Chapter 2

Knight's Resolve

"Yes, yes, I'm sure they'll be thrilled to wait for another hour or two. Open up the ... eh, some Latour, but not the really good one. Would be a waste." Pepper's only answer consisted of rather frosty silence, and even though he talked with her over the phone, he could picture her disapproving frown all too well.

"Come to think of it, don't offer them wine. Offer them some champagne, because we are good friends, yadda yadda yadda." Tony Stark loosened his tie and glanced over his shoulder. He only saw the back of Clint Barton, sitting in his chair and piloting the aircraft. It seemed that they sent high-ranking assassins to pick him up nowadays, instead of Phil Coulsons.

What was wrong with those SHIELD-guys? Coulson at least had had the decency to disappear after handing him important things, but Barton? Hell-bent on getting him into that Quinjet before he could finish his coffee, expression all stern.

There was no chance to get some privacy here, so he turned around and spoke into his phone in a hushed voice. “Listen, Pepper ... do I have to? I mean, you run the company as well. You don't need me for thi ... yeah, I know, important people. Can't you just tell them that I'm on, ya know, hero business? Now that you mention it, I AM on hero business, saving their asses since 2009." He winced when he was immediately called out on his whining. This conversation was going so sideways.

"I'll call you on when I actually know what Fury wants. Is there something ... what?” Who was this woman Pepper kept talking about? She kept insisting that said old woman who had left cryptic messages with his secretary that would put the Da Vinci-Code to shame. He wasn't quite sure why Pep thought these message to be so important – perhaps that destiny-insert-mysterious-anagram-right-here-talk had awakened some puzzle-instinct in her. Ugh, destiny. In the great encyclopedia of the real world, that word labeled right before “dumbass” for a reason. But really, did he have to make himself available for every old lady who lost her cat now?

Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that Pepper was a little tense today. He had to make it up sometime soon. Just not now, no time, no time. Out of the window he could see the SHIELD Helicarrier, which meant that he had to conclude his chat. Why was he here again? Right, because his esteemed colleague had dragged him into this, whatever it was. Not his primary problem right now, that place was currently occupied by his stressed-out girlfriend.

"Listen, I've got this recipe from my father. I'll make you some cheesy stuff and tell you what all this was about, okay? Fondue you later." With that, he hung up and turned again to Hawkeye, who was in the middle of the landing procedure. He had known that guy to be rather easygoing and even a little cocky at times, but now he seemed overly serious. Pepper didn't seem the only one on edge today.

"My, aren't we in a jolly mood? You gonna tell me what's wrong or do I have to wait for Fury?"

"I don't know what this is about." Barton didn't even spare him a glance, apparently focused on his console. Emphasis on "apparently". Tony knew that if he stared long and intently enough, he would come clean. The presence of a Stark was just that good.

"I'd tell you, but I honestly don't know." ... or not. At least Barton tried to smile, but he only managed a grimace. Still no answer, so it was time for the big guns, which meant teasing him with his quasi-platonic-heterosexual-lifepartner. Cheap trick, cheap way to coax anything out of someone, but Barton kind of had it coming now.

"Issues with Natasha?"

"What the fuck? Why does everyone think …"

"So there are issues with Natasha."

"There are never issues with Natasha. She is completely issue-free, you know."

"But you mention 'issue' and 'Natasha' in the same sentence."

Barton's expression turned from mildly irritated to high-quality eye-rolling. "Oh, so you caught me there. " He managed even a half-amused smirk. Landing procedure complete, that Agent was still back to his own self, but lightened up a bit and wasn't uncharacteristically stoic anymore. Tony concluded that he had done his one good deed for the day and mentally crossed it off.

The atmosphere in the conference room was approaching zero steady and fast. When Tony stepped through the door, the only two occupants merely nodded to him and Clint Barton in respect, but otherwise went on their business, which was ... hard to say, actually. Steve Rogers sat at the table, idly beating the devil's tattoo on the table area with one hand. The other arm was kept safely out of sight for whatever reason. Hair and clothes were still very old-fashioned, but to be perfectly honest: Tony couldn’t imagine the Captain in any other attire, nor in any other way. That man was simply born in the last century, but right now he looked as if all these decades were resting on his mighty shoulders, dragging him down mercilessly.

He even seemed a little paler than usual. At a second glance, Steve left his other arm hanging, as if it weren't part of his body anymore. Tony was no stranger to injuries, and he knew it when he saw one: The powerful Captain America, stopped by an injured arm? Strange, and somehow rather impossible.

Natalia Romanova leaned at the wall looking out of the window, arms folded before her chest. Her hair had grown since their last encounter with the Chitauri and Loki, and she now wore it in a ponytail, radiating a certain cold and professional countenance. She was also the only one in her "uniform", or rather her tight-fit catsuit. Very tight-fit indeed. Dressed for battle. What battle though? That remained to be seen.

These were his companions from their epic fight in Manhattan. He hadn't seen them for a while, and yet they all seemed a little more distant than before. Did they know what Fury wanted? Or did something change? What happened?

"Where's Banner?" Ah, so Captain Rogers had decided to start a conversation, while Barton silently sat down. It wasn't surprising that Steve held him responsible for the last team member’s presence, since Banner had taken up residence in the old Stark Tower - which was now rebuilt into an Avenger's Tower – and pursued his own scientific interests.

"Dunno. He left to meet a colleague a few days ago. I expected him to be back at the end of the month."

Steve gave him a black, accusing look, but Tony shrugged it off. "He left a note. He does this from time to time. Free human being, free country, he can go wherever he want. He will show up when he's needed." Sheesh, it was high time for these guys to finally trust Bruce Banner with his anger management, which had proven to be more successful than initially believed. Whenever this planet was under attack, the hulk would gear up, holding the front, the attackers merely a tiny annoyance. He had proven himself just once, but he had proven himself when it really counted. He would prove himself again should something like Manhattan happen again.

"I'm sure he will." Nick Fury's voice sounded grave and firm, while he strode into the room. But he didn't do it casually - nothing Nick Fury did was ever casual. He was always intense, always stern, always imposing. But today, something was different, and Tony was certain that it had something to do with the white, unassuming box he carried. Placing it on the table, Fury stepped back to address all the attending Avengers. That name still sounded a little strange to Tony's ears, not to mention dramatic. Corny dramatic.

"This was placed on our landing deck half an hour ago …"

Tony didn't even try to restrain himself. "Nice Job. I mean, wow. Your cloaking device sucks." But for once, just this once, Nick Fury's look was intimidating enough to silence Tony Stark.

There was an uncomfortable pause before Steve chimed in, his voice thick with wariness. "It's a head." Of course it was a head. A white box. Either head or cake. Obvious. Head was more likely in their line of work though.

"I can still smell the blood." Damn ... he had never had any doubt that the Black Widow had made quite a name for herself as an assassin, but that remark was super-creepy. Almost as creepy as putting a head in a box on the table. Seriously, what the hell?

Director Fury ignored them, produced some latex gloves and put them on in what seemed like an eternity. Stark was rather sure that the director already knew whose head was in the box, had checked it three times back and forth for bombs, mines or other pleasantries ... he was just building up drama. For all he knew, it could be the head of the President of the United States in that box.

He was wrong. It was worse. So much worse.

Fury carefully lifted the object out of the box and placed it on the table in a tentative, almost gentle manner. The head was a too large for an average human, cut off raggedly by an unskilled hand or with a dull blade - or both. The hair was black and unkempt, the expression of the man's face peaceful, as if he had just closed his eyes to sleep. His complexion was in a greenish hue, but his features ... it couldn't be. There was no way this could happen. This was a trick, a cruel joke. It was virtually impossible.

"Bruce Banner.“

"No." Nick Fury's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "The Hulk."

---

I am Sif, Battlemaiden of Asgard.

After the Bifröst was destroyed, the Nine Realms were without protection for a brief time. As a result, wars erupted, marauders were pillaging and chaos reigned. After the rebuilding of the Bifröst, order had to be restored.

The worst and most vicious fighting however took place in Asgard, when the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim once again threatened to destroy us all. The battle was bloody and internecine – even the gentle Queen fell victim to it.

But in the end, we were victorious. Thor made it all happen. He took all this carnage and all this loss and made it into something beautiful. Even when I was close to losing hope, he wasn't going to let himself be defeated. In the end, Thor prevailed against all odds, despair, a dangerous artefact and even managed to dodge being betrayed by his jealous brother. He was now with his Jane on Midgard.

This infatuation with her would pass in time. That woman's life was fleeting, just an ephemeral dream of a short night. Thor always followed his passions, and this was destined to be a short-lived one. He even fought about it with his father, I heard, and still stayed by his decision. I always admired him for his steadfastness, even if the path he had chosen was not an easy one.

His Jane might have been the reason why he fought briefly with his father, but I think it was Loki and his supposed sacrifice that eventually caused Thor to turn down the throne that should have been his a long time ago. It pained me to see him so conflicted, and it pained me even more what I had to do right now.

That bold little girl wasn't the one that was bad for him. Loki was. His punishment was a silent conflict between Odin and Thor, and now I feared that my dear friend would suffer even more if I didn't intervene.

I have endured much scorn for my choice to become a warrior. But there were two men who had always respected me and my choices, always supported me – they ended up being more close to me than my own family.

They were the most important men in my life whom I trusted implicitly. When I watched Thor train for the first time, although almost a child, I was awestruck. With his flowing, golden hair and his imposing physique he looked like the most powerful man alive to me. I instantly wanted to be like him. So I sneaked into the training chambers and started to fumble with the practice weapons, nearly hurting myself. Thor had secretly been watching me and laughed wholeheartedly at my feeble attempts. But then, he looked deep into my eyes, testing my resolve.

I held his gaze.

It was at this very moment, where the amused flicker in his eyes vanished and he took my hands into his, only to place them on the spear with the rough and knowing touch of a seasoned fighter.“You have to hold it like this, or it will slip from your grasp.” he said, without mockery but with respect.

I had loved him from that day on as my future king, as the man who supported me and as the only man to believe in me when no one else would.

One day, the mockery of the men I was training with took finally its toll. I had broken my sword in a clumsy swing and was a laughingstock for everyone, so I had withdrawn to a secluded spot in the palace in misery, to shed tears about my failure. It was then when the Allfather himself silently sat beside me.

“Why are you crying?” I remember his gentle voice vividly, even to this day. But at that point, I was determined to be deeply disappointed.

“I broke my sword. I will never be a warrior.” I sobbed, but the Allfather just smiled and chose to impart a small fraction of his wisdom to me.

“The weapon does not make a warrior. His skill does. Don’t let yourself be judged by small-minded men. It is your honour and nobility that will make you outshine them all someplace, sometime.” With these words, Odin took my childish doubts away and replaced them with strength. I had respected him before, but from that day on, I loved him as my King.Now, my respect and affection for them both demanded of me to do something against my very nature and behind their backs.

The two guards who let me into the chambers were distant cousins of Volstagg and had vowed to keep the matter silent. I looked behind over my shoulder to see Fandral giving me a worried glance, but he nodded in consent. Together, we stole into the room, the guards turning a blind eye. The chambers were very basic and cold, the stone walls naked and unadorned.

This was where the bodies of the fallen were prepared for their final journey. This was where I was supposed to find Loki.

I didn't have to search long. The fallen of the great battle had already been sent; so he was lying on a stone table, hidden beneath a sheer veil, clad in his leather armour. There was some discussion going on what to do with him, whether his death was enough to erase his crimes – it was important to know, as it would affect the method of his burial. Strange ... my whole life, this man had just been there, and then it happened all so fast. His whole appearance had been a lie and he had become a menace who was just waiting to harm everything I hold dear. It hadn't been so long ago that he was a shy man who would ask me repeatedly out to dance and watch my every move with longing eyes. I had scoffed at him. I wonder if he had intentionally harmed those I respected the most just out of spite for me. Vengeance for being spurned? I wouldn't put it past him. “Are you sure about this?” Fandral's voice was hushed and he still sounded a bit unsure. If I hadn't known better, I would say that he was shaken. “If we use the powder, there's no turning back. You know that debts with Karnilla's acolytes never go away. We will pay them until the end of our lives, if we are unlucky.”

“We can never rest peacefully if we don't know for sure.” I answered firmly. “Peace is worth the debt” Fandral sighed heavily … again, if I didn't know better, I would say he was adust. Perhaps he had promised something he didn't tell me. It was no question that my swashbuckling friend had gone to great lengths to procure this magic powder. It was definitely genuine, as the sorcerers of Nornheim would never risk giving away faulty products. Also, it was assured that it was the most potent things to counter magic. It would dispel any enchantment on the body before us, that much was sure. If we were lucky, nothing would happen.

Again, it was Fandral who slowly tugged at the veil, careful as if not to disturb Loki. He looked like he was merely asleep, his skin tinted blue while strange markings adorned it.

“He doesn't look much like a Jotun.” I heard myself say despite of myself. “He wasn't tall or strong enough. Perhaps he was a hybrid.”

“We will never know.” Fandral added, and started to dust the silent face of the fallen Frost Giant who didn't look like one. I held my breath, and for a moment, it seemed like the silvery powder would only rest on the blue skin and doing nothing else.
But then, it started to glow, pure and white, and all the colour just vanished, leaving the pale, white face of a man I didn't know. From the look of things, he looked Asgardian, with dirty blond hair and a strong jaw … he was also much more sturdier built than Loki.

“I knew it.” I said between clenched teeth. I had feared as much. That was the reason for this whole operation, and right now, I hated to be right. “He's alive.”

Fandral didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

Oh, how I feared this. I had talked the matter over with Volstagg and Fandral, and they were both ready to follow my lead on this. So the responsibility lay with me.

I closed my eyes and remembered the last two years. When Thor had mourned Loki for the first time, he had been inconsolable; it only worsened when he had to discover that his brother had gone rogue and threatened the world he was so fond of. It wasn't his Jane who had hurt him – he longed for her, he missed her, but she didn't cause him pain. But knowing his venom-tongued brother in prison had made him weary and he suffered from the contempt he was met with. The more I think about it, the more I am certain that Loki manipulated a lot of people in a lot of incidents over the years, and Thor ultimately was the victim. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he engineered Thor’s banishment. He had always been one to confuse with jealous lies, ruining lives and scarring souls. He did it even when he wasn’t there.

I know what my dear friend would want from me now; he would like to be told before his father and then would ask for help to search for his wayward brother who wasn't even his brother. I know what my beloved King would want from me now; he would like to know first and quietly, so he could deal with the matter without causing any more uproar in Asgard.

Whichever way I chose, they would both suffer in the end.

“Get Hogun.” I told Fandral, who hurried away in an instant.

There was only one way I could protect them both from harm. Odin had taught me to trust in me and my honour; Thor had taught me to trust in my instincts and my strength. I would need all the skills they both imparted on me to see this matter through.

Loki was dead, and I would make the tale true.

I am Sif, Battlemaiden of Asgard, and by the blood that runs through my veins, I would hunt this bastard down.