“How could I forget? Your dear Thunderer laid down his own life in place of yours.”
"Yes. He did.”
Richard Armitage, Esquire UK, 2013
-The mask is tugged down over his face, Deadpool tucks it into the brace around his neck and it seals shut with a nearly inaudible click. He remains seated at the table next to Sif, allowing her to take his full attention. The empty bottle is left untouched after his near-breakdown.-
I’m gonna kill the guy responsible and blow his entire operation straight to Hel — or Hell if the one-L version is just for Asgardians… whichever is worse. They’re going to burn one way or another. I’ve been toyed with enough, Sif.
-The mercenary decides he wants to change the subject.-
You’ve still not said what’s got you down, Sif.
[The Lady Sif thought herself indifferent and at times cruel, but even she is capable of compassion and a gentle heart. Perhaps, Midgard changed her like how Thor was changed. She isn’t entirely sure if it is something that she should be glad about, but she finds she is not entirely disappointed.]
… [She isn’t entirely sure what to say; the shield maiden probably would do the same. She can’t help but feel slightly at fault for suggesting the idea—still, she cannot entirely say it’s something she disagrees with. Revenge and retribution are things that the warrior-goddess knows well.]
[Deadpool told her what happened to him. She supposes it is her time to tell the truth.]
I… I left Thor.
Nah, not rashly, Sif… you’ve spoken honestly.
-If the Lady needs something to confirm her suspicions, the way he downs the bottle after speaking should do the trick. He places it down firmly, a pained grin catching onto his lips. Wade’s hand trembles very briefly around the glass and he manages to compose himself before anger and sorrow consume him. The mercenary slaps both hands down against the table and he nods twice to reassure himself and Sif that he is fine.-
I’m gonna take back what’s mine.
Deadpool— Deadpool, wait.
[Sif inhales a breath. Perhaps, she had spoken rashly. If it were her, if this was her situation she had to contend with, things would be different. But this is Deadpool and his circumstances. This is a situation in which she knew not the consequences or the risks. She did not know the factors. Perhaps, she should not have spoken with haste. Swallowing, she stares at him, soft features writhed with worry, with concern. What is he planning—]
… How exactly are you going to take back what is yours, Immortal One?
I HAVE TO OWN THIS GAME
-He takes a long drink from the bottle, half emptying it down into his gullet. The mercenary shrugs a little, hesitant to answer at first. Deciding that it’s best to speak in half riddles to save himself the pain, Deadpool sets the bottle down and opens his mouth.-
What if you woke up one morning and everythin’ you knew was wrong? Your memories could be faulty, they could be fake or even someone else’s; what if that happened to you and the world felt bleaker than ever but… what if you then discovered who was responsible? What would Lady Sif do in that situation?
[Slowly removing her hand, the shield maiden is quiet for a long moment. Thinking. Processing. Debating. For she had once been a prisoner of living within another before, of walking their steps and treading their path. The goddess could have very well continued residing in her mortal host, forsaking godhood and Thor forever. But she had chosen to wake up. She had chosen to live. To be. But if that had happened to her, if the Lady Sif had been robbed of her body, her heart, her soul, everything that made the goddess who she was, then… The answer, she finds, is a simple one.]
I would kill them.
[But realizing herself, and the fact that this might not have been a hypothetical situation to her immortal friend, she hesitates.]
—Perhaps… I have spoken rashly…
Lionel Shriver, Checker and the Derailleurs
Where yesterday the road had been swamped with heavy carts, wayward holy men, today Brienne was met only with silence. It was not the eerie sort; the river beside her bubbled unquenchably, birds sung through sun-stained trees. And though the forest around her more than oft sprung brigands over songs, she found her broad mouth in a small smile as she rode.
Soon enough, she turned off the main road to a lesser walked route, branching away from the river and deeper into thicker trees. After a time she was forced to dismount and lead her horse along…pointed north. Always north. For where else would she have gone?
A woman––a woman armor-clad––stepped from the wood near silently, effortless in seeming grace. She had the dark hair of the Mormonts, but Brienne idly wondered what a lady of Bear Island might be after so far from the isle…and if it was war that brought her…Then, to which side?
"The nearest castle is Harrenhal, my lady. West. Though…I would not trust to venture near it." Brienne had given it a due wide berth, riding up from King’s Landing toward Rosby and Maidenpool.
"I am bound North, though South to King’s Landing would fare you just as well." And better, if there’s to be truth about it.
How troublesome. Sif had to figure out where she was. She would not call for Heimdall to return her to the Realm Eternal. Wherever she was, and whatever trials she may face, she would face them on her own and on her own terms. Sif would not be so easily cowed. This new realm did not seem so terribly different from the others she had seen. The people—or rather, the fellow woman-knight in front of her—seemed human enough to be called Midgardian, though the lady-goddess knew she was not in Midgard. After all, that is the very realm she had wanted to avoid in the first place.
But the armor, the weaponry, the mere—fashion of it all… There was something about it that the goddess sort of reveled in. This realm suited her somehow. There did not seem to be Asgardians or Vanir in this realm, but at least they had weapons and crafts she could understand. She had always felt the weaponry of Midgard was too ill-suited for her. Guns were too quick, too clean. It was not a real battle if one were to avoid bloodshed.
But they still used swords here. Good. Sif did not feel out of place with her own armor and blade. But this was not Asgard or Vanaheim or Alfheim or any of the other Nine Realms the warrior-woman had been most accustomed to. This place—she could sense it. Despite its laws and customs of old, there was a sort of magic within this realm, she could gather, wherever it was. Unlike Asgardian magic, but it seemed similar… Almost, anyway.
"—If you insist." She had never heard of such a place. But if the knight spoke against travels there, she would heed that claim. Sif did not fling herself into danger’s grasp unless necessary. But she recalled with fondness that in her travels with Thor and the Warriors Three, troubles never ceased.
South. King’s Landing. Easy to remember. But North— She blinked, glancing over her shoulder. What was North? No. The better question was what was in the North. ”And what is North of here that has sought your attention? You needn’t tell me your reasons. Are there cities there as well?”