Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the wait. I sort of meant August as a joke, but here we are. :)
Thank you guys so much for your support! :) You're all amazing!
Disclaimer: Nope, nada.
Warnings: Supernatural elements, bullying, some violence.
Also, as a note, I think that Asgardian "adulthood" or "coming of age" is reached at Earth 16.
Chapter Two:
Sif wakes up stiff and in a foul mood. The mattress had a spot that kept jabbing at her back no matter what position she tried, so she didn't get much sleep. She spent a majority of the night rolling back and forth and listening to the faint cries of something outside. Not a pack of wolves, but nothing she could place either. Still, animalistic.
It sounded familiar, but in a haunting way.
So maybe it's less of she "wakes up" as it is she gives up on trying to sleep as early as she deems acceptable and prepares herself for the day ahead. Despite the inn's popularity with the locals, very few people appear to venture into Ju unless they have to. Sif was given her own room, for which she's grateful. She wouldn't have been opposed to bunking with the men, but a few hours by herself did not go unwelcomed.
Volstagg snores anyway, and she's never against being able to avoid listening to that.
Sif straps her sword at her hip, prepares her travel bag, and pulls her hair up. With the strands no longer bothering her, she attaches her spear and shield onto her pack and swings it over one shoulder. Prince Tjan mentioned leaving at first light last night, if she's remembering right, so she'll be a little early, but not excessively so.
Sif blows out a breath as she looks over the room a final time to make sure she's gathered everything she needs. She thinks so. Anything else will be with Restless.
Sif closes the door behind her and saunters down the stairs silently, trying to pretend she isn't as exhausted as she is. There won't be time to dally once they leave, so she'll just have to manage with the little sleep she got. After a day of heavy riding, and hopefully finding the children and killing the beast, Sif doubts she'll have the same troubles sleeping this night.
When she reaches the tavern, she notes without much surprise that Loki and Hogun are already sitting at a table, picking at some sort of porridge without enthusiasm. Loki looks like he got ran over by an unhappy stampede, but Hogun looks perfectly content. Not much of a surprise. Hogun is an early riser, no matter the hour he goes to sleep and Loki doesn't sleep.
Exaggeration, Loki does sleep, but in all their time spent together, Sif has seen him do it very little. He seems to find the challenge of running off of as few hours as possible exhilarating. Maybe he thinks himself above such meager things, she doesn't know, doesn't care.
"May I join you?" Sif questions as she reaches the table they've claimed, and Hogun looks up. His eyes seem slightly shaded, and she's struck with the realization that he didn't sleep well either. Maybe it wasn't just her. There's something off about this place. A rotted energy. It settles against her skin in an unnerving way, leaving her slightly ill and strangely energized.
She can't wait to kill this beast so they can leave.
"Please," Hogun indicates to the empty chairs and Sif takes the one beside him, but across from the second prince. He looks worse than Hogun does, his cheeks slightly flushed, and eyes rooted forward, staring at nothing.
Sif peels her gaze away from him, turning to look at something more pleasant. The table is chipped around one edge, as if someone took a hard swing at it, but the rest has obviously been scrubbed down hundreds of times. There's evidence of a recent spill of mead on the floor near her feet, and with it rises the unpleasant stale smell.
She's pretty sure that the spill happened after the workers retired for the night, or else they missed it in their rounds.
Given the early hour of the morning, Sif had half expected the tavern to be empty, but she can spot two others. They aren't sitting together. Both their gazes are lifted up, hands still, and there's that gleam in their eyes that reminds her of last night. Sif realizes almost dully that it's not just Prince Tjan and his guard that carry that...thing about them.
The weird mixture between despair and something else.
As if they aren't completely here.
Sif's eyes narrow, but she doesn't comment on it, turning her attention back to their table. She's probably just imagining things anyway, trying to create a fiction because of the paranoia that floats around Ju like a fog. Spend enough time with the uneasy and their disquiet will rub off.
It's going to be a long few days.
"Did you sleep well?" Sif turns to Hogun, trying to focus on something else. Hogun pauses, and then looks up at her. He's not a conversationalist, she knows this, and perhaps it was a bit much to expect that he'd be willing to comply so readily.
"No." Hogun answers after a moment, "I did not."
"I didn't either," Sif admits, and, not really wanting to dive into details adds: "I don't know what it was, but I felt...ill at ease."
"Mm." Loki voices, and Sif looks up at him, suddenly defensive. She doesn't want to be pestered or teased about it. There is something off about this entire town, and she can't be the only one to have realized this. Last night only settled her quiet suspicions, but they'd been building since the Bifrost dropped them off here.
"What?" she snaps.
Loki's unfocused gaze seems to reign in a little and he looks towards her face. "That is the enchantment of the Blodig Skog. Welcome to your first taste, and prepare yourself for the feast."
Sif's eyebrows furrow. She should have paid more attention to what King Odin was saying yesterday. Every child has a basic understanding about the Blodig Skog: it's enchanted and wandering through it alone is bad. She'd never bothered to get a deeper knowledge because it hasn't been important. Vanaheim isn't a place they venture often.
She stares at the Snake Prince, the word is slipping out before she can stop it: "What?"
Loki's lip twitches up in a whisper of a smirk, but it fades just as quickly. "It leaves all feeling paranoid, restless, sick—the effects are almost limitless. There is a reason it drives people mad, Sif, and it isn't because it's large and the creatures it hides within. We're close enough that wisps of the spell can reach us here."
Well. That's good to know now. A warning before hand would have been better. She'd been half hoping that the curse was an exaggeration.
Evidently not.
"Wonderful," Sif grumbles. "Now you tell us."
Loki's eyes linger on her for a moment longer, an expression she can't place on his face before his head tilts up and he resumes staring forward at nothing. Hogun finishes his porridge and Sif waits in silence for the others to arrive.
It takes under ten minutes for Thor, Volstagg and Fandral to join them at the table. They all look a little worn, but not without good spirits. A young serving girl brings them some breakfast, and Sif mentally braces herself before eating anything.
The food tastes hot, as it always does on Vanaheim, and she bites at her lip, quietly longing for Asgard's familiar spices. Everyone she's met who isn't native to the realm insists that Asgard's food has no taste, and maybe that's why this meal seems so disgusting. She's also heard the jest—far to many times to be humorous now—that Asgard isn't a peacekeeper, but put the Nine back together in a desperate attempt to find flavor.
Either way, the food doesn't suit her fancy.
She barely chokes down the meal, quietly grateful that they'll be spending the rest of the day in the woods and forced to eat off of their rations. She'd rather that than the food's attempt to burn her throat open.
She notes from the corner of her eye as Loki only eats the side of bread they were given, not attempting to really pick at the porridge. She can't blame him. The only reason she noticed was because Thor asks if he can have it and Loki nods quietly.
She downs as much water as she dares, and waits at the table with the others for the rest of their party.
And waits.
And waits.
"Prince Tjan did want to leave before first light, didn't he?" Volstagg questions at last, eyebrows furrowing somewhat as he looks towards the stairs. They've all been up for the better part of half an hour now, and the sun has already made an appearance in the sky.
If that was Prince Tjan's goal, they've failed miserably.
Thor shrugs, "I'm unaware, he wasn't very clear on that."
"He said first light," Loki murmurs quietly. His words are hard to pick out from how he's leaning against his hands.
Sif represses a sigh. If this was just them, they could have already made ground in the Blodig Skog. Instead, they're in the tavern, idling away time as they sit uselessly. The Vanir are going to slow them down. They should just go at this by themselves. They've handled quests like this before, it's not like the Weeping Siren will be any different.
It takes almost a full five minutes before Prince Tjan and the rest of his guard hobble down the stairs like they're drunk. Somehow, despite turning in early and having clearly not done anything but sleep since then, they look worse than yesterday. More haggard, sicker.
Sif remembers Loki's words about the Blodig Skog, but this seems...different, somehow. As if they've been fighting off draugr for the better part of the night. They look weary, not just a little tired as she and the others.
Prince Tjan moves towards their table, looking flustered. "My apologies," he says as soon as he's close enough for them to hear. "It wasn't my intent to make us get such a late start, but, as I said, my men and I are exhausted."
"Are exhausted"? Still? Despite more than thirteen hours of sleep?
"Don't worry," Thor promises, smiling faintly, "better late than never, yes?"
Prince Tjan gives a weary smile, "Yes. Yes, I suppose so."
After a few following quick words to confirm their plans of leaving, Sif and the others leave to prepare their horses as the soldiers grab something to eat. They're all mostly quiet as they accomplish the task, save a few quick words between Thor and Hogun that Sif can't really remember.
Then they're off.
They tear the forest apart that day, searching for something—anything as to where the beast is, but they find nothing. Sif's legs are aching from being perched on her mare the whole day, and she's beyond exhausted when they finally stumble back into the inn that night with nothing but sour moods to show of their successes.
Nothing.
How could they have found nothing?
Hogun is one of the best trackers that she knows, but beyond a few traces that the Siren had been here, there had been no other indications of its existence. No footprints, no den, no screaming children, only the endless forest stretching out around them.
The people are hopeful with wide eyes and innocent questions when they arrive back in Ju, but despair when Prince Tjan admits, with no small anger towards them, that even with Asgard's aid, the creature did not show itself.
"Our children will be taken!" a woman murmurs, "We're all going to die!"
"The Siren escapes Asgard!" another chokes out.
"What hope is there for us!?"
Thor and Prince Tjan's platitudes fall on deaf ears. No one is listening, to swallowed up by their misery to be consoled. This Siren has eaten up the hope of the town like a meal and refuses to spit it back up. It makes her sick.
Wherever it is, whatever it is, the Weeping Siren better pray it is a dumb beast. Sif will not show it mercy if it possesses intelligent thought. Hogun said in the stable yesterday that Vanaheim dragged Prince Tjan into this because they've begun to suspect the Siren is a being of thought. Given their inability to catch it, Sif is beginning to agree.
They spent hours in those woods, and have nothing for it.
They've already eaten, so when they get back to the inn, Sif forgoes sitting at the table to listen to the men complain and Prince Tjan berate them for not finding anything to slip upstairs for rest. She swears that man—Prince Tjan spent a majority of the day between yelling and wallowing in despair for some cause she can't find the source of.
It all seems so ridiculous.
This—this creature is eluding them.
She slams the door to her room shut, quietly grateful to be rid of her company. She usually has no qualms spending hours with men, but she's spent the entire day on a horse as the Vanir warriors quietly mocked her voice and skillset.
It's nothing new. Before she proved her place among the Einherjar so many years ago, Asgard's warriors would do much the same, sneering her name under their breath and laughing at her expense freely. It drove her crazy when she was younger, but she'd long thought she'd moved past that on different realms beyond her own.
She's helped the Nine too much to not think so, and maybe it was a little arrogant, but what matter? She's good and she knows she is. The Vanir won't be able to deny it when they see her in action. They're all just rude, and that's that. Needless to say though, she reached her limit of socializing for the day as of about four hours ago.
Sif tosses her pack onto the mattress before throwing herself onto it a moment later. The bed is still lumpy in odd places and smells faintly of rotting fish. Everything in Ju smells weird or fuzzy, and Sif really doesn't take pleasure in that. It's almost to the point of unbearable.
She buries her head into the pillow and breathes out slowly.
Tomorrow will be better. She's sure it will be better. They'll find more success with the beast then. For now, she's just going to sleep, and pretend she's not seething.
000o000
She awakens from a half daze to the sound of someone quietly moaning on the other side of the wall. She stiffens, but recognizes it as one of the soldiers a moment later. The anxiety doesn't leave her. She can hear them through the thin walls, and their quiet words make something inside her coil with discomfort.
"It's going to whisper," one of the men keeps murmuring, "I keep hearing it whisper."
"Shh," another chides, "you're going to summon it. Hush!"
"It's going to whisper." The man repeats.
"Do you want the Siren here, man? Hush!"
Over and over they go until the man falls asleep, murmuring words of unease and discomfort as if admitting they are so will save their frightened souls. Sif has no idea what it is about this creature that has them so unsettled. It seems ridiculous. She's seen horrors that these men could only dream of in her quests and journeys with Thor, a dubbed siren can't be that awful.
It's a siren, not a draugr.
Needless to say, after hearing the Vanir's murmurings throughout the night, Sif is anything but cheerful in the morning when Thor slips into her room and rests a hand on her shoulder to wake her. Her brown eyes lift to his blue, and she can see no traces of exhaustion on his face.
He must have slept through the night.
Lucky.
"We're leaving in ten minutes," Thor says without much emotion. "Can you be ready?"
Sif nods, shoving up to her elbow and scrambling off the bed to prepare for the day as Thor exits the room. She picks halfheartedly at breakfast, not finding herself fully capable of being hungry before they're being swept off into the woods again. She's tired and more than a little grouchy from yesterday's failures, so she keeps quiet as much as she's able.
At least, until well after midday when Hogun pulls his stallion to a stop and looks back at Prince Tjan. "We've been here before. Twice. We're going in circles." Hogun points out, expression far from impressed.
Prince Tjan's eyebrow furrows and the rest of them come to a halt behind the Vanir. "That can't be right."
"You haven't used your map today, my lord," Hogun's voice is steady.
"I don't need it," Prince Tjan shoots down, "I've been here enough to know my way around these woods by now."
Has he? Sif can remember someone explaining to her at some point that the Blodig Skog changes the deeper you go, offering the illusion of familiarity as it swallows you whole. Something in her chest coils with discomfort. The Blodig Skog has thus far seemed mostly like any other forest save one minute detail: it is quiet.
There isn't any rustling of wind through the trees, no birds singing, or movement of distant animals. The woods are normal enough save that and the general disconcertment of it. Everywhere she moves there's a quiet unease within her that insists that something isn't right here. And Prince Tjan has been leading them in circles, because he hasn't used the map.
The map that will keep them alive and get them out.
"Are you stupid?" the question slips out before she can stop it. "Why would you not consult the paths? Shouldn't being in these woods have given you a better understanding of why doing so is important?"
Prince Tjan's eyes flash with anger.
"Oooh, is the little lady afraid of the woods? Scared that a Frost Giant will jump out and eat you?" One of the men in the guard asks, and Sif flicks her gaze up to find him in the crowd. No one sticks out. Her cheeks flush some anyway.
"I am not—"
"You know nothing of these woods, Lady Sif," Prince Tjan interrupts. "I do. Don't question my methods. We need to move, we could lose the Weeping Siren by your incessant asking."
They already have lost it. Prince Tjan doesn't seem to know what he's doing, but flaunts the authority of his title like he does. If it had just been them, they would have found something. Dragging along the extra men and consequent opinions and attitudes is what is going to make progress wane. Sif grits her teeth.
Prince Tjan stares at her face for a long second, then glances towards Hogun before nudging his horse forward again. By some streak of luck, they manage to make it from the woods that night. Sif really has her doubts that it had anything to do with Prince Tjan's navigational skills.
The Blodig Skog let them go. She doesn't know how she knows that, only that she does, and it unsettles her.
There is something wrong with those woods.
They return to the inn and Sif collapses against her bed, hoping for something better to happen tomorrow. The men are no more quiet than they were last night, still moaning and whispering into the night, but her exhausted mind has no trouble ignoring it this night.
The next day doesn't yield anymore fruit.
Or the third.
It's on the evening of the fourth, as they all sit around the despairing tavern drinking themselves senseless, that Loki hesitantly speaks up: "Prince Tjan, perhaps...we have had little success in our endeavours thus far to find the creature. I'm no stranger to sedir, if you would, perhaps, let me attempt a tracking spell, I could—"
Prince Tjan's drink smacks down on the tabletop, splashing mead over the rim. "Absolutely not! You'll get yourself killed like the other arrogant muttonheads who thought they could outdo the Blodig Skog's enchantments."
Loki's expression tightens a fraction. "I would beg to differ."
Of course he would. Arrogant prat.
"So did they!" Prince Tjan counters angrily, "I know the woods. You won't accomplish anything by waving your hands around and getting yourself and the rest of us lost or dead because you're untrained and your ego speaks more than common sense—"
Loki rises to his feet in a smooth motion, placing his hands against the tabletop, expression briefly flickering with anger. "This has nothing to do with showing off, cousin."
Sif's eyebrow lifts slightly. "Isn't it always with you?"
Thor kicks her foot under the table, and Loki glances at her. His look isn't quite scathing, but it is enough to make her hesitate. Loki pulls his gaze away from her face, turning back to Prince Tjan. His voice is steady when he speaks, "Cousin, your men are exhausted. You are tiring and we have made no more progress these last few days than a mere handful of directions. If you would just let me try, I'm sure I could—"
"I said no." Prince Tjan snaps. "I'll not lose another person to those blasted woods."
Sif bites at her lip, surprised by his fury. He's been nothing but irritable since this began, and he's getting worse. Yesterday he shouted at she and Fandral for lagging behind a few leagues. And they weren't, Fandral thought he'd seen something.
It's the simple, stupid, little things that set him off.
Sif cannot wait until they are back in Asgard and she doesn't have to speak to him any longer. She has no idea how anyone can stand to be in his presence for more than a handful of hours. It's a wonder Ju hasn't discretely removed of him. Or his guard.
Loki's eyes narrow some, and Thor reaches a hand out as if to grab his sibling and tug him back into his seat. Before he can, though, Loki tugs up his gloves on his fingers and offers a pleasant smile that's nothing but venom. "Another? Tjan, you have lost no seidrmasters to those woods. I doubt you've even let them step foot there. What is it that you fear the use of sedir will bring?"
Prince Tjan's mouth snaps shut, panic visibly flashing over his features. "I fear your untimely demise. You don't know those wo—"
"'Woods, I do'," Fandral finishes the princes insistence of several days now with a bored tone. He wipes his hair from his eyes before leaning forward. Loki's gaze shifts towards the swordmaster, something that's unmistakably surprise evincing his features. "Yes, we've heard. But I am curious now, how is it that all these seidrmasters died? Does the Weeping Siren hop out and gobble 'em up, do they just explode, does their sedir collapse or…?"
Prince Tjan's lips thin and he releases an agitated breath, head turning to the side. Sif has her doubts he'll discuss anything with them. Typical. When they need information, that's when he withholds it. Gah, she hates working with him.
Captain Yan leans forward, resting his clasped hands on the tabletop. "Tell me Master Fandral, how much do you know about tracking spells?"
Fandral's lip twists, "About as much as the next person. Once you've started you can't stop looking for the thing, unable to rest, unable to eat, yada-yada. Supposed to be one of the most difficult spells to master and used sparingly. Why? No, wait...are you really suggesting that every seidrmaster you've sent in there you've lost because they actually found the Weeping Siren?"
"We couldn't keep up with them." Captain Yan's jaw tightens. "Yes. We lost them, Master Fandral. Found the bodies of three of the five."
The numbers seem off. Sif remembers Captain Yan mentioning this a few days ago, but didn't he say something else? No, she's being stupid. It's the paranoia of Ju and the Blodig Skog, it's rubbing off of her. She needs to leave this place before it swallows her good senses entirely.
"No, you didn't!" Loki seethes, patience apparently reaching a breaking point. "Stop. Lying. Why are you all being so cryptic about this? I could have this creature found within hours, yet you insist upon wandering in the same circle for days hoping to come up with different results. This is insanity. Those children are without their parents because you insist on making this harder than it needs to be!"
Prince Tjan slams up to his feet, and Sif shifts, discomforted. "I am not! Who do you think you are, boy!? You are barely an adult in the eyes of your laws. How dare you, a child, accuse me of negligence!"
Loki's spine ripples, but before he can do anything stupid, Thor grabs at his arm. He's on his feet as well, though Sif can't remember when he stood. "Brother, enough. Prince Tjan is right. You have no reason to be accusing him so." Thor says, his voice harsh.
Loki makes a choked noise, looking up at his sibling. "Brother, he's—"
"Enough, Loki. Know your place." Thor chides, and then looks up at Prince Tjan. The dark-haired man is still visibly fuming, perhaps a few well chosen words away from drawing his weapon and outright tackling someone. Sif's stomach churns uneasily, and she grips the hilt of her sword should the need of defense arise.
Curses.
They weren't exactly bosom friends in the making, but Loki's distrust has offended Prince Tjan in a way that may not be soothed before they're finished. Hogun shouldn't have been so worried over herself and Fandral making a mess of the peace treaty, Loki has already beaten them to it with his silvertongue.
Brilliant.
Prince Tjan's teeth click together before he lifts out a shaking hand and jabs it in Loki's direction. "You are a disrespectful Ergi. Until such a time you can prove yourself trustworthy by offering some trust to my word, I refuse to continue the hunt with you, Liesmith."
Loki draws back as Thor makes a wounded noise. Sif feels her eyes widen with surprise. What?
Thor's hand tightens and he rises to his feet, the air thickening with the taste of ozone. "You would dare imply that my brother—"
Loki grabs at his sibling's arm. "Thor, stop," his voice is quiet. Tired. "It's alright; really. Just—calm down." Thor's jaw sets, but the tension in the room lessons some. Prince Tjan remains where he is, seeming unsure how to proceed given the circumstances. Sif blows out a quiet breath. If Loki had just remained quiet, none of this would have happened.
Thanks a million, Loki.
Captain Yan remains still for another moment before he stands beside his prince. "We need to plan our approach of tomorrow—" and by that he means decide a new part of the forest to run around in for hours "—but it would be best to do this out of prying ears, I think." Captain Yan finishes, sending a pointed glance at the tavern first, and then settles his gaze on Loki.
Sif doesn't see a point to this. What is he worried about, people will follow? Who in their right mind would—oh. Loki would. Loki would, and Captain Yan has apparently picked up enough on his character to put that together. Marvelous.
"Agreed," Prince Tjan says tonelessly. "Everyone, follow me. We discuss, then we sleep. You," he points a shaking finger at Loki, "stay here. You are not welcomed in tomorrow's hunt."
Loki's face is unreadable, but he gives a curt nod and sits back down as the rest of them rise to their feet. Prince Tjan begins to walk off, presumably towards the exit, but before Sif can make it more than a few steps from the table, Thor grabs her upper arm. "Will you stay here, with him?" he jerks his head towards Loki, and Sif bites back a sputter of disbelief.
"Why?" Sif demands, her voice just as low as the Crown Prince's. "I'm not going to watch him, Thor. He's well past that age now, I should hope."
"I believe the Blodig Skog is affecting his mind," Thor whispers, "I can see no other reason why he would make such a claim against our cousin. Please. I'll debrief you when I return. It would only be for a few minutes."
Sif's teeth set. She doesn't want to sit her and play Loki's chaperone. She's a warrior. She deserves to be out there, planning with the others how they will hunt this beast...but Thor is right. If Loki's mind has been touched by the enchantment, someone should keep watch to make sure he doesn't run off on a murderer spree, or something equally unflattering to Asgard's name.
Norns.
"Fine," Sif grits out, "I'll stay with him. Now go."
Thor releases her arm and gives a nod of thanks before rushing off after the others. After watching the door close behind him, Sif returns to the table and takes her previous seat. Loki has his head resting in his hands, but he looks up as the chair grinds against the wood. If he's surprised at her return, it doesn't show on his face.
His eyes sweep across her, and Sif is once again met with the unsettling feeling that the intelligence the green holds can pick apart her person and decipher her greatest secrets without effort. She smooths a stray piece of hair away from her face, and then folds her arms across her chest, looking away from him.
"Thor doubts me so much that he—" Loki cuts himself off, exhales deeply, and then, in a voice strangely toneless says: "I'm not rapid, Sif."
Sif doesn't look at him still. "Yes, well, given how readily you believe Prince Tjan was lying to us, I don't know if your the best judge on that. Honestly, Loki, he hasn't been untruthful to us since this began, and you accuse him—"
"I didn't accuse him of anything," Loki cuts in, voice heated, "he has been lying through his teeth since we got here."
"And you know this because the best liars make fine detectors, don't they?" Sif counters sharply, chancing a glance at his pale face. Loki's eyes are shadowed more than she remembers them being, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. Fever? Perhaps he has taken ill. Wouldn't that be a show of timing?
Loki's fingers curl, and he releases a deep breath.
He says nothing.
Sif's lip curls up in a small smile, but the victory doesn't feel much like one. She sighs deeply and then looks over at him. "Look, Thor will be unfocused if you stay here all of tomorrow, you know how he is. Apologize to Prince Tjan when he comes back inside, make yourself trustworthy. I know you can create a persona of whatever you choose should you put your mind to it. If we do run into the Siren tomorrow, I want everyone to be at their best, especially Thor. This creature has killed dozens."
She doesn't want it to kill any of their party, but admittance of that seems weak and childish so she can't outright say it. And, loathe she is to admit it, Loki can be of help from long distance. Whether with his daggers or his bow, he's kept them out of trouble a few times. They might need that with this creature. No one else besides Loki has carried a bow that she's seen so far. Sif's beginning to suspect that Prince Tjan's guard are all short distance fighters. It seems ineffective, but it's not her place to judge.
"I am capable of making amends without instruction," Loki says dryly. "I should think you don't need to point out the obvious to me."
Sif's ire grows. "Norns, I'm just trying to help. Why do you have to be such a prat all the time? It's no wonder people groan at your company, you only prove time and time again what a burden it is to bare."
She hadn't meant to say that outloud. Alright, she hadn't meant to say it like that. It seems nasty, but she's not about to take back the truth to appease Loki's feelings. Loki is always so sensitive anyway, it will help him harden into a seasoned warrior.
Loki's head whips up to her, eyes heated. "Beg pardon?"
"You heard me perfectly." Sif promises, and then makes a disgusted noise as his expression doesn't flicker. Always so blank. How can he manage that for so long? Why does he? "Fine. You know what, don't apologize to Prince Tjan, I'd rather you not come along in the first place. What good to you offer? A conjurer of cheap tricks who keeps begging to do a spell far to advanced for his skill level? So wonderful to have you along."
She bites at her tongue, trying to will herself into calming down. She's never attempted to be actively mean to Loki, but sometimes words just slips out and she can't stop them. Sif sees no point in lies, but perhaps softening her truths would stop the awful thing twisting in her gut from building.
Guilt. Perhaps shame.
Loki's eyes narrow. "Because a woman begging to prove her worth at every corner isn't any less—" Loki's voice is cut off as the door to the tavern is thrown open with a loud bang and a tall, bearded man all but throws himself into the room, dragging a hysterical woman by the waist into the space.
"Idrissa!" the woman wails, raking her nails along the man's arm like she intends to force him to release her. "IDRISSA! My baby! She's so young!"
Adrenaline washes through Sif as the man throws the sobbing woman onto the ground in an effort to be rid of her and lets out a loud cry of terror. "The Siren is here!" he screams. "It cries! Oh, it cries!"
"Idrissa!"
"So soon?" a man demands, breathlessly. "It was just here nary a few days ago!"
"It comes!" the man insists, "Save your souls, Helheim has cursed us!"
The entire tavern loses it's joyful mood immediately. A different woman lets out a shrill cry and grabs for her two children, several men scramble to snatch weapons. The keeper of the inn goes pale, "Bar yourselves in the building! No one leaves until it's gone!"
"Oh, it sings!"
"I can hear it screaming," someone whispers.
Sif can't hear anything, and the panic is making her tense. It's outside, isn't it? Thor and the Warriors Three are outside, along with the others. What if it—? All words of retort go dry in her mouth in their argument suddenly seems to petty. She and Loki share a look before Sif grabs her sword as Loki moves for his bow.
Thor. Fandral. Volstagg. Hogun. They need to—
They scramble up to their feet and move for the door before the sobbing woman grabs for Loki's hand, stopping them in their tracks.
Sif draws at her sword some, but the woman seems to have no ill intentions.
"H-High P-Prince L-L-Loki, p-p-please, find-find my daughter. The Siren took my b-baby. She's s-s-so young and-and-and—" she lets out another wail through her teeth. "Find my baby! I'll do a-anything for you...I'll-I'll...I'll—oh!"
Sif half expects Loki to free himself of the grip and move for the door—they don't have a lot of time—as Sif would have done, but Loki instead squats down in front of the woman and cups distressed mother's hand between both of his own. "Shh, woman, all will be well. We will find your daughter, I swear."
"Please," the woman gasps, "she's all I-I ha-have. Please."
"Dry your tears," Loki instructs, "Idrissa will be returned to you."
It's an empty promise. No child has returned from the Weeping Siren before, and why would this Idrissa be the first? Sif nonetheless grits her teeth and gently grabs at Loki's elbow, "My prince," she whispers pointedly.
Loki helps the woman up to her feet and then into a chair with further offered platitudes. The action takes less than twenty seconds, but it's still a drag in their time. She and Loki barely manage to make it between the panicking people to the door before the innkeeper slams it shut and locks it.
No retreats, then.
Good.
It will encourage them to try harder.
Outside, the streets are chaos. There's a mad scramble to get inside of buildings and children are being snatched off the ground into their elders arms. She can't see any of the rest of their party—they should be here. Outside of the inn and they aren't, so where...?—and it takes her a moment to adjust to the noise.
When they returned from the Blodig Skog, not even half an hour past, it was relatively quiet. The people were talking, and there was the faint sounds of housework, but it was nothing like this. There isn't enough light to see a source—and frankly it seems to be coming from everywhere at once—but Sif squints into the dark all the same, resisting the urge to clamp her hands over her ears.
The noise is a mix between someone sobbing or screaming. A woman, if Sif's guessing right by the pitch. It's just...it sounds like the wailing of the dead. The kind of noise that someone only makes when they're being blood eagled or strangled to death.
Something inside of her freezes, squirming back and hiding. There's just something...something...she can't—Her tongue is stuck against the roof of her mouth.
This isn't like the other sirens they've encountered. Those always held a musical pitch, some sort of alluringness to the song. The Weeping Siren, they'd dubbed it, and Sif thinks she finally understands half the name. There is weeping, but the siren portion seems the furthest from the truth it could possibly be. This sounds like someone shrieking in pain. But there's still something—
She can't—
What is wrong with that—?
Hands grab at her shoulders and shake her roughly. Sif snaps back, her muscles tensing. "Sif," Loki looks pale, but otherwise focused from his position in front of her. "Pay attention."
Her cheeks heat with embarrassment, but her limbs still feel jittery. "There's...it's…" she fumbles out, trying to get him to understand. She's never heard anything like this before, and she needs him to grasp that it's...why does he seem so unfrazzled? Can't he hear that!?
"We need to find my brother and the others," Loki says, keeping his hands on her shoulders. A slight scowl flicks on the edges of his face, but it seems mostly forced. "The idiots probably chased after the thing."
"How is that a bad thing?" Sif demands, drawing in a deep breath and rests a hand on her sword hilt. "Aren't we supposed to be killing it!?"
"Yes!" Loki releases her shoulders and grabs her wrist instead, dragging her off towards the west. That can't be right. Prince Tjan said all reports of the screaming came from the east. Sif doesn't know how anyone could tell a direction, though, because the noise is coming from everywhere. It's circling, running amok around them as if to taunt.
Sif thinks she might be sick. The pitch is so high it aches like a dull bruise.
"We're going the wrong way," Sif insists, and wiggles her arm free of Loki so she can come to a halt. "Everyone reported the cries coming from the east. We need to be going east, you idiot! That's where the others will have gone and if we're looking for them—why are we going west? Loki, I swear on the Allfathers that if this is some sort of—"
Loki spins, face hard. "You have the magical range of a small spoon. I don't. The Weeping Siren is using sedir to create this—" Loki swings his hand out in a wide arc "—effect. It's an effort to throw off trackers, you dolt. How do you think its lasted five years? Bribery?"
Sif sputters. "Well, no, but I—"
"I'm tracking the source of the sedir. The wielder is arrogant enough to not bother with putting forth the small effort of masking themselves. Thor and the others will be off to the east, which puts them well out of the range of danger, but we don't have enough time to track them down, we need to find Idrissa and our timetable is growing small. Are you coming or not?" Loki begins stalking forward again, and Sif bites at her lower lip for a long second. She tastes blood.
Norns curse it all.
He brings up valid points, and she's not stupid enough to ignore it. She blows out a breath through her teeth before jogging to catch up with him. "Fine, but if you get us lost in the woods, I'm going to kill you." She says flatly.
She's not sure if it's her imagination or not, but Loki's expression flashes with brief relief. "Fair enough." Loki mumbles under his breath.
They quickly exit the borders of the town, slipping into the Blodig Skog. Sif's stomach churns as they step inside, the now familiar wrongness washing over her. Loki plows forward without any hesitation, and Sif follows, drawing her sword.
The moon offers little light to see by given the thick overcast of tree branches, but Loki tugs off his gloves with his teeth and stuffs them inside of his satchel. After flexing his fingers a few times, his veins begin to glow a dull, yellow-ish white. The chemical release of sedir into the bloodstream frequently leaves the caster's hands veins glowing, which is why Sif suspects that Loki is always wearing gloves now. Taking them off provides a little light to see by, enough that Sif doesn't need to squint.
The Weeping Siren's cries continue, but they're getting softer, as if the beast is losing its voice.
They've plowed forward a little over seven minutes when Loki comes to a sudden stop and lifts his bow, drawing an arrow from his quiver. He doesn't draw it back, but leaves it prepared for doing so. The area they've stopped at is at the top of a hill leading down towards a slight clearing. Inside of the clearing, Sif can see two figures. A tall, bony creature with long silvered hair and a much smaller one.
Sif turns to Loki, "What?" she whispers softly.
Loki lifts a finger to his lips, and then turns to her and mouths something along the lines of "Weeping down there." She picks up on the context and nods, readying herself as a thrum of excitement builds around her fingers. The Weeping Siren. Loki found it. After days of searching, Loki found it in less than twenty minutes.
Loki exhales softly before lifts his bow up and draws an arrow back to his cheek. Before he can release it, though, a soft cry pierces through the air. "Maman!" a child cries, "Maman, please! I'm scared! I don' wanna go!"
Sif's stomach drops. Idrissa. The woman's daughter. She's here? That will make things hard, but not impossible. They just need to turn this into a rescue mission. Simple enough. She doesn't know what Loki plans to do with his arrows, but he can't scare the creature off. They need to take care of the child.
"Maman!"
Sif lifts up her sword and tenses her muscles. Loki's hands falter suddenly and his head whips towards her, "Sif, wait!" he hisses, but as soon as the words have slipped off his tongue, the Weeping Siren's piercing cries come to an abrupt halt.
The sudden silence and withdrawal of the...thing—whatever it was that the Siren was doing to make her so jittery—is startling enough to cause Sif stagger forward a step, nearly tumbling face-first onto the hill. The arrow slips from Loki's fingers, rapidly moving towards the clearing.
No.
The arrow lands somewhere in the dirt towards the edge of the space, but it's enough to startle the Siren. Eyes reflect light in the dark as they lift towards their position, and the creature moves towards the child.
No.
Sif draws her sword up as Loki swears under his breath. She begins to move forward, but Loki grabs her arm, "Sif—!"
"It is going to take the child!" Sif can barely keep herself from screeching, "Let me go!"
She wiggles herself free from the grip, and breaks into a run down the hillside. Idrissa lets out a loud wail of terror, screeching out "Maman!" again, but by the time Sif gets there, it's too late. The Weeping Siren grabs hold of the child's arm and the two vanish in a lure of blue-ish light.
Sif staggers to a stop within the clearing, falling to her knees heavily and frantically grabs at the ground where the two were present. The dirt digs beneath her fingertips and the leafs do nothing more than flutter away from her force.
A low swear slips from her lips.
They were here. They were right here and they could have saved Idrissa if Loki hadn't startled the stupid creature away. If Loki hadn't held her back. If Loki hadn't—why on the Nine did anyone think it would be a good idea to bring someone so hopelessly clumsy along with them on this delicate mission? Children are being stolen and they brought Loki with them.
Her fist slams against the ground. So close. They were so. Close.
Underbrush shifts behind her, and Sif lifts her head to see Loki standing there. His lips are thinned, hands still glowing softly. It makes her sick. Why had she believed, even for a second, that sedir was doing them any good? Unless wielded by a master, it only creates more disaster than it helps and she'd trusted Loki and they lost a little girl because of it.
That's nineteen now.
Nineteen parents who must mourn the loss of their children, one of which she could have stopped.
Loki looks visibly uncomfortable. "Sif..." he starts quietly, "I'm sorry. I...I hadn't expected...I hadn't—"
"Of course you didn't," Sif agrees lowly, "and because of your arrogance, we just lost a child!" Sif rises up to her feet, fury wrapping around her. "You Norns cursed idiot! If you just knew how to handle weapons like a proper warrior, this wouldn't have happened!"
Loki draws back, "I—"
"You're supposed to be the magic expert, aren't you? Always flaunting that all of us are terrible with it and your skill level surpasses ours because you have the gift, well—look what good that did us." Sif lets out a loud, mocking laugh, sweeping her hand across the empty clearing.
They lost Idrissa.
"I'm sorry," Loki hisses, "I know that I make a mistake, do you have to keep—?"
Whatever words he was going to say, Sif doesn't hear the rest of. A fury so strong it nearly blinds her grasps a hold of her limbs and she slams her fist against his face. Loki staggers back, hands lifted up to his nose where she struck him. Blood is gushing between his fingers.
Sif releases an agitated sound, slamming her sword into the dirt and cusses loudly.
They lost a child.
000o000
They're almost back to the inn when they run into the others. Sif was worried in the back of her mind that the Blodig Skog wouldn't release them, but it had, almost seeming usher them out as if disgusted with their presence. Loki has said nothing since they lost Idrissa, teeth set together and face turned away from her.
She's not complaining. She doesn't want to listen to him whine or bubble up useless excuses anyway.
Thor immediately grasps her shoulders as soon as they're close enough. "Sif? Are you well? We just returned from our hunt but had no success. Were you looking as well? You came from the west, why did you—"
"We found it." Sif states, her voice flat. "It got away with the child."
There's several inhales of surprise or disbelief. She's not sure which.
Her eyes are moist and Sif bites down on her tongue heavily, embarrassed. The failure stings, almost like a blow to the stomach would. She's among Asgard's elite. She's supposed to be better than this, but she's not. This is all Loki's fault.
Thor looks aghast. "What? How? Why did you—?"
"Why don't you ask your brother?" Sif snaps, tearing away from him. "This is his fault in the first place."
All eyes of the party go to the Snake Prince, and Loki's head tips up some before returning to his feet. Thor moves towards his sibling as Fandral rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Volstagg asks a quiet question with only his gaze of her health and she nods in assurance that she's fine.
"Brother, what happened to your face?" Thor questions, tipping his sibling's head up so he can stare at the bruise. Sif feels nothing regarding it. Maybe she will later, but right now there's only an all consuming numbness. (Loki deserved it.) Her hand hurts.
"I tripped." Loki mumbles.
Thor sighs, "Loki. Will you ever learn proper footing? You're always falling or smashing into things."
Loki's eyes heat, but the emotion drains away just as quickly. Prince Tjan takes a step forward towards the second prince, hair slick and face flushed from exhaustion. "You found the Weeping Siren. You saw it?"
"Yes." Sif answers, "We saw it."
Barely. More of an outline and that ragged hair, but they saw it, didn't they? Even when Sif got closer, she couldn't make out distinct features. Everything had blurred with her desperation to reach Idrissa.
Prince Tjan looks at Loki. "Well obviously your fantastical tracking spells did nothing, didn't they? You only saw the beast, like me and my men have." He sighs and then, "But I'm not stupid enough to lose numbers simply because of my pride. Join us tomorrow, we'll need more men if we are to find the children."
What?
Wonderful. Just—wonderful.
Loki's gaze lifts to Thor's face, a flicker of something she can't place washing over his features. "Thank you, Prince Tjan, it would be my privilege to continue helping you."
"We leave at first light." Thor announces, "if the Siren is still around, we'll find it. For now, Sif, Brother, give us a report of your findings inside of the tavern. We'll need anything we can get to find the beast."
Sif exhales through her teeth. She has very little desire to admit her failures to herself much less a group of more than a dozen. Marvelous. She clenches her fists, but follows the others inside of the building. Idrissa's mother looks up hopefully as they enter, still seated where Loki left her, but her face quickly crumbles as she doesn't see her daughter.
Wet tears trek down her face and Sif turns her gaze away, unable to bear it.
If they had just—this whole thing could have been avoided if they had just been better.
After the discussion that Sif can barely remember much of, let alone speaking in, Sif lays in bed for hours looking up at the rotting wooden ceiling. Her hand is bruising, but she doesn't care. They lost the child. They were so close and if they'd just—Idrissa's mother's soft cries haunt her the rest of the night.
Author's Note:
Next chapter: August 9th, 16th or sometime inbetween that. ;) Until chapter 3! :)
