For Asgard!

While the man himself was not without his gravity, the stories Thor told of the adventures he had sought out and the quests he had undertaken with the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three were ones of grand gestures and great battles, interspersed with the hilarity one could only find in comrades at arms and the ease with which you lived among them. Steve thought he could have done with more of those stories as they stood as a reminder of all he might have lost but had lived in the glory of. There had been an understanding in each word that war was not in itself glorious, that that was a lesson hard won and weighty across one’s shoulders. That it left its marks on a person’s soul along with the memories of those who had been saved, and those who had been lost.

Thor had drawn the shield maiden in terms of fire and steel and her laughing smile, and Steve could see it in the smile she lit up with at the mention at her fellow Asgardian, hear it in the enthusiastic burst of her voice.

His eyes dropped to follow the movement of her hands, unable to do anything less than note that the clothes that no doubt fit Natasha in comfortable efficiency strained to cover Sif’s longer, leaner form. The slice of pale skin exposed between the pants and the shirt she wore had him jerking his eyes back up to her face, only and just barely able to keep himself from flushing at what could easily have become outright ogling. And as such, disrespect.

“I am,” he told her, smiling so widely at her he thought his cheeks might hurt if he did it for very long, reining himself in hard to instead nod and smile more politely at her. As difficult as he found it at that moment. He held out a hand to her, “It’s in my room at the moment, but that’s me. It’s good to meet you, Lady Sif.”