Chapter Eleven
Sif crossed her arms and glared daggers at the blonde man in the tight blue uniform. Honestly, is that what warriors wore on Midgard? It was downright embarrassing. Even Asgardian maidens wore less form-fitting clothes. And it had no armor. It was just a suit. Did this man, Steve Rogers, really believe that nothing but a shield would protect him in battle?
And why was he holding a door open for her? Sif could open her own doors, thank you very much. Did he think the doors were to heavy for her? That was ridiculous. Sif was not weak. She was perfectly capable.
Steve Rogers cast his eyes down, a blush growing from his Adam's apple to the tips of his ears. Bur he did not yield. He continued to hold the door open. For her, the most feared warrior in all the land. What was his iss -
"Can anyone else literally feel the sexual tension between these two?" a cocky voice from behind called out. Sif whirled around to see the rest of Thor's friends, the Avengers, backed up in the hallways. The one with the odd beard that could rival Fandral's stood in front, a silver case in hand. "Seriously, get a room and get out of our way. We don't want to spend the rest of our lives in this hallway."
"I have claustrophobia!" someone cried out.
"No you don't. Shut up, Clint."
"You shut up, stupid!"
"Don't talk to her like that!"
"Oh, did I make you angry? Am I not going to like you when you're angry?"
The man in front face-palmed, then looked at Sif with a glare and said, "Please go through the damn door before we have a Hulk on our hands."
Sif, who had never been to spoken to like that by a mere mortal, set a stony look on her face and crossed her arms. With cold eyes, she looked him up and down. "No. I will open my own door. Unless Warrior Rogers releases the door and allows me to open it for myself, I shall remain here."
"Sif." Thor's blonde head appeared from someone in the back of the mob of people. "It is a sign of respect and a kind gesture on Midgard. Friend Rogers is not attempting to dishonor you. He is simply acting as he normally does. It is his way. Please, pass."
She didn't like it, but Thor was her prince and would one day become her king. Huffing, Sif tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and strode past Steve Rogers, not making eye contact and letting her displeasure fill the air around him. The mortal man would know that she was not happy with him.
One by one, both Asgardians and Midgardians filled the room and sat down around the table. An unexpected annoyance rose up in Sif; this was Asgard's War Council room. What right did mortals have to be sitting at their round table? She knew she was being petty, but there was just something sacred about it that was being violated.
"So. Jotunheim." The slightly bearded mortal set his silver box down on the table and clapped his hands together. "I'm under the impression it's cold. Now, are we talking 'North Pole and Santa's Elves' cold or 'Oh, hey! A frozen penguin' Antarctica cold?"
"What are you talking about, Stalk?" Sif asked, not believing how stupid the man sounded. He couldn't really be one of the fiercest warriors on Midgard, could he?
He glared at her. "Tony Stark. Like with an 'r'. Not stalk, like I'm a creeper or something."
"You are a creeper sometimes," the woman with the disturbingly bright green eyes noted, a grin forming. "Like when you try to sneak into the women's locker room at headquarters..."
"I haven't done that in weeks!"
The red-haired one snorted, folding her arms over her chest. Sif decided that she liked her. Unlike most women, she treated Fandral as though he was nothing but a boy. "It was still creepy."
"You're creepy," Tony Stark muttered like a defeated little boy.
"We are going to plan something, yes?" It was Fandral, oddly enough, who got their attention and went to the back of the rooms to gather the maps. With a sweeping gesture, he spread one out over the table. Jotunheim. The map showed the bare and deserted landscape, the cliffs and ice mountains, and a lone structure - the ruins of the king's palace.
The blond warrior stroked his beard in a way that made Sif roll her eyes at his behavior. "No, according to the boy, this Doom fellow - interesting name, by the way - and his army are here." A long gloved finger tapped the palace on the map. "Roan also believes that said man and said army plan to invade Asgard. My thinking is that - "
"We invade them before they can invade us," Rogers finished for Fandral. Ugh. For some reason, just the sound of the mortal solider's voice grated her nerves. He was so infuriating, the way he did things for her. No one did things for her. Never. It had been years since the last time someone had opened her door, or offered to carry something for her, or... Sif ground her teeth when she realized that her train of thought had become almost wistful.
Tony Stark stepped up, leaning over the map. "Yeah. Makes sense. Get them before they can get us. Where does the bifrost drop us, at that little circle thing right here? That's not all that far... OK, we got this. Easy. I mean, what, aren't there only, like, a couple thousand of them?"
Sif let out an undignified scoffing noise at his supposed superiority. "You cannot possibly know what you're dealing with," she spat, getting in his face. "The Frost Giants are no mere foe; they are stronger and larger than you." Poking Stark's chest, she was pleased to find that it was no where near as muscular as Thor's. Good. He really was a weakling then. "You cannot defeat them as easily as you would a mortal enemy. You are no where near strong enough."
"Lady, I'm fucking Iron Man." Stark just looked at her. "They don't call us Earth's Mightiest Heroes because we're just average. We took down a shitload of alien, yeah, not mortal, enemies. Do you hear me? Aliens!" The whole time, his voice had been rising in volume. "We have an effing Hulk!" His hand shot out, pointing to someone in the mass of Avengers. Instantly, they parted to reveal the smaller man with dark hair and glasses, who waved awkwardly.
That was their big thing? Their so called incredible 'Hulk' was nothing but a mere man, whom Sif could take down with one hand, nay, both hands and a foot tied behind her back? Pathetic. A sneer formed on her face, and the 'Hulk's' face grew red as he awkwardly shuffled out of view.
Sif jumped when a large hand wrapped around her shoulder. There was Thor, her prince, looking at her as if she was a child who had just broken a very simple rule. Instantly, her satisfaction faded to guilt. She had done something wrong, but what?
"Sif," Thor said slowly, his tone low. "These warriors are greater than you give them credit for. I firmly believe that they can defeat the Frost Giants. Do not insult them. They are my friends."
Her head slumped in shame. "Yes, Prince."
AVENGERS ASSEMBLE
Sif may not have been all that happy with these new warriors, but Volstagg decided that he liked them very much. Unlike his friends none of them rolled their eyes as he retold stories of battles won and fights lost.
Well, at least they didn't roll their eyes where he could see it.
After they had come up with their "battle plan" (when Sif had gotten into an argument with the Stark fellow that had ended in tables being thrown), they had dispersed, but Volstagg had offered to show some of them the kitchens. The one known as Bruce Banner, his woman Carter, and Stark had come with him.
Volstagg bit roughly into the boar's leg, not even stoping to chew as he told his tale of their last battle with the Frost Giants. "And then, I withdrew my axe from the beast's chest - " bits of boar went flying everywhere " - and swung it around, unknowing beheading another in my haste! How the Norns were smiling upon me that day! Ah, but they did not smile upon Fandral. The poor lad took out a Jotun, then turned to find himself impaled on ice! He slid down it, his blood smoking in the cool air, and it took both Hogun and I to remove him! The noise it made, I still remember, I - oh, dear. It appears that I've upset the lady."
It was true; the Carter woman looked positively green. She sat there with her lip curled upward, and a hand placed firmly over her stomach. Oh, how horrid! His graphic tale had made her sick. How silly of him; he should have known that a woman was too delicate to hear the horrors of true battle.
"Please," she responded with a snort, putting a noticeable amount of effort into sitting up straighter and looking relaxed. Her husband gave her a soft, concerned look, and placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. "I've seen worse than that. It's just bifrost lag. Or maybe it's the smell from whatever you're eating."
Stark nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's the mystery meat. You do know that it's green, right? It's not supposed to be green."
"Yes it is," Volstagg said, subconsciously bringing his leg closer to his chest in a protective, motherly manner. "This is one of Asgard's finest delicacies, and, I assure you, it is supposed to be this color. That is the tell-tale sign that it is cooked correctly."
"It's rancid."
"It is delicious!"
Carter put her face in her hand in a depressed manner. 'Face-palming', he believed the mortals called it. "You guys..." She inhaled sharply and suddenly, a hand flying to her mouth. Instantly, Banner's hand was on her back and he was standing behind her at the ready. After a moment, Carter removed her hand and shook her head. "Yep, it's your chicken-leg thing. I need some air."
"Here." Banner helped his wife to her feet, then proceeded to lead her out of the kitchen.
Volstagg only allowed for a single moment of silence before waving his leg in Stark's face. "Are you sure you would not like to try it?"
