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i.
When she was a child, Sif's brother told her that she would never be a warrior, and so she took her mother's kitchen-knife and put it to his arm. His blood clung to the blade, creating curving red patterns against the metal, and poured from the wound like a spring seeping from stone. He cried and called for help, while Sif did nothing: he was not fit to deal out pain if he could not accept it himself.
They called it a bloodlust in her, but she could never see it as such. She saw no use for pointless injury, for the needless application of sword to flesh. But neither would she stand by and take what was given to her without being allowed to give it in return simply because she was not a man.
ii.
She met Thor in one of the courtyards of Asgard when they were both but children still. He was brawling in the center of a circle of boys, and winning. When Sif joined the circle, she whispered to the boy next to her, "What did he do?"
"The one currently being driven into the dirt?" said the boy, sounding bored. "Nothing. Thor - the one doing the driving - has said that he will fight anyone who challenges him today. If you ask me, he simply doesn't want to attend to his lessons."
Anyone, thinks Sif, and when the boy who isn't Thor pounds his hand into the dust for mercy, she steps forward.
"I will fight you," she says.
Thor, possessed of blue eyes, flaxen hair, and what Sif can already see is an overly-generous opinion of himself, looks her up and down and laughs.
"Will you, now?" he says.
"You said anyone," Sif says, and hopes it to be true. "Why not me?"
"Because she's a girl," mutters one of the boys in the circle.
Thor looks to that boy and frowns, then looks back to Sif. "All right, then," he says, and holds out his arms at his sides. "You can even have the first blow."
Sif steps forward until she's right in front of him, and looks him in the eye. He's smiling, as though he has nothing to fear.
She kicks him in the fork of his legs.
"Next time," she tells him, leaning over him as he coughs out breaths on the ground, "only give away the first blow if you are certain you can withstand it."
The next day, Sif secrets one of her mother's kitchen knives into her bodice, improvising a sheath of an old shirt and the leather of an old shoe. She knows full well that Thor is Odinson, and will one day be the heir to Asgard itself. No doubt there will be guards and punishment, and claiming the folly of a child is not likely to get her anywhere. Besides, the idea is repugnant. She tucks the knife into her bodice instead and resolves that if the world will not give her the respect she demands of it, she will take it apart piece by piece unless it can do the same to her first.
There are no guards. Instead, Thor finds her drawing water from a fountain in the courtyard - her mother says that the fountains of Asgard run sweeter than the water that comes to their home, and so Sif fills a jug every day and hauls it from the fountain back home. She thinks that the sweetness of the water comes from her labor and not the fountain, but she says nothing. Her arms are stronger from carrying water than her brother's, for all his practice with a sword.
That is where Thor finds her, filling the jug.
"Do you have a name, or shall I just call you First Blow?" he says, and she curls her fingers around the jug's handle to more easily bash him on the head.
"Sif," she says.
"Sif," Thor repeats. "Did anyone ever tell you that there is no honor in the blow that you gave me?"
"I am a girl," Sif says. "If even an honorable victory would give me none for that reason, then I will take a dishonorable, if memorable, victory."
She looks at Thor, and he is smiling.
"Would you like to have both?"
iii.
The Palace of Asgard is a grand one to be certain, and the thundering sounds of the Allfather and the Odinson echo through its golden columns. Sif stands by the door, where she has been not-so-subtly banished, at a warrior's attention. Her scabbard fits ill across her hips in this dress. She has long thought of moving it to her shoulder, instead, and if the Allfather does not have her executed as an abomination for publicly defeating his son then she will have to investigate the idea further.
"You are the Lady Sif, the woman warrior?" Sif turns her head and sees the lady Frigga, Allmother, mother of Odinson, Queen of Asgard, and the most talented magic-worker of the age, coming towards her with arms outstretched in greeting.
"I have heard much about the shieldmaiden who stole away into my son's army and then bested him in his own training-grounds," Frigga continues, and glances wryly at the closed door. "Although no doubt all of Asgard can hear it now, too. Come, walk with me. I would speak with you."
Frigga offers an arm, and Sif takes it wonderingly. Frigga guides them through the halls of the Palace as though walking a familiar path, her attention on Sif and not on the walking. The fabric of Frigga's sleeve is soft and rich against Sif's palm, which even Sif can feel is damp and nervous.
"Tell me how you defeated my son," Frigga says, and Sif's mouth goes as dry as the air of Muspelheim.
She tells the story haltingly, and even her words feel unadorned and plain as they drop from her lips. In this telling, it is no song of defeat, only a catalog of blows exchanged: They thought no-one was watching; Thor desired a sparring partner who would not stay their hand; it was only when Thor was flat on his back with her boot on his collarbone and they heard the gasps did they discover they were not alone.
Frigga listens with interest, and when Sif is done, asks, "Did he allow you to win?"
Sif bristles. "My lady, I know full well when I am being deceived in battle, and Thor's defeat was not that. He fought honestly, as did I, and so I emerged honestly the victor."
"Good," says Frigga. "I would not wish my son to tarnish his honor by ceding victory through deceit, nor tarnishing yours by doing so. There will be those who will not believe you, you know. They will insist that Thor bears some love for you that compelled him to do this, and that you are somehow complicit."
Sif cannot withhold a snort. "Any who would say so is no warrior at all, and no acquaintance of Thor. I can think of none that he loves so dearly as to deliberately accept a defeat and call it honest."
"Then you know Thor well?" Frigga says. "Is that how you came to fight him?"
"He found me more of a challenge with a sword than many others he could practice against," Sif says, and, aware of the potential insult, phrases her next words with care. "There are those who allow their concerns for his well-being to displace their concerns for his education."
"Those who allow him to win when he should not?" Frigga asks.
"I have not seen any such bouts," Sif says. "But that is my understanding."
"And you have no such concerns for his well-being."
"I have every concern for his well-being, and his well-being is poorly served if he leads an army into battle without having been in a true battle himself," says Sif.
Frigga smiles at her. "You speak like a man."
Sif looks away, unsmiling. "I am no man. There may be those who would prefer if I was, but I am warrior and woman both. I would not deny one to achieve the other. I will have both."
"Of course; even now you wear sword and dress both. I meant only that your manner of speaking is direct, like a man's," says Frigga. "It is no criticism. The men of Asgard are warriors, and as such, anything that is not delivered to them, they demand with a sword in their hand. As you say, Sif, you are a warrior, as well. But we women of Asgard, those of us who are not warriors...we must find other ways. The menfolk may be very, very good at getting what they want by demanding, but that only means they have no understanding of the...subtler ways of achieving one's goals. That is the domain of the women. Let the men move their soldiers and apply an unsubtle sword to whatever lies in their way and call it strategy. Odin the Allfather is a wise warrior, but a warrior's wisdom is not absolute."
They arrive at a balcony, and Frigga removes her hand from Sif's arm so that she can turn to face her. "I see in you a combination of a warrior's wisdom and a woman's. It is something that Asgard sorely needs. There will be those who will oppose you, and those who will stand by in apparent silence. Know that the women of Asgard stand by you, and although we may be silent in Odin's court, we do not need to speak there to achieve what we desire."
Sif frowns. "What do you wish of me, my Queen?"
Frigga smiles. "That you raise your sword to those who would harm you or Asgard. That you slay those who would see my son slain. That you bring the heads of your enemies to lay at Odin's feet, the same as would any warrior. And if, perhaps, occasionally you bring the heads of the enemies of those who are not quite so adept with a sword as you are, it would be greatly appreciated."
"My lady," says Sif, "if the Allfather does not order my death, you have my word, sworn on whatever you should wish."
Frigga smiles, gently. "I do not require a warrior's oath, Lady Sif. I can see the truth of it in your eyes. And as for the Allfather - well. As I said, a warrior's wisdom can be tempered by a wife's words."
"Thank you, my lady," Sif says, and for the first time knows what the other warriors must feel when they swear their fealty to the Allfather.
"Do not thank me," says Frigga. "We both have our work to be done."
iv.
The first time she kills on the battlefield, she knows already it will not be the last. It is an eldjotnar, cloaked in fire even as she puts her weight to her sword to drive him to the ground, and she does not know his name. He is anonymous to her, even after the battle as she tries to polish the scorch marks from her blade and sees his face in the patterns there.
"Was that your first kill?"
Sif does not turn. "Yes," she says, and presses the cloth more firmly against the blackened spots.
Thor comes to stand before her, and when she looks to him, his gaze is compassionate.
"You are no less for grieving for him," he says. "I grieved, too, for my first. But as my father once told me, we must always remember that one day it may be us on the other end."
Sif rolls her eyes. "Do not coddle me, Thor. I do not lack ambition. I will not be struck down nameless on a battlefield by some blow I did not see coming. Whoever kills me will know my name and will fear it even after my death, should they yet live. They will sing songs of the bout because surviving it was itself an honor. But they will know me; they will remember me; and all of the Nine Realms will also."
Thor smiles at that, a vicious and reckless curve of his mouth. "And you will be carried to Valhalla, no doubt."
"And I will cut off the hand of any man who there tries to steal my mead," Sif agrees.
"Circles," says Thor.
"What?"
Thor indicates her sword. "Rub in circles, not back and forth."
Sif does so, and the black begins to give way to shining steel.
"If you will not content yourself to a soldier's death, surely you will not content yourself with a soldier's life," says Thor.
"I am a warrior, not a soldier," says Sif. "I will follow no order simply because it is given."
"So if I told you as your lord and as the Odinson to follow me into battle, would you not?"
Sif looks up from the sword. "If you told me as my lord and as Odinson," she says slowly, "and as my friend, no. I would not follow. But you could walk ahead of me and call it leading, if you like, for if you need me there then there I shall take myself."
Thor thinks on that for a moment. "I suppose it makes no difference, in the end," he says.
Sif allows him to think that, but to her, it is all the difference.
v.
"Okay, here's a question," says the one called Darcy, fighting to keep her hair tucked behind her ear in the winds of Odin's palace's balcony. "How come your armor has boobs?"
Sif blinks. "I have breasts, do I not?"
"Well, yeah, but I read this post on yamblr that said that it messes with the distribution of pressure if you actually get hit," Darcy says, and gives up her hair entirely. It streaks forward, obscuring her face like clouds raked by the wind over a setting sun. "And if you're the only female warrior, how did the blacksmiths or whatever even know how to put the boobs in?"
Sif smiles, the corners of her mouth pinching with satisfaction. This is one of her favorite stories to tell. "They did not, when I first asked. I instructed them, and they ignored me, and so I returned with my sword and instructed them again. My lord Thor assisted me in the testing of the armor, and when I bested him it I declared it acceptable."
"Wait, you beat Thor?" Darcy exclaims. "With Myuh-Myuh and everything?"
"I did. I have battled Thor before, in practice and only once in true anger, and I am well aware of his weaknesses."
"Okay, there's a lot to unpack there so let's go back to the beginning. Why are there boobs again?"
"Because," says Sif, allowing herself the smile of a wolf once again, "when I defeat a man, he will know that he was bested by a woman. And perhaps if his daughter should say that she wishes to become a warrior, he will remember the day he fell before me and think twice before telling her that no woman may be a warrior."
Darcy looks at Sif with wide eyes for a long moment, and then says, "Can I have your autograph?"
Sif frowns. "I do not have one, but the vaults of Asgard have many treasures taken from distant lands - perhaps they - "
"Sif! Darcy!" Thor's voice booms through the balcony and rolls across the sea in front of them. "I would be grateful for your assistance," Thor says to them, looking to Darcy in particular. "I have asked the guards to investigate immediately if Stark should ask 'what does this do?', but I am afraid there are some forces that even the Royal Guard of Asgard cannot hold back, and that Stark's curiosity is among them."
"Oh, you just have to know how to deal with him," says Darcy, and waves a hand as if wafting away smoke. "By which I mean get him talking about himself and then he'll just keep going."
Thor's brow tugs downward, and Sif recognizes the gesture: he is trying to decide whether to take offense. "Stark is a friend and an ally. I would not hear ill spoken of him."
Darcy laughs. "Really? Have you met the guy? Don't get me wrong, I admire the hell out of all of you, but I'm surprised Iron Man doesn't need another suit just for his ego."
"I would meet this mighty warrior with a mightier opinion of himself," says Sif, amused. "Lady Darcy, will you introduce us?"
"Yeah, sure!" says Darcy. "Jane and Banner are off science-ing anyway. It's not like she'll notice I'm gone."
"And where are the other warriors?" Sif asks.
Thor grins. "Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg are testing their prowess against our visitors."
"And who shall emerge victorious?"
"I truly do not know," Thor admits, still amused. "I have no doubt that the Black Widow will give them a very good fight, if not best them. The Hawk's Eye has an aim that would be admired even in Alfheim, and Captain Rogers is a truly formidable foe."
"Then once we have found Stark, we can watch the Warriors Three test their mettle against his Iron," says Sif. "Perhaps we can distract Stark and Fandral with the careful application of a mirror."
"I've got one in my purse," says Darcy, and shrugs. "I'm just saying."
"A weapon that could bring an Avenger and one of the Warriors Three to their knees," says Thor, laughing. "Truly it must be fearsome."
"Perhaps you would care to learn to wield a sword, Darcy?" says Sif. "If you would show me how to wield the mirror of yours, weapon for weapon."
Thor glances skyward at the folly of women, but Darcy's smile shows she understands the truth of it, as Sif does.
"That," says Darcy, "would be totally baller."