Author's Note: This chapter was so much fun to write. :) #WritesHorrorWhileListeningToChristmasMusic #WhoCaresThatIt'sAugust

Brace yourselves, my stars. Spookiness all around. ;)

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Also, Happy (maybe belated, or early) birthday, Thialien! I hope the next year is a good one. Also, happy birthday to anyone else whose birthday it may be. It's not my birthday, but it may be yours. :) *Face palms at my awkwardness*

Warning: Some violence, some gore, haunting, potentially disturbing imagery, and Sif is not the most pleasant person to Loki in her thoughts. :)


Chapter Three:

"We're not returning to the inn."

Sif pauses, processes the words, and then looks up from the porridge she's trying to will herself into eating to stare at Prince Tjan. The Vanir is standing next to the table with a piece of tough bread in one hand, a few members of his guard behind him. His hair is messy and there's a glassy look to his eyes.

"How do you figure?" Fandral questions from his position on her left. "We'll be dead?"

"No." Prince Tjan doesn't bother to keep any irritation from his tone. "We're staying in the Blodig Skog from this point forward. That child is our biggest lead. We have an entirely new part of the forest to look at thanks to her. We can't waste time traveling to and from there anymore, we need to go deeper. Prepare your overnight packs, we leave in twenty minutes."

With that stated, the prince turns on his heal and walks off, exiting the inn from the front. Like a pack of loyal dogs, the members of his guard follow, only a few shooting them snooty looks before they vanish. Sif represses a roll of her eyes at that and sighs, leaning back into the chair.

"Well at least they're up early." Volstagg encourages. "At long last."

The sun hasn't even peaked over the edge of the horizon yet, so it is truly remarkable feat. She hasn't even seen their princes yet. Odd, but she's certain that Prince Tjan will have offered information to them first regarding this change of plans.

Fandral snorts. "Well, that's something, I suppose."

Sif hums, swirling her spoon through the porridge again. She's not certain how she feels about staying in the forest for so long. On one hand, it seems like a wise plan, on another...the brief respite that inn has offered from the Blodig Skog has been a welcomed one. Not that it matters anymore. They need to find Idrissa, and after the failure of last night, Sif is tired of wandering in circles. They need a plan of attack.

Prince Tjan seems to have finally realized this.

"Should we really be exposed to the magical effects for so long?" Volstagg asks, furrowing his brow. "I thought that returning to the inn was an attempt to settle what the magic has been doing."

"We can no longer hide here." Hogun counters, giving a slight shake of his head. "Any lead is a welcomed one. The closer we are to finding the Weeping Siren, the closer we are to retrieving my sister and the other children."

They were close last night. And then Loki messed it up. Her hand is bruised lightly and a little stiff, but the healing cream she rubbed on it helped take out the swelling and numbed the pain. Unless someone looks closely, it's impossible to tell that it was ever injured to begin with.

"Yes, I do wonder on the wisdom of that," Fandral admits, scooping up the last bit of the thick porridge in his bowl onto his spoon. "How exactly does dearest Prince Tjan expect sixteen people to silently shadow this creature until it leads us to it's great layer beyond?"

"Optimism?" Volstagg offers dryly.

"More like helpless arrogance." Sif mutters under her breath. "But then again, what else is new?"

Hogun sighs, "Finish up. I'll go see where Thor and his brother are." He stands before any of them can protest or agree, walking towards the stairs a moment later. He's been in a mood since they woke up this morning, so Sif can't say she's too heartbroken about seeing him go. And she feels terrible about it, but the last thing she wants is to be snipped at for everything when Prince Tjan will do a fine job of fulfilling that task later.

They've all finished the meal by the time Hogun, Thor, and Loki enter the tavern. The two siblings look as if they've been awake for a long time, but Sif has her doubts about that. Loki's face bares no signs of bruising, and Sif is both relieved and annoyed by that. They leave the princes to fend for themselves in the tavern as they slip out of the inn to prepare their horses.

Prince Tjan and the other Vanir warriors are huddled together with their mounts, and the sight makes her give them a long, hard stare. She'd never thought Vanir people could be so strange before. It must be the effects of the Blodig Skog. Hogun isn't like this.

Will she end up like that before this is through? Haunted, pale, and sick with a madness in the brain? Babbling on about whispers and crying through the night? The soldiers haven't been here that long, have they? The effects must be quicker than she's hoping for. Will staying overnight make it worse?

How long do they have? Weeks? Days? Hours?

Sif keeps her mouth shut, and bows her head, focusing on preparing Restless for the journey. She already grabbed what equipment she'd need from the inn and is strapping it onto her mare when Thor and Loki join them in the stables.

At seeing their solemn mood, Thor smiles and says cheerfully, "Take heart, my friends! Our quest is about to take a turn for the better!"

Something inside of her privately disagrees.

000o000

The day proves about as fruitful as the others they've spent hunting. Ergo: they find nothing. A thorough inspection of the clearing she and Loki visited last night offers nothing more than a little evidence to suggest that something was there. A child and something else that bares footprints.

It's something she supposes, but not enough.

Not enough to track the Weeping Siren down with.

Loki's single, brief attempt to use sedir to track the Weeping Siren fails because there's apparently "nothing to latch onto". Sif, despite what Loki insists, has a little more than basic understanding of sedir, and it sounds ridiculous. She doesn't say anything, letting Loki pretend he's hiding his failures.

It's weird to not start a return journey mid-way through the afternoon so they can make it to the inn before the sun sets in the distance. She's apprehensive about spending the night, honestly. The Blodig Skog is something she will be more than glad to have become a memory of the past.

That is, of course, assuming that they can find the stupid Weeping Siren again. And this time actually stop it before it takes another daughter or son.

When the sun has long since set in the distance, they finally set up camp. Prince Tjan is pushing them forward, past normal extremes that Thor would. Sif doesn't mind. Much. The challenge is a welcomed distraction, even if it is tedious. Sif falls asleep without much trouble, and everyone is, for once, blessedly silent.

No moaning about the Weeping Siren coming to claim their souls.

No shushing.

No whispers about their unease period.

Sif dreams—or at least she thinks she's dreaming—that she's wandering through the woods. It's dark and she can't figure out where she's supposed to be going to get out. Everything looks the same and she's tired. Exhausted. As if she's being spelled to sleep.

There's no one else here. She keeps shouting for someone to listen to her, but there's no one.

And then she hears crunching behind her and she whirls, heart thumping in her chest widely. A tall woman is standing behind her, smiling softly. The sight of her doesn't ease the panic in Sif's chest. The woman's figure is blurred and Sif can't focus on anything distinct.

"Where do you hail from, little girl?" the woman asks.

Sif stares and bites at her tongue when Asgard immediately wants to spill out. Even in her sluggish state, she knows that keeping it secret is important. Why evades her, only that she shouldn't tell the woman. "You don't need to know." She says flatly.

"Mother wants to know to help you." The woman insists, mouth twisting into an ugly frown. "Don't you want Mother to help you?"

Yes.

(No.)

Sif turns her back on the figure, pressing her hands over her eyes. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Just a name, dear one…" the woman calls softly, but her voice is fading. "I need to know who you are. No one ever tells me anything anymore. Vanaheim wouldn't seek aid from just anyone, would they? Just a realm, and then you can sleep. You're tired, aren't you?"

Yes. So tired. So, so tired.

(Stop.)

"Just a realm…"

"Shut up." Sif slaps her hands over her ears. "I'm not going to tell you."

The woman's prodding continues, but Sif keeps her hands firmly planted over her ears and doesn't remove them until she wakes up to Fandral shaking her shoulder roughly. She jerks, whipping her head back to look at him confusion and blinks several times trying to get the world to focus. Her tongue feels rooted to the top of her mouth and her limbs are strangely jittery.

She doesn't even know what was so unsettling about the dream only that it was.

"Going to sleep the morning away, are we?" Fandral questions with a raised eyebrow. Sif glares at him and pointedly glances around the still dark sky. The sun is barely beginning to wash away the stars. Given how late they went going to bed last night, this is far earlier than she wanted to be aroused.

"The sun isn't even up yet." She grumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Well, our dearest Vanir Overlord Tjan is, so we need to be, too. You figure out he thinks he—and the rest of us—are immune to sleep yet?" Fandral questions, releasing her so she can sit up. Sif groans softly and swipes stray hair from her face.

"That was obvious past day one." Sif promises.

Fandral smirks and nods. "True. You best be up before he finds the Mind Stone and uses it to get us really going. Mindlessly droning because our only purpose in life is to fulfill his demands—"

Sif swats at him lightly with her pillow and buries laughter. "Stop it. That's not funny."

"It is a little." Fandral counters, grinning. He rushes off before she can find a comeback. Sif shakes her head fondly and finishes packing her gear, strapping it onto Restless's saddle. They eat a quick breakfast consisting mostly of their packed rations—which, loathe Sif is to admit it, aren't nearly as high as they should be. They hadn't assumed it would take this long, four, five days at the maximum. They've already been here four. If she and the others stretch, they'll have a little under two days before they should return for supplies or go hunting.

Given that Prince Tjan encourages them forward like a slave driver, Sif's going to bet they'll be hunting.

Hopefully they can get this stupid creature hunted, slain, and the children found before they've been on Vanaheim a fortnight. No need to drag this on than is strictly necessary, yes?

They don't get the creature in the next two days. They've found evidence of it at last, a few footprints and whiffs of it's sedir according to Loki, but the Weeping Siren has either masked it's magic or there isn't enough for Loki to latch onto for tracking. Either way, they're closer, but not close enough. It's relieving all the same.

Given a few more hours, days at the most, and this beast will be theirs.

But, as Sif suspected, their rations don't last past the third day. Well, "past" is a little too strong of a word, they're out before the evening meal. Prince Tjan has them come to a stop much earlier than normal and explains that they need to hunt, but someone needs to set up camp while they're gone.

And, thus leaves herself, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Loki in the clearing with the camping supplies as Prince Tjan, his guard, and Thor find food for the next few days. She's less than elated with this set up, but holds her tongue when Hogun kicks the back of her foot.

Instead, she helps Thor lighten the packs on his horse as Loki talks to the elder. "Thor, I think this is stupid." Loki insists, shifting his weight. Norns, he looks angsty and the sight is almost amusing. Almost, because Sif can't help the apprehension in her gut insisting that splitting up is a terrible idea. Prince Tjan can't get them lost, not with the map, but that doesn't mean he can't get them killed or lose Sif's party in the woods.

If this wasn't the Blodig Skog she wouldn't care.

If it wasn't Prince Tjan she wouldn't care.

As it is...

Thor sighs, looking like he's pulling on every ounce of self control he contains to stop himself from shouting at his younger sibilng's paranoia. Loki's been at this for at least two minutes now, trying to convince Thor to stay behind and let Prince Tjan and his "incompentant ten idiot entourage" do the hunting.

"Brother, we ran out of food and we need to keep up our strength." Thor explains as patiently as he can, tightening a strap on his stallion's saddle. "You know this."

"But why not send a smaller party? Why do you have to go with Prince Tjan? Why not just send them off on their own?" Loki questions, folding his arms across his chest. "Why would he take everyone and need you? Something seems off, brother."

Sif resists the urge to roll her eyes and hands Thor his sword. "Maybe it's because Thor can fly?" Sif questions with a raised eyebrow, "Or the fact that he's a good hunter. Maybe it has something to do with the face that he wields one of the most powerful weapons period, or did you forget that your brother is worthy of Mjolnir?"

Loki shifts his piercing stare from the side of his brother's head to her eyes. The green is cold, but Sif doesn't draw back. "Yes, hilarious." Loki says flatly.

Thor rolls his eyes and rests a hand on the younger's shoulder. "Norns, Loki, you sound like an old maiden. Or Mother. We won't go far."

"Thor, I'm serious. I don't think this is a good idea." Loki promises, jaw taut. He's repeating himself. Is he aware of that? Sif is. Thor's reassurances have eased her concern some. He wields Mjolnir, he's the son of Odin, she doesn't...he'll be fine. (Won't he?)

"And I do." Thor squeezes Loki's shoulder reassuringly. It doesn't seem to help much. When the Snake Prince opens his mouth for another bout, Thor slaps a hand over it. "Loki, stop. We need the food, and I'd rather go along to make sure Tjan doesn't do something stupid. You know what he's like. He'd trip over his own sword if given the opportunity and the others of his party aren't much better. At least this way we know they'll come back."

Sif shifts, smoothing hair from Thor's stallion's mane.

Loki holds the older's stare for a long moment before his shoulders slump and he tugs his sibling's hand away from his mouth. "Fine. But come back."

Thor smirks patting Loki's shoulder. "When do I not?"

"You don't want me to answer that." Loki snips and takes a step back so Thor can mount his stallion. When Thor is atop the horse he gives a nod in Sif's direction, looking over their small group for a second before offering a reassuring smile and directing his stallion towards where Prince Tjan and the others are waiting.

Sif watches them until they vanish inside of the Blodig Skog's depths and tries hard not to entertain the idea that this will be the last time she sees them in a long, long time.

000o000

"Did you never learn basic survival skills?"

The question is flat with annoyance, and Sif flicks her gaze up to Fandral from her position on his left. The warrior has tipped his head back, dirty blond hair falling over his eyes in a way that barely conceals his expression. The disdain is obvious.

Loki, from his position in front of the small gathering of sticks and dry plants he collected in the dark, scratches the flint and steel together again, receiving the same wheezy sparks that sputter out before hitting the tinder. The sharp movement of his wrists stops suddenly as he looks up with a scowl set on his thin, pale face.

Sif barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. Marvelous. If Fandral gets him talking, they never will get this stupid fire going, and they'll freeze to death before Thor returns with the small handful of the rest of their party. She hadn't been happy to do such mundane work, but setting up a few tents with Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun was nothing awful.

Loki agreed to take care for the fire.

And yet, nearly half an hour later, they are still sitting in the cold dark without anything but a few sparks of flame to show for it. She shouldn't be surprised that Loki couldn't handle something so simple, but she is. They're all of age—barely—now, and knowing how to start a fire was something they learnt in adolescence. But of course, as it always is with the second prince, when something really matters, he can't do it.

Sif sighs deeply, rubbing at the back of her scalp where her hair is beginning to pull on her head.

"Yes," Loki says icily, "I, unlike yourself, actually bothered to bring something to start a fire with."

Fandral's head tilts, "And that has done so much for you, has it?"

She can't quite see Loki's expression clearly in the dark, but she's fairly certain it pinches in something nasty before his head turns back to the gathered tinder. The flint grinds against the steel again, but the sparks don't take to the wood or weeds.

"Are you pushing hard enough?" Volstagg asks, not unkindly from where he's seated across from Sif. They've all gathered around what is supposed to be Loki's fire, tired.

"Yes." Loki's voice has dropped in patience, which is a truly remarkable feat. He never has much to begin with in the first place, and the fact that it's thin enough to notice a difference is utterly amazing. "Amazing"? That's the best she can come up with? Norns above, she's exhausted. Her vocabulary is slipping into basic words to describe her annoyance.

"You need to get that going. We don't know what else is out there." Hogun presses, rifling through a satchel he brought with him. Sif thinks he's looking for food they missed in the earlier search this afternoon, but she really doubts he'll find anything different than their earlier unfruitful searches.

Loki's gloved fingers fumble with the flint and steel again. Yggadrial must weep at his sorry state, and children sings sad tales of the Snake Prince's inability to do something so basic as start a fire.

Fandral scoffs loudly and leans forward, putting his hands behind his head. "Afraid of the dark, are we?" he teases Hogun, "Worried that the Dragr are going to come out and claim your screaming soul?"

Hogun doesn't rise to the bait, as Sif expected.

"Oh, there's plenty more in the woods than the Weeping Siren," Fandral says as if Hogun is paying avid attention to him. The Vanir soldier is not, having returning to his satchel to rifle through it. "Don't go wandering out in the dark tonight, yes?"

"Don't start that," Volstagg pleads, "please. This is no time to be telling such tales without light."

Fandral laughs loudly. "So it is not Hogan's flighty heart we should take care of, but the Mighty Volstagg's, then!?"

"I'm more concerned over the others returning and us unable to cook our food before we can retire for the night," Sif cuts in pointedly, both as a jibe towards Loki's lack of success, and a pointed turn of the conversation before Fandral can really get Volstagg worked up. The last thing they need is for the warrior to spend the rest of the night fretting. They all need to be on their best so they can both find the Weeping Siren and its victims.

And hopefully not join the latter before this whole predicament is through.

Loki flings the flint and steel to the forest floor and mutters a profanity under his breath as he rips off his left glove with his teeth and rubs two fingers together. A spark of flame whispers on his pale, thin fingers before he flicks it into the fire. The tinder takes immediately, and Sif releases a breath of relief, shifting forward.

Lazy as Loki may be at resorting to his sedir, at least now there is a steady flame going.

Loki, still with the glove in his mouth, gathers the flint and steel. "Is it that hard just to manage the traditional way?" Sif questions, lifting her frigid hands over the orange flame. It's gathering size quickly. The tinder that Loki must have spent twenty minutes looking for was good, she'll admit that grudgingly.

Loki's fist clenches, but he doesn't say anything in response, stalking off into the dark.

"Evidently so," Fandral concludes, scooting closer to the source of warmth.

"I'm just glad that it's going." Volstagg inputs with a smile, but Sif hears him mutter "at long last" under his breath, and can't quite contain her smirk. Ha! Any of them could have started this faster, and without resorting to sorcery. A dumb animal could have. Loki can't, as usual.

Loki returns almost a moment later, glove on his hand and expression composed. He sits down on her right, but leaves a noticeable gap between them. Sif nearly rolls her eyes at his childishness. They aren't children anymore, but she has to often wonder if Loki will ever grow out of such stupid actions. She's not going to bite him if he moves closer. Loki puts distance between himself and the fire as well, as if afraid of it's warmth.

She wouldn't doubt if he was. He's all ice.

They sit in silence, the fire crackling in the dark for a long time. Longer than Sif feels comfortable with. Dusk was just beginning to paint the horizon when they started, and it's pitch black now, with a thick overcast that both seems to make it colder, and darkens the area. It's almost impossible to see beyond the light that the fire offers.

There is no wind, nor the sounds of animals in the distance.

This forest is so, so quiet.

More minutes pass before Loki throws spare tinder into the fire and looks around them, as if prepared to stand. "They should have been back by now. You can't hunt in the dark."

"Maybe Prince Tjan just happened to remember a wild type of boar that only comes out when the sun has set." Fandral mutters, blowing out a long sigh.

Worry churns in her stomach. It's been hours. No one gave an estimation of when they'd be back, but surely it wouldn't take them hours. Then again...the Blodig Skog seems to kill all life, including wild, so maybe they just can't find any and...decided to return to Ju?

No. That's worse than Fandral's boar theory.

Loki scoffs. "Certainly. It seems like something he would remember conveniently."

"Now, now," Volstagg intrudes hesitantly, "let's not get hasty."

"Please," Loki grumbles, "you've been muttering insults of him for days now."

Sif bites at her tongue. It's one thing to do so, it's another to get called out on it. She shouldn't be surprised that he noticed, but the irritation doesn't go away with the wave of her fingers. Her teeth set, and she opens her mouth to retort, but Loki looks behind them again.

"We should go look for them. I don't like this." Loki says. Fandral lifts his head up, tilting it as confused. Sif is in the half mind to agree with the Snake Prince, but she doesn't...

"We shouldn't lose the camp and the supplies." Volstagg argues. "They'll come back."

"That's—" Loki starts.

"Shh." Fandral commands, lifting a hand.

Loki's jaw sets. "I—"

"No, I mean it—shh!" Fandral commands, rising up to his feet, hand on his sword. "Do you hear that?"

In the harsh light of the fire he looks nearly frantic. They're quiet for a moment and—nothing. Sif's lips thin and she looks up at the swordmaster. She's about to rule it off as paranoia, but a branch snaps behind her and she jerks up to her feet, hand rising to her spear. She snaps it to the full length as the others go for their weapons.

"What was that?" Volstagg breathes.

Something laughs softly, musically, and Sif whips her head in the direction of the noise. But there isn't a single direction, it seems to be coming from everywhere. Much like the screams the Siren make when it took Idrissa. Almost as if—

"Loki." Sif breathes in question, barely daring to raise her voice. It's the Weeping Siren, it has to be. What else could it? Loki can read magical signatures, he'd know for certain.

"I—" Loki starts, but the Weeping Siren lets out a young, girlish giggle and he snaps his jaw shut. Sif's wide eyes flick in the direction of the noise.

"Who wants to play, children?" it whispers. Its voice is still the young females. "Oh, I do!"

The fire goes out. There's not even a gust of wind, no water, nothing to suggest it would go out. It just extinguishes itself in a single puff of smoke, leaving them bathed in darkness. The clouds have never felt thicker. There's no stars, no moon, just the pitch-black of night.

And the scuffling through the wood.

"Stick together," Sif commands, lifting up her weapon. "No one runs off on their own."

"No one wants to die alone either." The Weeping Siren's voice has changed to a nasally old woman's, and it's louder. Closer. Norns. "But alas…"

Sif tenses, drawing her weapon up and preparing for a defense. It's hard to make out anything but the murky shadows in the dark, but it should be enough—Loki draws in a sharp breath, cutting her away from her thoughts. "Hogun, look out!"

There's the sound of a bowstring releasing and Sif whirls as Fandral swings his sword, but they're all too late. Hogun lets out a loud cry before a body smacks against the dirt and Sif sees something dragging the Vanir warrior away.

Her stomach drops to her feet. "No! Hogun!"

"Come and catch me!" the Weeping Siren taunts, back to the girlish voice and Hogun lets out a loud scream that cuts off abruptly. Sif abandons common sense insisting that she plant her feet where they are and come up with a plan of attack or turn tail and book it back to Ju where they can get aid from Asgard.

Instead, she readjusts her grip on her weapon and takes off into the dark trees.

It has Hogun.

No, no, no.

Dozens have died by this creature's hand, and Sif refuses to let one of her best friends become the next in line for that. Hogun was just trying to find his sister. His younger sister. Why are the fates so cruel? He doesn't deserve death from that. Good deeds shouldn't be punished!

"Sif!" Volstagg calls out behind her. "Stop!"

"Come, come!" the Weeping Siren's voice is getting fainter.

Feet pound behind her and Sif doesn't slow down, tearing through the trees in and effort to reach her shield-brother. Fandral matches her pace and she glances at him. "We can't let it take him!" she argues, "It will kill Hogun!"

"How is getting ourselves lost going to help!?" Fandral demands.

It won't.

But this won't be another Idrissa. She refuses to let it be. The Weeping Siren is not getting away.

"I'm not giving up this time!" Sif counters, pushing herself forward faster.

Fandral lets out a heaved breath, but doesn't argue further. Sif chances a quick glance behind to see Loki and Volstagg keeping pace with them. Relief pools in her stomach. She doesn't have to do this alone.

They've been whipping through the woods for about five minutes, the only clues as to Hogun's location the Weeping Siren's half-taunts and insistence that they follow. Hogun has said nothing and made no noise beyond the first and last scream.

She doesn't want to know what's keeping him silent.

They're doing fine, the pursuit making some progress until Volstagg trips and slams face first into the ground, and doesn't get up. Sif pulls herself to an abrupt halt, balancing weight on the tips of her toes to keep herself from mimicking the warrior. Impatience pours through her, but she nonetheless turns around and treks back over to her shield-brother.

Loki is already there, helping Volstagg up to his feet, but freezes.

It's hard to make out facial expressions in this thick darkness, but Sif's fairly certain Loki's eyes are wide. Sif moves to Volstagg's side as Loki releases him, shifting to kneel down infront of something, tugging off a glove with one hand.

"Are you alright?" Sif questions.

Volstagg nods. "Forgive me. I didn't see—oh." Volstagg draws in a deep, sharp breath as Loki lights a fire on his palm to brighten the area. Sif gasps, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth with surprise as Fandral moans through his teeth.

Volstagg tripped, but it was over one of the members of Prince Tjan's guard. Sif never really bothered to learn all of their names, but she recognizes this one on the spot because it's the captain. Yan, she thinks it was. He's dead, has been for at least a couple of hours. There's no obvious reason as to his death, but his cold, dead eyes stare up at them. He's smiling faintly.

Loki looks up at them, green eyes wide.

No one says a word.

The Snake Prince raises to his full height before clapping his hands together and drawing them apart. A glowing wispy light spreads between his hands and he tosses it like a whip. It lights up the immediate area around them better than a fire or the moon would have if they'd had access to either.

Sif sweeps her gaze around the area, her stomach sinking and she bites at the back of her hand, squeezing her eyes shut.

"So they're dead then." Volstagg says at last. "I count eight."

"Seven." Fandral mutters.

Sif doesn't want to count, but she needs to know. She rips her eyelids apart and scans the space. Bodies lay here, in the same state as Captain Yan. There's ten members, including the captain, in Prince Tjan's guard and there's only eight bodies here. She doesn't see the prince or Thor among the group. Four, at least, escaped or they aren't here.

They were attacked, and now more than half of them are dead. Because of the Weeping Siren, who still has Hogun and took all of those children. The Vanir's deaths don't seem to have been violent. Almost as if they fell asleep and never woke up again.

What is going to happen to Hogun?

Will they find him like this?

Where's Thor?

"I don't see Prince Tjan," Volstagg mutters. "Do you think he escaped?"

This wasn't that far from their camp...but was it? The Blodig Skog changes the deeper someone goes, which is why they need the stupid map. She doesn't even know if Loki has the one King Odin let him take because they don't have their saddlebags. Or the horses. They left them with the camp that Sif honestly doesn't know what direction to travel to reach it anymore.

Norns. This is her fault. If she hadn't run off...if they hadn't let the Siren take Hogun in the first place...

Loki whirls, eyes rapidly flicking across the bodies and he keeps making little shakes of his head. "I can't see Thor. Where is my brother?" Loki spins again, "Thor! Thor! This isn't a game! THOR!"

Fandral slaps a hand over his mouth to quiet him. "Shut up. The Weeping Siren isn't the only thing in these woods, I wasn't joking earlier. Do you want to attract that to us?"

Loki wiggles out of his grip, breath coming out fast and harsh. "I need to find my brother. I can't...I—" Loki makes a break for the woods and Sif dives for him, but only manages to brush her fingers against his arm before he's gone.

"Loki, you idiot, come back here!" Sif cries, "We need to stay together!"

He doesn't answer, vanishing into the darkness. Sif kicks the ground harshly, swearing under her breath. Wonderful. Now they've lost both the princes of the Golden Realm. King Odin will have them executed before they can get two words into to explain their sons combined stupidity. Norns, do the brains they carry even add to equal the common sense of half of a normal Aesir?

"I'm going to kill him," Fandral seethes. "When he drags his sorry butt back here, I'm going to mount his head on my wall."

"Get in line." Sif says through gritted teeth.

"Do we go after him?" Volstagg's voice is strangely desperate, as if he's near tears. "Hogun was…"

Her fists clench and she shakes her head. "We don't have time to chase him or Thor and the others down. He'll come to his senses eventually, but we need to find Hogun before the Weeping Siren kills him, too."

The two nod and they begin to hesitantly walk forward again, listening for any indication as to the Weeping Siren's location.

"Hogun!" Sif shouts into the wood. She can't hear the Weeping Siren anymore, but her voice echoes. The forest doesn't swallow it, letting it stretch on and on. Panic wraps around her rips. "HOGUN!"

No answer.

No taunts.

No laughter.

Norns, please don't let him die just yet.

It takes nearly a full minute before she hears the soft voice of a woman singing. It's the most beautiful voice she's ever heard in her life as if a woman is singing her tears, but the words it voices only fills her with dread. "You whisper and you cry, because some need to die..."

"What is that?" Volstagg freezes in place, raising his axe.

What does he think!? A choir of Vanir woman out for a stroll in the middle of a haunted forest?

"The Weeping Siren." Sif answers in a low hiss, lifting up her shield. "Stop moving, prepare for an attack."

This is their chance. If they can over power the Weeping Siren, then they can force it to take them to Hogun, the children, and the others. They'll rescue them this time. They'll get it. They aren't going to fail. They're going to reach the children.

Fandral lifts his sword. "Show yourself!" he calls into the woods. The singing is getting closer, carrying the melodic tune that grasps for all of Sif's senses. The longer it sings the more sluggish her mind becomes.

"Don't mourn, don't weep, you are all so tired and now need to sleep…"

Her limbs grow heavy, exhaustion tips at the edges of her vision. Wait—no, this isn't—it's sedir. The Weeping Siren has enchanted her words...but it doesn't...make her any less…

Tired.

Maybe...maybe...sleep wouldn't be so...

"Shut up!" she doesn't know who the voice belongs to, she thinks it's her own.

A shrill laugh cuts through the air, followed by a harsh sob. "Shh, shh, mother is here to settle the fear, and now she has one request to make this game fair: Drop your weapons."

The spear slips from her grip and hits the ground with a clang. The Weeping Siren moves closer, she can hear it breathing. The other's have released their weapons as well. A ragged breath escapes her in terror and she backs up towards the others.

The Siren slinks forward, swathed in a deep red dress that's fraying at the edges. Long silver hair falls over its shoulders to the waist, obscuring some of the woman's face. Or, at least, what Sif assumes is a woman. She's as tall as Sif is with an increte walking cane and smiling softly. Her skin is pale and wrinkled, giving off the impression of age, but the aura of power around her doesn't fit it.

The Siren doesn't stop until she's close enough that Sif back touches her shield-brothers. Volstagg's breaths are coming out labored, and Fandral looks a mix between tackling the Siren to the floor and turning tail and running.

The creature leans forward, smile still stretched on her lips and whispers, "Children, dear, dear, children. All alone, lost in the forest without anyone to save them."

"We're not children." Sif hisses, trying to keep her voice heavy. It comes out as more of a desperate plea.

"Hush." The Siren sings, and Sif's jaw snaps shut of its own accord. Her tongue is stuck against the roof of her mouth and refuses to come down.

The Siren hums, and then, "Yes. Yes. My dears, I think it's best if we rest. Fandr—Ah!" a loud cry cuts through her throat and she tumbles onto the ground as if struck in the stomach by something. The musical melody in her voice snaps. Something feels as if it's been tugged away and her muscles release. Sif's hands still tremble even as she dives for her spear.

Fandral and Volstagg move behind her, but the Siren sits up, hand pressed around where an arrow is lodged in her gut and shrieks in a desperate melody "stop moving!"

Sif's muscles immediately seize and she tumbles to the ground, frozen. Panic washes up her limbs, making it hard to breathe. Sedir. There's—oh, Norns, she has no idea what to do. She can't get her weapon, and she doesn't know what the Siren wants.

Are they going to die?

This is hardly a warrior's death.

The Siren rips the arrow from her stomach and barely leans back in time to avoid a second one aimed for her face. Sif's heart leaps in her chest with relief. Someone else is out there. Maybe this isn't hopeless.

Maybe—

The Weeping Siren hisses, twisting around to look back at the darkened woods, "Come, come, come," she sings out, "no more hiding—"

The Siren lets out a shriek as a figure wraps an arm around her neck and tackles her face-first into the dirt. If she'd had any movement in her body, Sif's fairly certain her jaw would have dropped with surprise.

"No, no I don't think so." The figure counters.

Sif's heart is beating at her ribcage. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Loki.

That idiot. What didn't he just go for help!? Any sensible person would have gone for help instead of trying to act the part of a hero. She shouldn't even be surprised, but she'd expected that he'd have the brains to realize that.

Apparently not.

"What have you done with my brother?" Loki demands harshly, "Where is Thor?"

"The sedir wielder." The Weeping Siren muses, but her tone is more angry than amused. "I told Tjan to stop bringing them in here."

Wait.

What?

Loki looks startled, "What do you—?"

The Weeping Siren shoves him off of her, lifting a bloody hand to grab him by the throat and throw him backwards. There's a smacking sound a second later, like a body hitting something heavy and Loki lets out a pained cry. Norns, no, no, no—

"Time, and time again it comes," the creature sings, rolling to her feet and grabbing Fandral's sword. She advances towards them, and Sif feels her stomach drop. She's going to kill them! Oh, Norns, why did they think this would be easy? Prince Tjan has—

Thor.

Prince Tjan was—

The Weeping Siren moves towards her and Sif's chest constricts with helpless sobs. The Weeping Siren squats down beside her and smooths her hair away from her neck, hand still gripping the sword. Her fingers are drenched in blood.

The arrow.

Loki shot her, but despite how much the blood gushes, the Siren doesn't seem to mind, only focused on singing. The words are numbing Sif's senses and making it hard to be aware of anything. The creature takes the weapon up in both hands and raises it above Sif's neck.

"But the end was drawing near, and the children began to fear...but it was too late to stop anything. And the children began to whisper and draw in another breath, but we all knew they dreamed of dea—"

"Wait!" Loki chokes out, and the Weeping Siren stops the swing barely an inch from Sif's neck and turns, long silver hair falling in front of her face. Sif can't see her expression anymore, and though a part of her is horrified at this; another, quieter section is relieved. She doesn't have to stare at that face any longer.

The Siren is still gripping the sword.

Sif doesn't want to die.

Loki staggers forward into the clearing, unharmed save gashes on the left side of his face. "Spare their lives," the Snake Prince pleads, words bubbling out of him at a speed Sif has never seen him speak with before, "take mine instead. We know that you collect prey from these woods and kill the others. Let them go and take me. Kill me. Whichever would be of your choosing."

What on the Nine is he doing!?

This is not a bargain he should be making!

The Weeping Siren tilts her head, quiet. Loki takes in a ragged breath. Sif can see that his hands are steady. Fear is etched onto his face, but his hands are steady. Norns, he really intends to go through with this. He's...saving...them.

At the cost of his own life.

His own freedom.

Sif had...Sif had honestly not really thought him capable of doing something so stupid. Reckless. Selfless.

"Please," Loki's voice is barely above a breath, "I am Loki, the son of Odin. I am the second prince of Asgard. Surely I am of more value to you than a handful of soldiers. I—I can be a ransom, a tool. Take me, please, and l-let them go."

Shut up, you idiot!

Thor will kill them if the Weeping Siren takes his younger brother. (Thor. Where is he? How is he?)

The Weeping Siren shuffles forward and a dread wraps around Sif's gut heavily. No, no, no. Stop moving. Don't get any closer. If she touches one hair on the Snake Prince's head—

"You are weary, my child." The Weeping Siren's natural voice is hoarse, but there's still a sweet melodic tune to it. The trepidation is only growing stronger as the Weeping Siren moves closer. Loki is leaning back a little, but it isn't helping.

Sif's muscles are still frozen despite her attempts to fight the spell. The Weeping Siren reaches out a hand to cup Loki's cheek, and Sif watches as a visible tremor race down his spine. His lips are pinched, and Sif's not breathing. What is the demon doing? Does she intend to harm him in some way? Is is some sort of spell?

What is going on!?

"You don't think clearly," the Weeping Siren insists. "I'm up to the challenge now, I think," she murmurs, "it is well past time I avoided this. I'll never be better if I don't. This is your—and their—salvation. You will thank me."

With that stated, the Weeping Siren runs her hand up Loki's face before settling two fingers on Loki's forehead. There's the faint murmur as she says something before Loki's eyes roll back and he slumps backward, only to be caught in the arms of the Weeping Siren like a lost child.

She's taking him.

She's actually taking him.

Sif's jaw tries to tighten in anger, but the paralysis still holds her steady. The Weeping Siren turns to face them, a smile stretched on her lips. It looks deranged among the lighting. Loki is completely lax in her arms, and Sif feels a momentary panic ripple through her.

What if he's dead?

He can't be dead!

Prince Tjan and the others found corpses in the houses of claimed children. They found corpses. Perhaps the Weeping Siren intends to kill them all. (Then why is she holding Loki like he's something precious to her?) Frustration pours through her, but further struggling does nothing.

The Weeping Siren stands still for another moment before her fingers tract out some sort of pattern and she smiles at them again. "Sleep, my children, all will be well." She assures, and then flicks her hands out. This isn't her song that leaves Sif numb and hazy, it rams into her gut, clawing its way towards her brain. She has two long seconds to feel the panic crash into her stomach before her body goes limp and she knows no more.


Author's Note:

Next chapter: Umm...let's be optimistic and say August 16th, 23rd, or some time in-between that. ;)