The Tomboy Never Gets the Guy She's After...

Seriously, if I owned anything to do with Marvel (except DVDs - got lots of those) I would be playing house in Asgard.

Training with the Einhejar was generally a distraction. Sif supposed it ought not to have been – war was a serious business, and today, for example, they were under the eye of the All-Father. Not to mention the ever-present Huginn and Muninn. Thor had not yet attended the training ground this day – he had mentioned something about visiting his mother. Sif had very little in the way of family, except that family with whom she had shed blood: the princes, the Warriors Three, and the Einhejar, who had first allowed her presence after Queen Frigga had put down five of them in a row and then suggested that perhaps Shield Maidens were not to be scoffed at after all. Sif had always liked Queen Frigga.
Her sparring partner thought he'd caught her off guard, but Sif had learned a little about the effective use of bluff, even if she generally scorned the teacher. The soldier landed hard on his back, the butt of her spear at his throat. She glanced up to see if the All-Father was watching, had seen her – possibly overly womanly – feint. Thor had arrived, and was talking with his father. From the gazes they threw her way, something had passed she did not understand. Thor would never notice her for more than her sword, of that she was sadly certain. But what had the All-Father said? She returned her gaze to her opponent and offered her hand. "Again?"

"There was a time when you would celebrate for weeks." Sif missed those days. Before Midgard; before Loki and Jotunheim.
"I remember you celebrated the Battle of Harokin so much you nearly started the second."
"Well, the first was so much fun…" It had been, too. Thor had thanked her for a particularly neat save. Volstagg & Hogan, knowing her style, had pulled off some very complex team manoeuvres that made all the difference. Even Fandral – even Loki – had fought well and shared her joy in the hard-earned victory.
"Take a drink with me. Surely the All-Father could have no further task for you tonight." She made to take his arm, and then thought better of it. Sif had worn a dress instead of her armour – something in the All-Father's gaze had prompted it, but she was sorry now. She felt awkward, and had had a drink or two already to steady her nerves. Battle was far easier. "This is one I set myself."
"It does not go unnoticed that you disappear each night. There are Nine Realms – the future King of Asgard must focus on more than one."
Damn. Damn.
Anything for a little of the Trickster's silver tongue. He would have laughed at her for saying it, for wanting to say it, but he would have said it better.
Sif was the only maiden who could keep up with the boys, the only one who'd even tried. For a long time, that had been enough. She had been able to see that Thor never took any of the women he had seriously, and his company and serious attention had been reserved for her. She had hoped, of course, that one day there might be more to it. Loki had seen through her – also of course. Little rat. But he enjoyed having a hold over her far too much to say anything to his brother or their friends. Norns, she had hated his snide remarks when the others were out of earshot.
Then Jotnar broke in to Asgard in the middle of Thor's coronation, and nothing had been the same again.
"I thank you for your sword, and for your counsel, good Lady Sif."
Damn. Damn. Damn.

Sif was eager for the skirmish in the dungeons. Take her mind off things. The Einhejar had resented her presence once. Now she had saved enough of their lives that they accepted her marching in their ranks without a murmur. Her mind ran over the layout of the prisons, but then the All-Father had ordered the detachment with which she marched to the Weapons Vault. A more important station, certainly, but what chance was there really that anything worth fighting would make it out of the lowest levels?
That's when she had seen her. Jane Foster of Midgard. Of course, they had met before, but Sif hadn't understood then that Jane was any different from any of the other women Thor had found to stroke his ego over the centuries she had known him. Now Jane was in company with the Queen. Had Thor brought her back to meet his parents? Was it that serious? Was he serious? Mortal lives were fleeting, 'twas said; and Sif truly hoped it was so.
Jane wore a fine gown, so clearly she'd been in Asgard a while – at least since the previous night. Jane saw Sif's glance but seemed to make nothing of it.
The Lady Sif was probably the only person in Asgard who was glad of the coming of the Dark Elves – she needed something to hit. She had ended several, but not so many as Volstagg claimed for himself. They were good fighters, for all their centuries of suspended animation. Sif was quite pleased.
At least, she would have been. She was sorry there were so many Aesir dead, but they had died in battle and were headed for Valhalla. What more could one hope for? That was before Sif had learned that Queen Frigga was of their number. The Queen had taken on Malakeith and Algrim the Kursed alone to defend Thor's mortal. Sif would probably have done the same, but Sif's life would have been a small thing to loose. Jane Foster – all of Midgard – was not worth this price.

"What then?" asked Fandral, as Thor explained his – surprisingly well-thought-out, for him – plan. Loki had been the group's strategist. Volstagg wasn't bad either, for his aim was always to get the six of them back in no more than six pieces in order to tell the tale. Thor most often provided the muscle. He had grown of late, Sif observed.
"Your lovely mortal –" 'Trust Fandral to notice that' thought Sif, "- is being guarded by a legion of Einhejar who will see you coming from miles away."
"I won't be the one who comes for her." He looked at Sif.
Oh Norns, no. Send Fandral. Call Hogan back from Vanaheim. Of course, that was rather the point – no Bifrost, no Tesseract. Sif pitied the soldiers on babysitting duty, since she cared too much for Thor to refuse him or take her anger out on Jane Foster.
Sif didn't recall much detail of the rest of the plan. She tried to hide her fuming and tried not to hope the Aether would kill off the mortal before Malakeith could be manoeuvred into removing it.

The Einhejar were happy enough to exchange greetings with her. Didn't even caution her to stand back when they unlocked the doors to bring in a meal. 'Mortals are ridiculous!' they had told her, and Sif had heartily agreed. 'They can eat so little, and yet they have to do it so often.'
"I'm not hungry." Well, there was a little spirit there. Not enough to excuse Thor's appalling taste. Or cost Asgard's Queen her life. Two blows were all it took, though Sif would have enjoyed more. "Good. Let's go."
Sif was already moving away. She had no intention of making things easier for the human, who grabbed a quite disreputable coat and was trying to put it on as she half-ran to keep up. Could she possibly imagine she would be less conspicuous in Asgard in such a garment? "Lady Sif!" She slowed a fraction. "Why are you doing this?" Sif pondered a moment, though she maintained her pace. She could hardly say 'Because I love your prince' and 'This isn't the first time I've committed treason for Thor' wasn't much better. She settled on: "For Asgard."
"Well, thanks. What happens now?"
"Now we get you off world so Malakeith will have no reason to attack and our people will be safe. Thor thinks we can deal with Malakeith with you to draw him out." Sif hoped it sounded callous. It was petty, for a warrior, but from what she had seen of Fandral's women, this was how they fought among themselves. Sif hoped Jane saw it for what it was, even if she didn't understand.
Finally. There were the princes. For a moment, Sif's mind couldn't process Loki's shackles – they had a lifetime of fighting on the same side after all, even if the truce between them had ever been uneasy. Of course – Thor had finally learned a little common sense.
"You're…" began Jane. Ahh. She would have heard about that battle in that town, what was it called? Midgardian names were impossible.
"I'm Loki, you may have…" Jane's fist connected with his face. Not a great punch, but enough to catch him off guard. Sif smiled briefly in spite of herself.
"That was for New York!" Yes, that was it.
"I like her!" proclaimed Loki.
Thor turned even as Sif did. Einhejar. Lots of them. "Take her. I'll hold them off." His 'thank you' was almost enough. She had grown sadly accustomed to 'almost enough'.
As Thor and Jane moved on, Sif's blade went straight to Loki's throat. "Betray him, and I'll kill you." His smug smile was unbearable. Sif wished she had time to punch him as well – she'd do a better job if nothing else. "It's good to see you too, Sif." He knew exactly what it had cost her to rescue Thor's mortal, and he wanted her to know he knew.
Damn.

Thor had said no killing. That was the reason for doing this, after all, to save Asgardian lives. Briefly she wished for her spear, but that was futile. She settled for her double-bladed sword and shield. The blades were not all she would have wished for. She cursed herself for not sharpening them in preparation for the fight as was her wont. That, too, was futile. The Einhejar knew her skill, and would approach her cautiously at least.
Her opponents' first stroke was a clumsy, over-handed blow – probably meant to test her resolve. She parried easily with her shield, and forced its rim into the soldier's face. He would not soon forget that a shield is also a weapon. Sif took the next blow on her hilt as she recovered and used its force to pivot the blade and sweep back the soldiers who ventured too near, her blade ringing satisfyingly against armour.
She raised her shield to ward off another blow, but a fourth stroke caught her exposed flank, making her cry out. Her armour did its job, but she knew from experience there would be a painful bruise if she survived. Her left arm coming down to protect the injury, she retreated a pace before the crush of circular shields. A pace, but no more for she was now hemmed in.
Glancing around, Sif hoped Thor had reached the Svartalf ship for there was little more she could do. She drove forward with a lunge and, as her blade connected with a hastily raised shield, she felt a hard strike to her back, shooting pain to the ends of her fingers, loosening her grip on her sword.
Thor had said no killing. As she was borne down to darkness, Sif wondered whether Odin had laid such limits on his Einhejar.