Author's Note:

Disclaimer: Nope, own nothing.

Warnings: Some description of blood, possibly disturbing images, implied child labor (not heavily referenced).


Chapter Four:

Her head is pounding, her throat is dry, and every part of her body feels stiff and strangely disconnected from the rest of her. As if it's hers, but she doesn't have the right to govern what it does. She wants to. She wants to leap up, grab her sword and...solve whatever the problem is, but she can't. Everything is too heavy.

Sif can't get herself to move for a long time. She's laying on something soft, which is concerning, given her recent memories—shouldn't it be the forest floor?—but not unwelcome. Her hair is sticking to her face, and the first thing she manages to do is shake it away from her nose. Everything is so quiet. She can hear breathing, gentle humming, and her own heart, thumping inside her chest.

On and on it goes.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The humming continues. It's luring her to sleep again, but Sif grabs at any mental breaks she can scramble for and tugs on them. She doesn't want to go under again. She needs to discover what happened to the others. The Weeping Siren put them to sleep and now she's...not where she should be anymore. Did someone find them in the woods and move them?

(Did the Siren take Loki?)

Alright. Enough lazing about. Move.

Her finger twitches with effort, and Sif nearly grinds her teeth together in annoyance. That is not going to save anyone, or help the situation. It's movement, her exhausted body complains, leave it there? Sif shakes it off and draws out a breath slowly.

Assess first.

There's a thin, but warm, blanket covering her frame. Her shoes are missing, leaving her toes to face the cold in only socks. Her armor is also gone, leaving her in the loose shirt and pants underneath. It's cold. Something is wrapped around her left ankle, and an experimental wiggle of the foot reveals the cold metal of a chain.

Her stomach drops.

Not a friendly, then, wherever they ended up. Marvelous. All the weapons she had hidden in her armor are missing now, so she's defenseless and in a hostile building. And where on the Nine is that blasted humming coming from? Can it stop? She wants to strangle it. It's making her tired and she doesn't want to be tired now.

She wants to know what's going on.

Sif lays on the bed, slowly regaining feeling in her limbs and trying to gain more data without opening her eyes, but not succeeding. The humming and quiet talking continues; the breathing doesn't change. It's not until a hand gently touches the side of her face that the cycle is broken. Sif flinches, drawing away from it with surprise and instinct insisting she do so.

The hand is dry and bony, with rough calluses and Sif's entire body tenses at the unwanted touch. "Shh," a woman's voice soothes softly, "no need for that. I know you don't sleep, daughter."

The voice makes connections with another in her head, and Sif's eyes snap open as she bodily pulls away from the Weeping Siren as much as she's able. The chain clinks, and an irrational terror races across Sif's skin.

What is she doing here?

How did she get here?

Where is here?

The Weeping Siren gives a gentle smile that looks far too concerning to be reassuring with her wide, scarred lips. "Be at ease. I mean no harm."

Of course. The dead bodies in Blodig Skog are just oozing evidence to back that statement.

"What on Helheim am I…?" Sif starts to question angrily, but looks at her surroundings and her voice catches in her throat. "...Doing here...?"

She's in some sort of large, dank basement. The only source of light comes from dangling lanterns lit only by candles. It doesn't offer much to see by, but enough to pick up the jist.

The room is lined with beds, a majority of them bunk. Most are pressed against the wall sideways, leaving the small figures curled underneath blankets easily visible. There must be at least a dozen beds on the wall across from her, and more on the wall she's against. The bed she's occupying is of the same design, but she can't see any evidence of an occupant on the top.

A quick glance to her left reveals Volstagg and Fandral, Fandral on the top and Volstagg the bottom, and beyond that she can see Hogun—alive, blessedly and appearing to be mostly unharmed because he's sitting up and talking to a young girl tipped over the side. His sister, Avil—and on her right is Loki. His head is wrapped and cleaned from the wound he sustained in the fight, eyes closed and he breathes in and out slowly, but Sif can see by the tenseness in his shoulders that he isn't resting.

It's a facade.

And one of the few times she knows that he's doing it.

This is the Weeping Siren's abode. On the beds across from her are the missing children, if she squints into the dark hard enough she can spot Idrissa hidden beneath a blanket. All of them are here. Accounted for. Alive. And if she's guessing right, completely unharmed.

They've...been taken.

Claimed.

Sif thought that the Weeping Siren would take Loki and leave them for dead in the few seconds she'd had to contemplate their fate. This wasn't the case, and she doesn't know if this is better or worse.

The room seemed so quiet when she had her eyes closed, but now she can hear the quiet sniffles of tears, Hogun's soft baritone, the Weeping Siren's humming, and shifting bodies.

The hand touches her face again, and Sif jerks upright, grabbing the Weeping Siren's wrist. It's frail beneath her fingers. Breaking it would be easy enough. The Siren smiles gently, eyes almost encouraging her onward. Sif's tempted, very tempted, but she's not keen on seeing what the consequences would be if she did.

Think.

Exhale.

Sif doesn't let the woman go, eyes narrowing. "Don't touch me again." She barely keeps herself from snarling the words, and realizes there isn't a point being nice to their captor and releases the creature's arm with a shove.

The Weeping Siren is sitting on the edge of her bed. Sif never felt her move there, but she's pushed back only a little, despite the force of Sif's release. Her humming slowly stops, and she tips her head. "Now, now, let's not be hasty, dear one."

Sif's jaw clenches. She can feel multiple eyes on her, but doesn't dare to look away from the creature. "My name is Sif." She says firmly. "If you must address me, use that."

The Weeping Siren clicks her tongue, resting her pale hands on her lap. "So testy. That won't do, but I mustn't have expected more, given your age. You are, after all, my new challenge."

Challenge of what?

What is this-this thing doing with all these innocents?

Why did she take them here?

"You are curious." The Weeping Siren notes out loud, and Sif feels strangely exposed at the bluntness of the statement. "It is good. Curiosity...is good. Yes. Well, you need not fear, it is not my intent to harm. See—look, I cleaned the damage I made on your brother."

Wait.

Her—what?

The Weeping Siren points earnestly towards Loki, and Sif feels the sudden urge to laugh. Loki's eyes are opened and they catch hers for a second. A sharp retort wants to slip off her tongue, but her voice only comes out as a helpless sputtering mess. "We're-we're not—"

"Siblings." The Siren finishes, and shakes her head. "By birth, no, of course not." She leans forward as if sharing a secret with Sif. "He was Odin's son. The great king of Asgard," she giggles, and it's strangely high-pitched and much younger sounding than it should be. It reminds Sif of the forest, and her stomach clenches into a tight knot as she thinks of Thor. She doesn't see him or the others here. The Siren presses a hand against her mouth to hide a wide smile. "But now he's mine."

Something awful bubbles in her stomach. It fizzles like dread.

The Weeping Siren giggles again before containing herself and clearing her throat.

Sif sees Loki prop himself up on one elbow from the corner of her eye, but it's slow. Sif doesn't doubt that he has a headache or something worse given how much the wound was bleeding last night. Untreated head wounds can be dangerous. Deadly, even. What if the Weeping Siren doesn't give them the tools they need to care for it?

No—wait. Loki's been trained in the healing arts with sedir. He can heal himself without too much of a fuss...yes?

"Wh-what…" Loki's voice slurs and Sif closes her eyes exhaling softly. Head wound for certain.

"Hush!" the Weeping Siren demands and the weight shifts on the edge of her mattress. Sif rips her eyes open, catching the Siren move between her bed and Loki's only to push him back against the mattress. He slumps without much of a fight, even with how he's flinching away from their captor's hands. "You mustn't strain yourself!"

Loki gasps sharply as the woman touches at the bandages, and Sif's hands curl into fists. Her mouth opens without her consent, fully prepared for a rebuke, but Fandral beats her too it. "Hey!" his voice is hard. "Don't touch him!"

She has no idea why they're doing this.

None of them even remotely like Loki.

But it's...she's rarely seen Loki this disoriented before. She's seen him worse injured, but when he gets to that state, it's usually Thor that cares for him. Not them. Loki never admits weakness, silvertongue sharp and at the ready and...it's not. Not now.

The Weeping Siren's spine tightens and she rises to her full height, stopping her fretting with Loki's bandages. She turns around slowly, eyes narrowed. "You do not decide the rules of this home." She grits between her teeth. "Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, child."

Sif cuts in before things can get worse, or Fandral will say something more stupid. "What do you want from us?"

The Weeping Siren nods slightly, "Hmm. You need to know the answers. Listen carefully, and listen close." She lifts a finger to her lips. "No questions. No talking. I will explain, and you will only listen."

Sif latches her teeth together.

The Weeping Siren spreads a hand out, gesturing towards the beds. "Behold my children. You have now been blessed with joining the ranks of my family. These are your new brothers and sisters, and together, we will be happy for a long time."

...What?

"You will address me as 'mother', because that is what I am. Your mother. Your new one. The better one. I have never had children as old as you, but it is time. To stay where I am comfortable is to prevent evolving, and I can't have that. No. You used to belong to someone else, but now you don't. You're mine, and I'll keep you safe and happy. I promise. No more failures."

The Weeping Siren's expression grows pained for a moment, and Sif shares a frantic look with Volstagg. This woman...is collecting the children because she is trying to mother them? She is collecting a family of the stolen and lost.

Sif's mouth opens to ask a question, but the Weeping Siren shoots her a heavy scowl. "No questions. None ever. None, none, none. They get you killed." The Weeping Siren pats Loki's upper arm again before smiling softly. "You will feel better in the morning. You must."

Morning. Thus indicating it's still night. The night they were taken or another? Does it matter? Sif doesn't have any plans of staying here any longer than she must. They need to go find Thor, and they've found the missing children. Once they've beheaded the stupid Siren, their mission will be complete.

Sif shifts in the awkward position the short chain around her ankle has left her. After checking to make sure the Siren is indeed still focused on Loki, Sif reaches forward and grabs at the small looped chain. She may not have the strength of a man, but she's not weak. She's past adolescence now. A chain shouldn't be of any—

As she attempts to break the metal a staggering pain swirls into her gut, ripping through her nerves and refusing to be ignored. Sif's hands draw away from her foot, only so she can gather her hair over her shoulder and vomit. It doesn't taste right, only sweetly metallic and it takes Sif a long second to realize she was vomiting blood.

Oh.

That can't be good.

She stares at the pool with disgust and horror, flicking her gaze back towards her foot. It's numb and a second jolt shoots up the nerves. Sif vomits again, barely hearing the concerned words that her shield-brothers are asking her.

That's such a terrible taste, augh.

Sif swallows heavily and blinks several times before she lifts a shaking hand to wipe stray blood away from her mouth. It stains her fingers deeply. Sif glances up at Volstagg and Fandral's concerned faces barely managing to draw together a reassuring smile. Inwardly, she's less calm.

If they can't break out of the chains because of that...how are they going to get out?

"Don't do that again." The Weeping Siren grabs Sif's chin and turns her head, "Trying to escape only brings forth more blood. You—" Sif brings her bloodied fist up to slam against the Weeping Siren's face, but the creature grabs her forearm. Sif brings her other hand up and the woman lets out a little squeaked noise before grabbing her other arm. Her grip is tight enough to hurt. Sif's teeth grit and she struggles against the grip, almost freeing her left hand.

The Weeping Siren releases her right hand, but before Sif can do anything other than bring her fist in the direction she means to hit, two of the Siren's fingers touch her forehead. She whispers something under her breath and an immediate surge of exhaustion washes over her. Her eyes slip close and she slumps back, asleep.

000o000

When she wakes up, it's to someone shaking her shoulder and hissing her name. She draws away at the touch somewhat, mumbling under her breath about sleeping and murdering Prince Tjan's lack of sleeping habits under her breath when everything settles back into place. She bolts upright and barely manages to avoid colliding with Fandral's head.

"What are you doing?" Sif demands, scowling. Then it occurs to her that Fandral is standing, not chained to the bedframe and she looks up at him with wide eyes, mouth opened in question.

"It's not what you think." Fandral shoots down quickly. "Get up. The Siren is feeding breakfast and Hogun's sister says that we've apparently been asleep for three days before last night, and there's no need to go any longer without food if we want to get out."

Well, that explains why she's so hungry. Three days?

Sif moves and is both surprised and not when the chain doesn't restrict her. She gets to her feet, the hard stone cold beneath her toes. Her limbs feel a little wobbly and Fandral has to catch her around the shoulders to keep her from face-planting. Her face heats, but she says nothing of it.

Volstagg rests a hand on her shoulder and after a quick once over, nods to himself about the state of her health. All of the children are gathered into a collective circle, silently staring at them with wide eyes. The eldest of the bunch can't be more than Midgardian twelve and the youngest three. Her heart aches for these lost, hallowed faces.

Loki is squatted in front of one of them, Idrissa, Sif recognizes after a moment. Although first impressions appear to have been making sure the young girl was okay, she's now helping Loki clean dried blood off of his left forearm. Sif has no idea where it came from, but the source of the bleeding appears to be some sort of puncture mark.

Sif draws her gaze away from the prince with effort and looks up at Hogun when he steps into her line of sight. Avil is pulled against his side from the arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her shield-brother looks calmer than he has since before they learned of her disappearance.

"Is everyone okay?" she asks, keeping her voice quiet. She doesn't see a need, but it seems appropriate given everything else.

"As far as I can tell there's only superficial injuries." Volstagg promises. "They all appear shaken and quiet, but nothing life threatening."

"Mother wouldn't let us get hurt." Avil mumbles. Her voice is soft and thick with the Vanir accent. Sif's brow furrows in confusion at the title, before realizing that Avil doesn't mean her birth mother, but this creature.

She said they were to address her as mother.

Sif would rather lick the inside of a bilge snipe's teeth. Her mother is on Asgard, likely unaware of Sif's disappearance and won't be until when—not if—Thor and the others return for aid. Surely more of Asgard will be willing to help now that it is their prince that is missing, yes?

(Are you really so hopeless that you're going to wait around for a rescue?)

Sif shakes her head, trying to focus. Hogun's teeth set, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Avil shakes her head and the rest of the children stiffen. There's a squeak of hinges before a trap door above their heads opens and a ladder made of wood and rope is thrown down towards the earth. "Come, come!" the Weeping Siren insists, "Who hungers?"

The children stand there for a long second before one of the older shoves the eldest towards the ladder. The eldest shoots her a scowl before grabbing hold of the first rail and begins to make his way up towards the surface. Sun is streaming into the basement and Sif has to squint in order to make anything out. With reluctance, the children begin to make their way up towards the surface.

Sif stares at the ladder for a long second before looking at Avil. "What happens if you don't go up?"

The girl's eyes widen and she draws in closer to her brother. "Then Mother comes down...and she makes you go up anyway. Hogun, please, let's go. I don't want her to get cross with you." She tugs on Hogun's hand and he follows, holding their stare for a long moment.

Sif lets her feet linger where they are before sighing deeply and moves forward. Hogun and Avil go up the ladder first, the younger practically pulling her sibling up the entire way. It's an unusual show of affection for Vanaheim. They aren't typically this...openly affectionate. Given the circumstances, Sif doesn't exactly blame anyone.

Most of the younger children were assisted by the elder, but there's an odd number of them and Sif spots Loki pulling the youngest up on his back. Her stomach churns with discomfort and she steps in front of the second prince. "Loki," she murmurs softly.

He stares at her, gaze hard.

"Loki, let me. You're exhausted." Sif says and reaches up for the child, but Loki's grip tightens.

"And you were vomiting blood." His tone is acidic, "I'm capable of doing something without your help, my lady." He grabs at the ladder and quickly rises, only adjusting the young girl on his back once. Well, fine. She was just trying to help.

Sif grits her teeth, but she, Fandral, and Volstagg get the other children up first before making their way up themselves. The ladder is a lot longer than Sif first expected. They are far deeper beneath the surface than she first thought.

The trap door doesn't open into a house like Sif first expected. Instead, it's some sort of field. The grass is yellowing, but near the middle of her calves in height. There's trees around the edges, surrounding the field like a thick wall. Past a small stream splitting the open space in half is what Sif suspects is growing produce, but she's not certain.

Behind her the field extends, but towards the edge is a small cottage. It's old, and barely maintained enough to be standing. The sky is thick with dark overcast and Sif's lips press together. It's going to rain soon, she suspects, and it won't be a light rainstorm.

Hopefully they won't be out in the open when the heavens decide to release their fury.

There's two wooden tables set up, one of which is packed with the kids. The other is mostly empty. The Weeping Siren, standing in front of some sort of counter, beckons her forward with a wide smile. It stretches far too wide and Sif is once again struck by how unsettling this-this thing is. She says nothing as she, Fandral, and Volstagg move forward. Hogun is already sitting at the less-full table, next to his younger sister.

The Weeping Siren hands each of them a bowl of watery oatmeal and directs them to sit. Sif does so, putting herself at the edge of the table. Fandral and Volstagg sit across from her, eyes rapidly scanning over the area. Sif knows that they're doing much the same as her: how far can they make it if they ran?

Which direction would they need to go to get out of the woods?

How many people could they get out in the process?

It's a big field, but Sif could probably break the distance in under three minutes if she sprinted.

She barely touches at the rapidly cooling oatmeal, stirring the spoon through the substance again and again. Sif should be hungry, she knows that, but the adrenaline rushing through her veins insists that there are more important things to worry over than food.

The Weeping Siren doesn't leave them, moving towards the other table once everyone has been given some of the food and chatting with a lively tone that none of the children match. The woman seems so insistent that they all be happy here, but doesn't actually see how miserable her captives are. It sickens Sif.

Sif parts her lips with effort and looks at the others. "What direction do you think we'd need to go?" There isn't a need for clarification. What else would she be talking about?

"I'm not sure." Volstagg sighs. "Without the suns I'm at a loss for direction. I'm regretting my lack of venturing to Vanaheim. Maybe going past the house...?"

Fandral shakes his head. "It shouldn't be guesswork. Going deeper into the Blodig Skog won't be helpful to anyone. Maybe...we'd need to ask around. Maybe someone knows the direction the Weeping Siren comes from when she leaves and exits."

Sif sighs miserably, burying her head into her hands. "I doubt it."

"Well, maybe—" Volstagg starts optimistically, but stops when Loki slams an empty bowl on the tabletop next to Sif's arm. She barely represses a jump and they all look up at him. The Snake Prince's lips are thinned, but he parts them with some effort.

"You can stop planning how to get out of here." Loki promises. "At least through running for the Blodig Skog."

Sif folds her arms across her chest, trying to hold at the frayed edges of her patience. "And why, pray tell, would that be?"

Loki sighs and sits down next to her, subtly pointing up towards the sky. "Look."

Sif does, and sees nothing but the clouds. Fandral hums, unimpressed. "Yes, there's rain coming, but that's really not what—"

"No." Loki shoots down before he continues. "Look harder. Tell me when the last time you saw clouds tinted yellow was."

Sif squints, and after some focusing, she can make out the faint glimmer of yellow against the sky. It's so out of place that she can't believe she missed it. Sif follows the yellowish tint down from the sky to among the trees and sees it settle against the ground before the woods begin. The entire clearing is covered with it.

Some sort of magical barrier. She's seen similar sights in Asgard before. Even on the battlefield.

Sif rubs at her forehead, "What does it mean?" she can make guesses, but any distinct answer evades her.

Loki looks away from the barrier and is quiet for a second. "I'm not certain. I...my conjecture is that it's meant to keep other people out and us—" he gestures vaguely "—within. I know that we can't leave with it, I asked a few of the children before the Siren finished dishing. The older ones have tried. Said it felt like glass."

"Which means it can be shattered, yes?" Volstagg asks hopefully.

Loki shakes his head. "No, it means that the Siren is a powerful enough sedir wielder to create an actual physical wall. All this indicates is that the barrier is almost impenetrable. Trust me."

Sif sours, dropping the spoon into the bowl with attitude and growls between her teeth. "Marvelous. How are we going to get the children out now? Will we have to wait around until a rescue?"

"I don't know." Loki snips, "Would it be so terrible a wound to your pride for that to be the case?"

Sif slams her hand on the table top, a sharp retort on her tongue, but is stopped when Volstagg says in an almost pointed mediation. "What do you mean 'almost impenetrable'? Is there a chance that we could break through?"

Loki pulls his gaze from hers with effort, "Maybe. If I had—if it…" his words stumble over themselves, and Sif stares at him, suddenly aware of how strange it is for this to happen. "If I had access to my—"

"Children, why do we care to discuss this?" a hand drops on her shoulder and Loki's. Sif and the Snake Prince jolt, turning to look at the woman with wide eyes. That plastic smile is still on her lips, but there's a heavy anger in her eyes. Sif finds something within her recoil at the sight, though she can't determine why.

The Weeping Siren's head tilts. "Are we not going to be happy here together?"

"I have my reservations." Fandral mutters.

The hand tightens and Sif winces, attempting to draw her hand away from the woman's grip without much success. After a moment, the Weeping Siren draws her hands away and laughs softly. "Well, then, let us settle them. Get up. We have work to do."

000o000

Work, as it turns out, has nothing to do with drinking memory wiping potions or torture, as Sif first expected. She's a little embarrassed that she'd immediately jumped to that, but what else was she supposed to be thinking? That the Weeping Siren was going to offer sweets?

She, the others, and a few of the older children are shuffled off towards the suspected farm. It is indeed an abundance of plants and a few animals (Sif's chest aches when she thinks of Restless, left in the woods by herself, but there's no time for that). The Weeping Siren shows them where to cut and how to accomplish the tasks with wide smiles of praise and far too much physical affection for Sif's preference.

"It teaches responsibility." The Siren insists when Hogun questions the point of this. "Good children are responsible."

Sif's not stupid. In the twisted, warped part of this creature's mind, that may be the case. In reality: working with the weeds, barely, wheat, and other types of grains and fruit keeps them too preoccupied mentally and exhausted physically to do much good on escape plans. The other children too young to help with farming, which is a little less than six, the Weeping Siren appears to try and play some sort of game with, but it's hard to see from so far away. No one but the Siren seems excited about it.

She really thinks she's mothering them, and it sickens Sif slightly.

This is captivity.

And she has no idea why the Siren is so insistent about this "family". What happened to the woman to drive her to madness like this?

Sif keeps an eye on the rest of the group where she can, and learns a few of the other children's names. The eldest is a son called Li, and was the first victim of the Siren's calls. The second eldest is a daughter called Shii, and the third another daughter named Mona. All of them have been here for years and seem hollow, almost dead save the motions of their hands. They don't smile. Don't laugh. They remind Sif eerily of Prince Tjan's haunted eyes.

Sif half expects Loki to make a magical attempt at escaping, but he doesn't. Only focuses on his tasks and catches her eye every so often as if checking to make sure she's still here. Where else would she go if they can't leave?

The Weeping Siren calls them back for a quiet dinner and then shuffles them all back inside of the basement. Sif collapses against the mattress with gratitude, limbs aching and fingers sore from gripping so much fine grain all day. Her feet hurt from walking through the rocks without shoes, and they're bloody and blistered, much like everyone else.

The Weeping Siren locks the cuffs onto their feet and tells some sort of story as she does so, probably trying to lure the younger children to sleep. It's a popular Vanir folklore about a baker who accidentally feeds a lizard into a dragon and has to slay his beloved pet before it eats all the bread of Vanaheim. It's meant to be humorous, but told in the Weeping Siren's nasal voice it sounds like a horror.

Sif falls asleep anyway, much to her embarrassment.

It's not a deep sleep, and she jerks awake to the sound of someone crying. It's not the soft sounds of despair, but agonized wails and her body tenses before heated anger seers through her. It's followed by a brief flash of blinding panic, and Sif jerks up into a sitting position. The blanket tumbles onto her lap, but she pays it no mind swiveling her head in the direction of the noise.

Sif breathes out sharply when she identifies it.

The Weeping Siren is sitting beside Loki, one hand pressed against his head, running her fingers through his hair as if trying to soothe as the other injects something into his arm through a needle. The veins of Loki's wrists are fading in and out with glows and desperate, muffled sobs are escaping his throat. The Weeping Siren keeps making cooing noises of encouragement: "Almost there, my son, look at how brave you're being...nearly…"

Sif's stomach drops and anger soars through her.

"Hey!" she shouts, and starts to move off the bed to throw the Weeping Siren away from her prince, but the chain around her ankle rattles before she can make much progress. She nearly tumbles off the bed instead.

The Weeping Siren stops and looks up at her, head tilted. "Daughter?"

"Don't—" Sif starts and stops because correction doesn't matter. Loki is crying in pain. The Weeping Siren is making him cry because of pain. "What on the Nine do you think you're doing!?"

The Weeping Siren smiles knowingly, and pushes against the needle harder. Loki inhales sharply and the glow of his veins comes to a sudden halt. The loss if it is almost startling. Sedir does that. Whatever the Weeping Siren did, it affected Loki's sedir.

Sif suddenly remembers Idrissa helping wipe dried blood away from Loki's forearm this morning. In the midst of everything else, she hadn't realized what it was. Now she knows. Whatever this is, it was done to Loki when she was asleep last night as well. If she had to bargain a guess, she'd say Aetheitin. It's a type of drug with Muspelheim roots to stop the chemicals sedir relies on in blood to bond with sedir's. It can cripple even the most powerful of sorcerers, but it's extremely painful.

And the Weeping Siren just put that in Loki's blood.

She's drugging him.

The Weeping Siren smooths sweaty hair away from Loki's forehead, pulling the needle from his arm. The Snake Prince's entire posture is stiff and he follows her hand as if afraid it will burn him. Sif feels a wave of disgust wash over her. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it, son?" the Siren questions, that smile still on her lips.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut and parts his lips with what looks like effort. Sif half expects him to say something, most likely nasty, but Loki only leans over the side of the mattress and vomits. The Weeping Siren's tongue clicks as Loki expels himself, and Sif watches with a dazed sort of horror.

What did the Siren do?

What was in that needle?

When Loki has moved onto dry heaving and coughing weakly, the Siren waves her hand and vanishes the vomit without any trouble. Loki's trembling, and the Siren guides him back to the mattress. "The first few are always the worst, son, it will get easier from here."

She leans forward, as if to press a kiss against his brow, but Loki's hand shoots out and he grabs her around the neck. The Weeping Siren stops, but doesn't seem at all fazed by this. Maybe a little annoyed, but not frightened. Not like she should be.

Loki's arm is shaking. Sif quietly pleads with him to finish the job, squeezing her eyes shut and resisting the urge to grab at her hair. She feels so helpless, and she hates this.

"Now, son," the Siren says in a reprimanding tone, "do you really want to do that? Who will care for you if you kill me? Who will care for your friends? No one knows where you are, and you are all stuck here. You can't leave, and you're smart enough to know that now. You need me."

Sif's stomach drops with dawning horror as the realizes the Siren is right. If they kill her now, chained to these beds without food or knowledge of their location, they'll die of malnutrition first. If they want to live, they can't just lop of her head and be done with it.

Loki still holds her.

Sif breathes in and out before the second prince releases her neck, and a shudder washes over him. "I hate you," Loki whispers. His voice is barely above a rasp. He pulls his hands close to his chest and rubs at his forearms as if they ache. Sif doesn't doubt that they do.

Aetheitin. It's only used for extreme cases of criminals. Not one of Asgard's princes.

"You won't some day." The Siren promises. "I am a good mother. I care for my children and they will care for me. You'll see."

Sif doesn't want to. The Siren rises to her feet and drapes the blanket up to Loki's shoulders, touching his forehead with two fingers. He immediately slumps, forced into sleep. Sif wishes the Siren hadn't, she doesn't know if Loki is well. The creature then she turns to Sif and smiles softly. "Daughter, you are exhausted. Rest."

"What did you do to him?" she demands. Her voice is quieter than she meant for it to be. She wanted to shout, but it sounds barely above a harsh whisper. "Was that Aetheitin?"

The Weeping Siren pauses, gathering the needle and then turns back to her. "It was. It's for the best. He carries more strength that even he knows, and if he leaves us, how will we be happy together?"

Sif snorts with disbelief, but clenches her fists. "You'll kill him. You are killing him. Aetheitin isn't meant for long term use, everyone knows that. You're going to kill him, and I won't let you do that. He's my prince, you rotting creature from Helheim. I hope that when your soul is claimed they drag to the deepest pits and wrench out your heart with small hooks to eat you—"

"Sleep." The Siren's fingers brush her forehead and Sif's body slumps, her mind escaping away into the fields of rest.

000o000

The next day goes much as the first. They wake up, they gather to eat a brief meal of a substance that has no taste, the Weeping Siren will send them to work and they return for another brief meal before being sent to bed. Immediate answers of escape don't come easily, and don't seem to come. They're given weapons to cut the grain with, but they're so blunt that they're hardly anything above pieces of metal attached to a handle.

They can't kill the Weeping Siren without a way from the forest, they can't leave the stupid field in the first place without killing the Siren, Loki can't try and break the dome because of the Aetheitin, and even if they did get out, they need to take the children with them. There's so many factors at play here, so many things that could go wrong or not work at all.

So they just sit here.

For six more days.

Six.

Sif's going mad. She hates doing nothing, she hates that it's all they can do until a solution presents itself or rescue arrives. Life has become a well established routine now, and not one that Sif would have chosen for herself. At least the Weeping Siren hasn't attempted to kill them yet (man handle them or offer the occasional strike, yes), but who knows if that will change or not. She hates that there are so many unknowns.

It's barely past midday on day six since their capture when a loud clap of thunder ripples through the air. Sif pauses the knife she's been sawing back and forth across several stalks of wheat to look up at the sky and scowl.

Well, the rain has held for days now, it was to be expected at some point.

Fandral, on her left, releases a loud sigh. "Do you think that it will be any easier to cut when wet?" he asks, gesturing vaguely towards the wheat. Sif shakes her head, scowling into the plant and beginning to saw again.

"I doubt it." She grumbles.

"Well, hold onto hope." Fandral encourages.

The rain starts shortly after, and hasn't stopped before they're collected to return to the basement. Sif is in a foul mood and soaking wet without a change of clothing or a towel to dry herself off with. The Weeping Siren doesn't seem to care, sending them off. Sif soaks the blanket.

When she wakes up the next morning, Hogun is harshly calling her name. Sif sits up tiredly, vision blurred. Her nose is running and her throat is slightly sore, but not enough to be anything above mildly annoying. Hogun's eyebrows are pinched together and, as it has been every morning, the chain is unlocked.

"What's wrong?" Sif questions, hobbling to her feet. Loki and Volstagg are standing beside the bed Fandral has been assigned and talking in quiet, but clearly panicked tones. Her stomach coils with dread and she moves forward around Hogun.

Fandral is laying on the bed, face pale and eyes closed. He looks—Sif shakes the thought off, trying to see if she can see his chest rising.

"The rain." Hogun explains, "So much exposure and lack of nutrients...Sif, we can't get Fandral to wake up."

Sif's hands still and she notices for the first time the children who are gathered in a tight cluster and watching them with wide eyes. She turns back to her blond shield-brother and then grabs Hogun's arm. "...What?"


Author's Note: I am so sorry about the delay, guys. I really do mean to be posting these faster. Promise. I'm just...is it possible to refund mental illnesses? Like, I didn't even order one and I got multiple. :/ Finding motivation to write has been very hard as of late. Please know that I have GREATLY appreciated your reviews. It's been awesome to hear your thoughts and speculation. Thank you, thank you. You're all amazing, please don't forget that. ;)

Next chapter: September 6th, possibly sooner. Thanks again, see you chapter 5! ;)