desire to dignify Fandral’s joke with a response.
Then they hear the rustle of branches and both turn, expecting another horde of creatures. Instead, Sif finds herself at arrow’s point.
Though the newcomer, a woman with red hair and strangely shaped ears, is shorter than Sif, her eyes blaze with intensity and Sif has no doubt that she is as fierce as any Asgardian warrior. The woman barks out an order to her companions, who make quick work of the remaining spiders. Sif understands the meaning, if not the words, and feels a pang of regret that she did not try harder to learn the language of the Light Elves.
“We are your allies,” she says slowly. “We present no danger to you, Light Elf.”
The Elf cocks her head and lowers her bow. “You…are an ally?” she asks in the Common Tongue, sounding a bit unsure of herself.
“Ally, yes. We come from Asgard. Our King, Odin Allfather, has sent us to assist you in clearing your realm of those despicable creatures.” Sif isn’t sure how much the Elf is understanding, but she has to at least try. From behind the female Elf, a male Elf steps forward. His striking blue eyes glance over her. “Welcome,” he says, seeming much more confident. “I am Legolas son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. We hail you, Asgardians, and thank you for your assistance. This is Tauriel, Captain of our guard.” The female Elf bows slightly, still staring at Sif.
“Greetings, Legolas. I am Lady Sif of Asgard.” After introducing the rest of her companions, who have gathered behind her, Sif asks, “May we come and speak with your king?”
“Of course.” Legolas gestures for them to follow the Elves deeper into the forest. Sif finds herself walking next to the female Elf, Tauriel. She looks her over, noting her sharp, lovely face and the way her ears came to points rather than rounding off like Asgardian ears. Sif has never seen an Elf, Light or Dark, up close before, let alone a female. Tauriel seems to be the only woman amongst this group of Elves. “You seem young, to captain these men,” Sif says conversationally.
Tauriel blinks at her. “You seem young to speak for a group of experienced warriors.”
Sif laughs, despite herself. “I have trained in battle since I was a child. I am considered one of Asgard’s best warriors. Odin himself selected me for this mission, as a commendation of my achievements.”
“I see humility isn’t one of them,” Sif’s head snaps around to look at Tauriel, ready to reply with a biting remark, but Tauriel is smiling playfully. “You fought well back there,” she continues. “Some arrogance is understandable.”
“Arrogance!” Sif barks a laugh.
“If I might interject,” murmurs Fandral from behind her, “it seems this Elf has discerned your weakness after only a few moments of knowing you, Sif. It’s quite impressive, really.” He groans as Sif turns to cuff him soundly on the arm. Tauriel’s green eyes glitter as she watches them.
---
The Elven King, Thranduil, acts cordially toward the Asgardians, if a bit standoffish. He offers them rooms in the palace, and Sif, even used to the grandure of Asgardian architecture, thinks her chamber impressive, if still a bit uncomfortable to stay in for too long. She is accustomed to cool metallic surroundings; the treeish material that made up the walls of the palace feels much too alive. So that night Sif goes walking underneath familiar starlight, rather than lying awake beneath a room that she can practically feel breathing.
While she enjoys the solitude of her walk, she doesn’t turn back or tense up when she hears a voice somewhere ahead of her. The words are foreign to her ears, but the melody makes Sif think of lost love and the cold, black emptiness of space. When the singer comes closer, Sif is able to identify her, the distinctive red hair giving Tauriel away. “Greetings,” the Elf calls. “What brings you out tonight?”
“Your king has graciously offered us rooms in the palace, but mine feels like a strange, living cage to me. In Asgard, our chambers are wide and open, the metal ceilings like armor above us, protecting us while we sleep. Here I feel as if the branches might choke me – I thought seeing the familiar stars might help.” She drops her eyes, worrying suddenly that she might have said something to cause trouble, but Tauriel merely looks intrigued.
“It sounds to me as if your Asgardian chambers are more cagelike than ours.” Tauriel smiles, a bit awkwardly. “Armor is to be shed at night. Armor can’t talk back to you.”
“And trees can?” Sif raises an eyebrow.
Tauriel laughs, as if shocked. “Of course they can! Do your people not talk with your trees?”
“If they did, they would be whispered about and called mad.” Tauriel looks taken aback and Sif almost regrets letting her mouth run away with her again. But she will not apologize.
“You Asgardians have tongues sharper than your swords,” says Tauriel, sounding not entirely unhappy. In fact, she’s smiling again, almost laughing. Sif feels as if she’s passed some sort of test. “But as you were walking alone, might I join you?”
Sif nods. She’s been quite abrasive to this Elf, not entirely on purpose, and Tauriel still hasn’t left or tried to fight her. That seems like a good sign.
They talk. At first, they’re both a bit unsure, sometimes beginning to talk and then stopping midword. They smile at one another warily. Sif watches the Elf, sees how easily she walks beneath the stars, and wonders about these strange people who speak with trees and sing to no one in particular.
---
The next morning the Asgardians venture out into the forest, escorted by the heavily armed guard. Sif and Tauriel walk side-by-side and, though they’re largely focused on their surroundings, Sif feels the Elf’s eyes on her all throughout the day. The Elf melts into the shadows and lies in wait for a group of spiders, then lets loose with a perfectly timed arrow, glorious in her element. Sif vastly prefers close combat, where she can look her enemy in the eyes and watch the life drain from them as she strikes the killing blow – but she cannot help but respect Tauriel’s technique.
The spiders that manage to dodge the Elven arrows soon find themselves meeting Asgardian swords. Sif roars as she dispatches two, three, four spiders, feeling her blood rush and her heart beat like a war chant. Happiest here, in her element, she does not pause for rest until the wave of spiders is defeated. Then, breathing heavily but grinning, she notices Tauriel watching her with a strange, predatory expression on her face.
That evening, Sif slips out of the palace again, partially out of restlessness and partially with the hope of seeing Tauriel again. She wanders alone for a while, nearly giving in to disappointment before a familiar shape appears out of the twilight.
“I thought you might be out,” says Tauriel, her smirk almost playful. “Still unaccustomed to our living cages?”
Sif smiles. “I’m afraid so. But I find it a comfort to walk in the open air. These are still the same stars as we see on Asgard. Our lore teaches us that the spirits of great warriors take their place there, after death.”
“How interesting!” Tauriel’s eyes are bright. “Our lore is very different. Do you know it?”
“No. We were taught several of your customs, as we are of all the Realms’ people, but I spent that time of my schooling dreaming of my future in battle.”
Chuckling, Tauriel nods. “I understand that. We Elves believe that Varda, queen of the Valar, created the stars. They are her realm, and we are her most beloved, as the closest people to the stars. Elbereth, we call her, in our times of greatest need.”
“Elbereth.” Sif glances at the night sky. “That’s quite lovely. We have our own stories about the origins of the universe; Yggdrasil connects all the Realms together. You Elves would enjoy this, I suspect, as the name for it in the common tongue is the World’s Tree.”
“You’d be right. I’d love to hear more of this.” They’ve been walking alongside the river, and Tauriel seems to glide over to a large boulder and perch on it, gesturing for Sif to join her. Sif does, feeling comfortable even though they’re still sitting under a willow tree, and begins to recite the stories she’s heard all her life.
Tauriel seems fascinated, asking questions to prompt more information. Sometimes she interjects an Elvish custom or bit of culture that coincides or disagrees with Asgardian lore (usually the latter). The Dark Elves in particular seem to disturb her. “We too have what are called Dark Elves,” she says, her eyes wide. “They are an example for us, of what greed and ambition may wrought if unchecked.”
“I much prefer your kind, the Light Elves,” agrees Sif. “You are honorable and, though skilled in battle, do not use your strength to menace those around you.”
“This is true,” sighs Tauriel, “but I wish my king would not seclude us so. He wills that we would keep ourselves separate from the rest of our world, but my heart tells me that that is wrong. He thinks himself above the matters beyond our borders, and above the concerns of a lowly Sindar Elf like me. A part of me envies you, that your king cares for his allies, even that he has allies.”
“I’d not thought of it in that way,” admits Sif. “The Allfather is concerned with the security of Asgard above all else, and we are tasked with keeping peace among the Nine Realms to ensure that security. It seems strange to me that your king would ignore the troubles outside his own borders. To my eyes, that is not how a king should rule.”
For an instant she fears she has said too much, been offensive. “F-forgive me if I speak too rashly,” she says quickly. “Fandral often mocks my inability to keep silent. He says if it is not Thor’s temper that plunges us into a war with the other Realms, it will be mine.”
“I enjoy it,” replies Tauriel, smiling warmly. “Here, female Elves do not often find themselves drawn to battle as I do. You are the first female warrior I’ve met, in fact.”
“It is the same in Asgard.” Sif sighs. “Women often find themselves drawn to the healing room, which is its own skill, of course, but I…I could never find satisfaction there. You and I, we have battlesong in our hearts.” She laughs, struck by the frivolity of her own statement. “My lord Thor would laugh if he could hear me, for he often teases me that I am no bard, and my words are better saved for taunting our enemies than telling tales of the battle afterwards.”
Tauriel chuckles, but not unkindly. “My people value such words, though not as much as our cousins to the west. But we are poets in our own right. For one who is unaccustomed to it, I think you made a lovely statement.”
“Thank you.” Sif glances at the ground. “You are very kind to me, in a way I am unused to.”
“Really? That surprises me. Are your people generally unkind to beautiful maidens?”
Sif’s head jerks up, unsure if she’s heard Tauriel correctly. Tauriel’s smiling playfully, but the expression in her leaf-green eyes is shy, as if she’s uncertain of how her words will be received. “I hope I am not too forward,” the Elf continues, taking Sif’s hand in her own. “I have come to think of you as a…well, a friend, Lady Sif, and if I offend you with my advances, I apologize.”
Sif laughs in response, shaking her head. “You haven’t, Tauriel. I…am unaccustomed to this as well. My fellow warriors are mostly men, and they think of me only as a rival or a brother-in-arms. I had not dreamed of finding someone like you.”
Smiling, Tauriel asks, “May I kiss you?”
In answer, Sif leans over and presses her lips to Tauriel’s. She feels a bit awkward, but she’s quickly distracted from that by how soft Tauriel’s lips are. She breaks the kiss after a moment, feeling warm inside. “I hope that was acceptable,” she says, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
“Very much so,” says Tauriel, kissing her again.
They kiss for a while, testing the feel of each other. Sif senses that, much like herself, Tauriel has little experience with romance. Some moments are very awkward and they have to stop kissing because of their own laughter, but they both seem to be enjoying themselves. Eventually, Tauriel pulls back from a particularly heated kiss and says, almost apologetically, “I’m afraid at some point we must retire for the night. My lord will send us out into the forest tomorrow, no doubt.”
“Ah, yes.” Sif chuckles. “Well, thank you for a lovely evening. Would you…want to continue this at a later point?”
Tauriel smirks and Sif feels something new stir inside her. “Definitely.”
---
As their excursions into the forest end sooner in the day, Tauriel begins taking Sif to explore the outer edges of the forest on their own. The trees are still too constricting for Sif’s liking, but stll she goes with Tauriel. The Elf points out different plants and tells Sif their names in the Elven language. Some of them are very similar to Asgardian plants, but others Sif has never seen the like of. She enjoys the smaller herbs and lichen more than the looming, dark trees overhead. Sometimes she will give the Asgardian name of the plants she recognizes, which seems to amuse Tauriel. The Asgardian language fascinates Tauriel, who begs Sif to speak even nonsense phrases to her and laughs delightedly at the results. Sif finds it odd that her native tongue should be so amusing, but nevertheless obliges Tauriel.
Tauriel tells Sif of the Valar’s request that the Elves follow them west to Valinor, and the refusal of her ancestors to make the journey. “I sometimes wonder if they were right to do so,” she says, almost sadly. “Others see my people, the Silvan Elves, as less wise, less worthy because they never saw the light of Valinor. I think that I would have gone, had I been there, no matter how long and difficult the journey.”
Sif doesn’t quite understand the distinctions between types of Elves and the importance of this strange light in the West, but she takes Tauriel’s hand and says, “I think you are more than worthy, Tauriel.”
That makes Tauriel smile, though in a more melancholy way than usual. So, to raise her spirits, Sif adds that she would gladly cut off the head of any who dare say Tauriel is less wise or less worthy than them, and repeats the statement in Asgardian. Tauriel laughs, and looks happier.
They spend their nights together, too, at first walking and sharing tales and kissing. Sif enjoys kissing more than she anticipated; at least, she enjoys kissing this lovely woman. Eventually their parting kisses last longer and longer, and Tauriel slyly remarks how large her chambers are, and from then on their evenings are far less innocent. Sif likes this far more than she thought she might, too.
For some time, their trysts are kept secret and they always return to their own bedchambers to sleep. Then, after they’ve had their fun one evening, Tauriel nestles in next to Sif rather than leaving for her own chambers. Sif smiles and runs her fingers through Tauriel’s flame-colored locks. She certainly doesn’t object to Tauriel’s presence, if she wants to stay.
Until the morning, when they’re awakened by a loud thumping on the door. Sif opens her eyes and the first thing she sees is a tangle of red hair mere inches from her face. “Sif!” Fandral’s voice booms through the door. “I’ve never known you to lie abed this long! Are you ill? Shall I come in and make sure you’re still alive?”
Sif’s body jerks in panic. Neither she nor Tauriel are wearing any garments, and there’s no time to cover themselves. “Fandral, wait…”
But it’s too late – Fandral’s opened the door, and though she and Tauriel scramble to cover themselves with the blankets, Fandral takes it all in with his typical observational eye and smirks. “Why, Sif, I see that you have taken up my favorite pastime of leaving a string of hearts cross the Nine Realms.”
Tauriel begins to laugh nervously and Fandral joins her. Sif glares at her companions. He will pay for those remarks later – perhaps at swordpoint.
---
The Asgardians stay in Mirkwood for several moons, though the spider population begins to dwindle early in the second moon. Odin has not yet sent for them, though, so they remain. Sif minds this far less than she thought she would.
This confuses her. She’s spent most of her life with men in one way or another – Frigga had taken her under her wing as a lonely child, but the Queen was the exception. Most of the other girls Sif had known as a child were pleasant enough, but uninterested in playing at battle. So, by default, she befriended the boisterous princes and began to focus more on her training, abandoning all attempts to befriend other women.
This does not mean she has never been interested in them. When her male friends pointed out the attractiveness of certain women, she often joined in without a second thought. They seemed not to think anything of it, but in general Asgardians were fairly sexually permissive. Not many women had seemed terribly interested in her, however; it seemed they preferred their lovers male. Sif had never thought much of it, throwing her energy into battle training – though at times the inability to act on her desires left her uncomfortably frustrated.
Tauriel is the first woman to enjoy Sif’s advances, laughing in delight as Sif presses her against a tree to kiss her deeply and nudges a leg between her thighs. Once or twice Sif is even emboldened to pull Tauriel away from the group after a battle, taking her against a tree with their companions mere yards away. It’s almost certain they knew what was going on, as Tauriel seems incapable of remaining silent with Sif’s fingers and tongue working inside her, but no one comments. Even Fandral limits himself to a conspiratorial wink. Sif snorts. As if he’s never had any of his girls after a battle.
---
When they leave for Asgard, Tauriel kisses her so lightly she almost doesn't feel it. “I shall think of you, my lady warrior.”
“And I you, my Light Elf,” says Sif, resting her forehead against Tauriel’s for a moment. They both knew this could not last, and neither had allowed themselves to call it love. Even so, Sif has enjoyed spending time with a likeminded woman, and already her heart feels the loss.
She would never say any of this aloud, but she hopes Tauriel will understand.
And, in the years afterward, she often glances at the stars and smiles.