Author's Note: Heeey, my stars! Let's pretend I didn't fail and actually got this out on a Friday the thirteenth, alright? Great. ;) Thanks.
Warnings: Violence, physiological torture, potentially disturbing elements, referenced child death. Please be mindful of yourselves, my stars. :)
Thanks so much for your support, guys, it has been amazing. I greatly appreciate it. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Chapter Six:
"Alright, enough." The words seem to have been wrung from the Snake Prince, "You've done nothing but stare at me all day like I gave a swift kick to your favorite pet, so will you please explain what I've done wrong this time?" Loki slides into the seat in front of Sif and her huddled group, swirling the glass of water he was given with one finger as he stares at them. His gaze is piercing, and Sif resists the urge to lift her hands over her heart as if she can protect it from his parsing. Words won't come.
She feels a warm flush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks at the realization that Loki noticed, but it's too late to stop it now. A day of watching the back of his head without subtly has brought forth its fruit. Loki woke up and acted as if nothing had happened. He was grumpy, tired, and clearly needed more sleep than the few hours the Weeping Siren granted them, but he said nothing about what happened last night.
Sif has her doubts he doesn't remember. It would be too simple of an answer, and things are rarely that way with the second prince.
"We're just...making sure you're alright?" Fandral's voice portrays the sentence like he meant for it to be a firm statement, but it comes out as a question. If he'd said it a little clearer, Sif probably would have jumped on that excuse.
Loki scoffs openly, taking a drink from the cup. His eyes are still shadowed heavily, face gaunt and pale, and there's a part of his eyes that seems to have faded into nothing. They've always held a residual fire in them, but they've dulled. It didn't go away with sleep. Sif doesn't think it will.
"Yes. Certainly."
"Well, then we understand each other." Fandral gives a grim smile.
"Listen," Loki sets the glass down, leaning forward with his hands clasped. "If this has anything to do with what happened last night—" they seem to share a mutual flinch, and, Norns, she can't, you hate me "—I was drugged. I hadn't slept in ten days. I wasn't thinking clearly and babbling on about nothing. You can ignore it and go back to hating me."
You hate me.
Breath constricts in her chest. "Loki." The word sounds all funny.
"You'll blame this all on the drugs, then?" Volstagg asks, obviously skeptical. Loki's face smooths and he gives a sharp nod. Sif can't read his expression, but she's never been very good at reading it anyway.
Hogun huffs, rolling his eyes visibly and shoves the plate out of the way. Sif glances up to make sure the Weeping Siren is ignoring them again, and then returns her attention to the table. "You only protect your pride by pretending nothing you said wasn't real." The Vanir warrior says firmly.
"My pride?" Loki repeats, eyebrow lifting, "Yes. That's my biggest concern at the moment."
"Loki." Sif sighs. She gathers her patience together and breathes out deeply. "This isn't a game."
"No." He agrees.
"You've always...just...you've always been so quiet. If you hadn't been drugged and sleep deprived, I doubt you would have said half of what you did—" Loki's fists clench slightly "—and that's just what it is. Stop trying ignore that you said anything. If you'd just—"
"How is this possibly my fault?" Loki interrupts her, slamming his hands onto the table top. "Am I supposed to have poured my heart out to you years ago? No—that's not it. Would you like me to keep going? List my grievances and have them be ignored again?"
A warm flush of energy surges through her and Sif shoves up to her feet as well, teeth set. "We wouldn't have ignored them!"
Loki lets out a laugh. It's grainy and bitter. The disbelief is obvious and her fingers dig into the wood of the tabletop. She can see the other children stopping their frantic food consumption to look towards them. It's the first time that their bickering has gone beyond a few words since they got here. Sif didn't think herself capable of being angry like this since the Weeping Siren took them.
Sif refuses to look in the creature's direction, ignoring the fact that she's probably giving them that stare. The one that makes Sif's insides freeze and offer her compliance without complaint.
"How were we supposed to know that we were doing something wrong if you would never tell us?" Sif demands, keeping her voice low.
Loki's mask flickers. The emotion that washes over his face for the brief second isn't one she can place. He's quiet for a long second before his head tilts and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. There's nothing explicitly threatening about it, but Sif feels wariness raise in her all the same.
"Are you truly so sadistic?" Sif draws back at the voice, surprised by the question. Loki's tone is even, as if asking her about the weather, but the words take root in her and dig.
"What?" That's Fandral's voice, not hers, even though it probably should be.
Loki looks between the four of them, something dark in his gaze. "Sadistic. I'm fairly certain that by your age you should have a vocabulary level wide enough to have encountered the word before."
"Of course, but—" Volstagg tries.
"No. Shut up." Loki demands, "Because I shouldn't have had to. My silence should have had no effect on whether or not you would refrain from trying to treat me decently. Was your social status so important to you that you would completely disregard the fact that I—" Loki releases a heavy breath, cutting himself off mid sentence before continuing in a voice laced with venom, "You make me sick, do you know that? I'd have rather been stuck with Frost Giants than the lot of you. At least then I'd know why they hate me so much."
"Children." The Weeping Siren's voice sounds off to their left, but Sif ignores it entirely, focused only on King Odin's second heir. Her teeth are latched together so tightly her jaw aches. The words sting. Silvertongue, a sing-song voice calls out from the back of her mind. He didn't get the name from his negotiation skills alone. Loki knows where to dig.
Social status? He thinks all of this had to do with social status?
Something in her gives a hollow snap. "You never made matters any better! We were trying to be decent with you, but you always responded to our kindness with this—" she gestures wildly towards him, "—so how were we supposed to have acted? We never hated you, Loki. You hated us."
Loki's quiet a for a long smile before a splintering smile stretches across his lips. It's too wide to be sincere. Something hot burns in her stomach as she sees it. "Oh, that's rich. I'm truly sorry that the lack of communication is all entirely my fault—just like anything else that does anything to project you in a view that is less than perfect."
Hogun makes a noise in the back of his throat, lips pressing into a thin line.
Loki's head tilts and he turns his piercing stare to her. Specifically, her hair. Sif's fingers curl as she follows his line of thought. A heated breath escapes her and she slams a fist down on the table. "Say something about it, I challenge you, because, for the record, I wish that the thread had been enchanted to not be removed. At least then your voice wouldn't be as much of a burden as the rest of you is."
She wishes she could take the words back as soon as they fall off her tongue, but she can't. Watch your tongue, girl, her father's voice berates in the back of her mind, or you'll only get yourself into trouble.
"Sif." Volstagg breathes. They never talk about Nidavellir. Not explicitly. The offhanded comment about her hair, but that's about it. No one even really knows what happened. If Loki's discussed it with anyone, she hasn't heard details. She only saw the aftereffects.
Loki stiffens, hand lifting to his face subconsciously.
"Children." The Weeping Siren insists. She's moving closer to the table, but Sif doesn't care. "Please. There is no need for this conflict."
The Snake Prince is quiet for a long moment before a dark laugh bubbles out. "All of this is because I wasn't nice enough to you? Dear Sif, what on the Nine will you do when you realize that not everyone is going to care that you killed a dragon, bilge snipe or some type of rat? You actually need to have some skills that can be of use beyond where to stab something—"
Sif grabs on his arm and yanks. The searing heat makes her vision dark around the edges and the only think she can focus on is the cold knives of his words digging into her chest. Loki flinches and his hands raised to block off his face. She barely hears the words by how low they're muttered. "At least I never hit you."
She releases him like his skin is burning her. She shoves back so harshly that she nearly tumbles backwards off of the bench attached to the table. Fandral has to grab at her arm to stop her from falling. Loki staggers, but he manages to keep himself upright, looking towards her with nothing short of confusion.
Loki could have listed all the grieves in the world that they've done to them, and she doubts that it would have changed anything. Her mind would have found some sort of excuse for what she'd done, tried to worm out of guilt because it's easier than facing the fact she's wrong. It doesn't change much. It's this.
Loki is expecting her to hit him. Had braced himself for it. Sif remembers after they lost Idrissa and something uncomfortable swims in her chest. It's not the first time that something like that has happened. And not just from her.
Words are one thing.
This is something else entirely.
Sif glances down at her hand and remembers the awful bruising that had spread across her knuckle and a half noise escapes the back of her throat. "Oh, Norns, Loki," she whispers, "Loki, I'm so sorry."
"What?" The Snake Prince sounds bewildered. His stance is tight, as if he's prepared to defend himself further. Sif squeezes her eyes shut. She should have handled that differently. But knowing that she made the mistake...didn't change that much. Not until now. She needs to do better. She shouldn't have tried to twist this—even if her intent hadn't been to blame Loki for everything. That just...that just sort of happened. And it's ridiculous.
Are you really that sadistic?
Are they really that ignorant to the amount of pain they're causing? Apparently.
The Weeping Siren rests her hands on the table, leaning forward, expression hard. "Shh," she chides. "You scare the young ones."
Sif flicks her gaze up and sees the children watching them with wide eyes. Food has been entirely forgotten. Weeks of the same routine has finally been broken by their tempers. If it had been a normal meal, they would have remained quiet and then left to complete their tasks. No. Sif had to make a mess of everything.
She looks up, "Loki, I—"
"No." The Weeping Siren cuts. "Silence now. You've had your say. Too much of your say. Be quiet. The next person who talks among the arguers must receive punishment. We don't argue in a family. We get along; like harmony. Go to bed."
They remain stagnant, standing there and refusing to look at one another.
The Weeping Siren makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat and points to the cellar. "Go."
000o000
It's hours later, long after the Weeping Siren has left that she hears the soft creak of metal grinding and a soft voice whisper her name. Sif's not quite asleep, but getting there and it takes her a few seconds to realize that it is her name and who the source is. She releases a breath before sighing and rolling over to face Loki.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" she questions quietly, mindful of those who are resting.
"Yes." He murmurs.
"Is something wrong?" she asks.
"I'm sorry." Loki admits quietly. "I shouldn't have said what I did earlier. Or said it differently. It's not just your fault that...that we've had a strained relationship. A large portion of that burden, I suspect, is also my fault."
"Right." Sif scoffs in soft disagreement. Loki's expression twists in confusion and Sif sighs. All-Fathers give me strength. "Loki, that's ridiculous. We were the ones that misjudged and mistreated you. There's nothing wrong with you. We had no reason to begin to treat you as less than us, but we did all the same. Norns, Loki, we barely treated you better than a Frost Giant."
"That's not—" Loki starts to defend.
"Please don't." Fandral sighs and Sif twists around to look back at the swordmaster. She hadn't realize that he was awake. "Please don't try to justify our actions. There was nothing just about them, mate."
"You were right. We shouldn't have expected you to tell us to stop." Volstagg murmurs. "We should have realized it on our own a long, long time ago. I'm sorry, my prince, if you'd have my apology."
"And mine." Hogun intones quietly.
"Aye." Fandral voices.
"I am sorry, my prince. I swear it." Sif says sincerely. She holds Loki's stare until he pulls it away. "You don't have to forgive us right now. Or ever." Sif promises, "But we need to work together if we're going to get out of here, and we can't do that if we're constantly trying to kill each other."
There's silence for almost a minute and something in her chest sinks with disappointment and despair. Loki has every right to be angry, she reassures herself. He has had more than enough reasons for years now.
"I know that." Loki says at last and releases a shaky breath.
"Can we start over?" Sif asks after a hesitation. "We'll do it right this time, I promise. Will you give us another chance?"
There's another long, drawn out silence before, "Yes. We can try...but I make no promises."
"It's more than we deserve, mate," Fandral assures, "now go to bed. It must be the middle of the night and my guilty conscious has finally found a moment of reverie. Good night."
000o000
Does it happen at once? No.
Does it seem to happen at all? No.
Was Sif expecting some high beings power to magically help them get along better? Admittedly, yes.
Realistically, that doesn't happen. Sif spends the next few days biting her tongue almost constantly in the midst of conversations to keep back something, but it's getting easier. She's less annoyed than she would have been a few weeks ago. Honestly, she thinks she was already making progress in this direction before Loki said anything. She's just far more aware of it now than she was before.
They keep looking for an escape, some sort of out, but days keep slipping away without any answers. She's getting more tired and it's harder to focus on anything but how hungry and exhausted she is. It's like it's consuming her whole focus and boiling it down into a single point.
They can't find the escape.
Where is their out!?
Sif stops counting the passage of time. It's easier that way.
They've been here for...for a while when the Weeping Siren drops into the cellar one morning with a rucksack swung over one shoulder. She drops something heavy on the ground and it lands with a loud thunk before she smiles happily. "Dearests, Mother has an errand she must take care of. I'll return in a few days. Remain here."
Sif's expression flickers and she sits up, barely awake, but manages to keep herself up. "What?"
The Weeping Siren sends her a scathing look. "No questions, daughter. Shh." She lifts a hand to her lips to further press her point. Sif feels her lips press together. Did the Siren use her voice to command Sif to be quiet? Or is she following just because the creature told her to. Does it really matter either way? (Yes. She's not a trained hunting dog.)
The Weeping Siren smiles reassuringly. "I'll be back. I promise. And when I return, we'll have a new member of the family."
Sif's blood runs cold. Her limbs stiffen and her heart stutters in her chest. "You're taking another child? You're leaving to claim one? How can you? Don't you see what you're doing!?" The questions bubble out without her meaning them to.
The Weeping Siren's piercing stare lands on her again. "Yes. The last one for a while, I think. I've been greedy this year," her smile stretches and Sif feels vaguely sick with disgust. She's going to take another one from their family.
"You can't—" she starts to protest.
"Silence," the Weeping Siren calls in a sing-song voice. Sif's jaw snaps shut. "Mother gives her love. I'll be with you shortly." With that said, the Siren adjusts her hold on the pack before turning and clambering up the ladder, taking it with her. The trap door snaps shut.
Sif feels a profanity tug at the tip of her tongue, but it won't come off. Loki has no such restraints and whispers one under his breath.
The Weeping Siren left them with enough food to last for a few days, but not much more than that. The chains are unlocked, allowing them to move within the confines of the cellar, but it doesn't do much except give them a small space to pace back and forth through. Sif can't keep herself from fidgeting. Their initial attempts to climb up the wall to reach the trap door fail and Sif is forced to accept the fact that, unless they're privy to a miracle, they aren't leaving.
Loki collapses against the bed for the first day and doesn't move, apparently taking this opportunity to catch up on lost sleep. Sif's body suggests that she should follow in his footsteps, but her mind is buzzing too much for her to lay still. The Warriors Three are about as fidgety as her, but less obvious about it.
It takes until the next day before the children do much else than sit in silence and sleep. Avil rounds up a small group and they start to play some sort of hand game while Li collects a bunch of rocks and builds a tower with three of the others. The remaining children busy themselves with pretending to be maids and cleaning the room while having an all-superior child boss them back and forth. Not the type of game Sif would have expected them to play at a first glance because it reminds her eerily of the Weeping Siren, but they seem to enjoy it.
Loki finally rouses from the dead what must be at least thirty hours later, but still looks ready to clamber onto the mattress and not move for a couple more dozen.
Sif finally stops her pacing to sit next to him on the mattress. "You alright?"
Loki makes a noise that could mean anything, and lifts up a hand to rub at his arm. "I feel terrible."
"Specifically?" Sif asks, wringing her hands with anxiety. "You were asleep for more than a full day. At least, that's what I'm guessing." She hasn't been very good at keeping track of time lately.
Loki lifts up his arm and tugs down his sleeve for her to see his forearm. Sif's head tilts some as she squints in the awful lighting—lanterns do almost nothing compared to daylight—and sees nothing until Loki pushes two fingers down onto his inner wrist and stretches the skin. Sif spots a faint glimmer of light and her breath catches in her throat. "Is that—?"
"Sedir." Loki answers for her. "Yes." He sounds utterly miserable, and Sif's expression flickers.
She lifts her gaze up to his face. "I don't understand. Isn't this a good thing?"
"Maybe." Loki sighs heavily. "Sif, Aetheitin isn't...it doesn't...I'm dying. It's burning here," he presses a finger against his chest where his heart is, "and that's where it's meant to. Sedir is a form of blood, you know. It's...it's stopping my heart, and now it wont stop burning because my heart and lungs have to process the sedir again and they haven't done it for weeks. Months. How ever long it would be."
Like a stomach would after not eating for several days or weeks. Sif's lips press together. She wishes the Weeping Siren a brutal end for the umpteenth time since this all started and hums under her breath. "Can you not use it to help?"
Loki shakes his head, rubbing at his forearm with his thumb again. "No. I'll give myself a cardiac arrest first—too much strain on the heart. Mother's going to come back and give me Aetheitin and it will hurt more because I've had more time to build up a supply. If it was useful I'd be elated. I tried to use it. That's why I was asleep for so long."
Sif sighs running a hand through her hair. "This is a disaster." She mutters. "How long do you think we have before it kills you?"
Loki shrugs, making a face. "Half a year to a year at most. I don't know how long we've been here already."
"Me either." Sif bites at her lower lip. "I stopped keeping track a while ago." They're quiet for a moment before Sif gently grips his hand and gives it a squeeze of reassurance. Loki's skin is cold to the touch and he looks up at her with some surprise. "If it gets worse, let us know?" She requests sincerely.
Loki nods, returning the pressure. "I will."
000o000
It's amidst feeling bored for the first time in weeks that the trap door finally again opens and Sif sits bolt upright with anticipation. All of them are silent, turning to face the small square of light as it drops into the cellar before the Weeping Siren lands with a slight thump.
Sif notes with no small amount of disappointment that wrapped in her arms in a small son. She'd been hoping the mission would be a failure. (That Thor would catch her along the way and they'd be looking at a rescue, not more weeks of this drawn out torture.)
The Weeping Siren sets the small child down on the ground and he looks at all of them with wide, tear filled eyes. "This is Quinn," the creature announces, "he is your new brother. Do not be shy, child, your siblings will do you no harm." She gives him a push forward and Quinn makes a noise somewhere between a yelp and a sob.
Sif's stomach twists with sympathy and she rises to get up and help him, but Volstagg beats her to it. He sweeps the child up into his arms and smiles joyfully. "Good day, Quinn, I'm Volstagg." He announces and wipes the son's tears away with his thumb.
The Weeping Siren smiles cheerfully before sweeping her gaze across all of them. Sif shoots her a glower when their gazes meet and sees the smile drop a little. She's vindictively satisfied by this. The creature sighs before snapping her fingers and pointing at Loki. "You. Sit. We have many injections to make up for. I was gone for three days. I imagine that you hurt very much now."
If she wants to make lightly of it. Loki wouldn't move yesterday because he kept insisting that his heart was going to explode if he did anything more strenuous than breathe. It'd frightened her. She hadn't told him as much, but it had. They didn't crawl their way to this point only for him to kill over because the Weeping Siren is sadistic.
Much to her quiet loathing, Loki willingly shoots his arm out for the creature to inject him with before she asks. It does wonders to state how much pain he's in. The Weeping Siren seems far too happy to be doing this. She knows that she's killing him, and she acts like she's giving Loki life.
Norns, Sif can't stand another minute in here.
They need to leave.
000o000
Days pass. Nights pass. More days. More nights. More and more and more. So many that they've all blurred into one mass and Sif can't tell if she created Asgard as an illusion to stop herself from going insane. A platitude that she had a life before this, but she doesn't think that was real.
Rain comes. It goes.
Clouds pass.
The season ends. They till the ground, planting seeds and watering the small life. They weed it. The sun passes overhead again.
Sif gains a hacking cough that takes forever to leave, but it does. Avil gains a terrible fever, but Hogun manages to keep her from punishment by keeping her firmly by his side and allowing her to sleep. Fandral grows a quieter, Volstagg passes out in the middle of a work day on three separate occasions from dehydration, Loki gets worse. It was a gradual decline at first, one she'd attributed to the days he took of punishment for Fandral, but it was more than that. His movements get more sluggish, he takes longer to respond as if his mind is far away, and he keeps cutting himself with the knife as if his vision isn't working right. He's wracked with chills frequently, even though she can never remember him being cold before this.
Aetheitin. It's killing him, as he insisted.
Sif hates all of this.
They're too exhausted to make an escape, but rescue isn't coming. They should have tried to make a break for it before they were all half dead. It's too late now. She has no idea what to do. So they do nothing.
The Weeping Siren pulls the five of them to the side one morning in the middle of the week (beginning, end? What day is it?) and ties her long silver hair up. "I need extra assistance with a project too heavy for the little ones. You are strong."
No, they are not. Half dead and starved.
None of them protest. Sif's learned better than to do so now. Instead all they do is share a tired look before nodding with agreement and following the creature. She leads them towards the edge of the barrier and through an outcropping of trees before Sif spots a large wooden building.
It's old and in a state of disrepair so intense Sif doesn't even know if it will last longer than a few more days. The wood is rotting and the closer they get to it the more aware Sif becomes of a dank smell. As if there's some sort of polluted water source nearby. Sif suspects it was a light brown at one point, but now the wood is deep gray and black at some edges. The barn itself is fairly large with a sloping roof on top that's in need of patching. It's built on an angle which gives the whole building a lopsided look as if it will simply tip over given strong wind gust.
The Weeping Siren glances back at them. "The animals are eating up all the important foods." She explains, "And they wander off like they are fools. I want to repair the barn for them and you will help me."
Building repair? Sif doesn't have much experience with that. Well. This will be interesting at least. Sif's just happy to be away from the grain.
They work largely on the outside that day, cleaning up weeds and picking up broken branches. The more they clean the outside the more obvious it becomes that the barn needs help. The next day is when Sif finally takes her first steps into the old building.
The planks immediately creak beneath her weight and Sif stops looking down at the floor. She doesn't know what would happen if the floor broke. To be honest, she'd thought that it was laying on top of solid earth from how it looked on the outside. Now that she's inside and the boards are creaking beneath her weight she's not so certain.
The Weeping Siren pats her shoulder in reassurance as she walks past without restraint. "The wood is old and it creaks, daughter. You have no need to fear for your safety."
Her gut says otherwise, but she keeps her lips pressed together, taking a few more steps into the building. The stall doors are broken and Sif spots several lamps hanging off of walls. They're unlit, but the sun does enough to offer very basic lighting. Sif's nose wrinkles at the smell and her stomach churns as she sees a path of red leading towards the back. It's old enough to be more than a few decades and faint, but still there.
"Is that blood?" Fandral questions behind her, pointing towards the smear.
"Yes." The Weeping Siren says, unconcerned. Sif shares a panicked look with Hogun. The creature turns and swipes hair away from her eyes. "It's not a story for your ears," she promises, "and what have I said about questions?"
Fandral winces, and flicks his gaze down. "My apologies, Mother."
"We will work on the front I think. Work on building up the outer walls again. Much of the wood must be replaced. Come," she waves a hand, "I just wanted to check on something inside of here." The wood creaks as she passes, but seems to stop once she reaches a certain point, growing silent. Sif's eyebrows meet with confusion, but she waves it off, following after their captor.
Everything is going fine until Loki drops the plank. They'd been methodically repairing the outer walls for hours with nothing having gone wrong. Then they started moving up. The Warriors and her prince had clambered up the sides of the building to work with the wood uptop as she and the Siren passed items to them. They're at least two stories up, keeping themselves upright with brute strength and careful balance. Everything is fine.
And then Loki's grip slips and the heavy, long piece of wood comes clambering towards the ground. More specifically, towards the Weeping Siren's head. Sif doesn't think she just reacts. Maybe it's years of honed battle skills to save the civilization, maybe it's because she's half dead and isn't thinking clearly, and maybe it's because these weeks (months? years?) of captivity have messed with her mind.
She shoves the creature of the way and the plank smashes into her right arm when she can't move out of the way fast enough before clattering against the ground near her bare feet. The bone snaps cleanly, making a jolting sort of noise and Sif releases a hitched squeak, shaking her hand back and forth at the pain.
She can tell through her sleeve if its deformed or not. The pain doesn't lessen and Sif intakes sharply, making a noise at the back of her throat.
The Warriors and Loki are suddenly in front of her face, Loki bubbling out apologies and Sif trying to keep her arm tucked close to her chest so they wont touch it. "I'm fine," she insists, "It's fine. You just grazed me."
"I heard the bone snap." Fandral argues, "Sif, let us see."
She holds the arm closer, biting at her tongue when it sends a cold rush of pain through her shoulder. "No. Really, I insist it's—"
The Weeping Siren's cold hands grab at her bicep and Sif releases a sharp breath, whipping her head in the direction of the woman. Her expression is slightly clouded, but she appears unharmed from Sif's tackle. Sif hates that a twisted part of her is relieved by this. The Weeping Siren clicks her tongue, pulling Sif's hand down and staring at the arm for a moment.
She raises one of her hands and waves it over, fingers glowing with sedir. A warmth rushes through the air and after the chill it makes her skin oddly itchy.
"Humph." The woman sighs, "A clean break. Come with me, daughter. I have a salve that can repair this in a few hours."
"But bones take at least a week to heal without sedir," Sif blurts out, "where do you have a salve that—" that's a question. Sif snaps her mouth shut and quiets, swallowing the rest of her words.
"My home." The creature answers anyway and grabs her bicep hauling her forward. Sif stumbles, but manages to gain her footing after a step and looks back towards the others frantically. "You four remain here. We'll be back in a few minutes." The Weeping Siren promises. "Your sister will be well again."
The tone is supposed to be reassuring. It doesn't feel like that.
The Weeping Siren hauls her through the meager amount of trees until they're facing the field and they begin to walk towards the house in the distance. They pass the other children who give them odd looks, but Sif focuses on keeping her arm from jerking around too much.
The Weeping Siren's home is holding itself together, but this seems to be the effect of sheer luck rather than careful maintenance. Sif thinks it was a pale blue at one point, but the paint has withered away after the long years. The porch has collapsed on one side and there's smashed flower pots littering the area around the steps as if thrown in a fit of rage.
The Weeping Siren guides her up the steps opening the door and all but shoving her inside. She claps her hands and lights spark immediately, letting Sif do a proper once over of the space. There's a sitting room towards her right, unused, and a large kitchen in front of them.
The Weeping Siren releases her arm, moving towards the cabinets and loudly shuffling through them for something. Keeping a tight grip around her wrist to elevate the swelling area, Sif flicks her gaze across the space. It's small. Smaller than she'd first thought. The room immediately opens into a small kitchen, a couch stuffed into one corner, but she doubts its used much. There's so much dust and junk littered on top of it, she doesn't know how it could be used for anything beyond basic storage.
There isn't a table, and a hall leads off towards some more rooms. Sif suspects that's the place of the sleeping quarters.
"Here." The Weeping Siren declares and moves back towards her, a bottle in hand. It's full of a thick sludge looking substance and her teeth set together with distaste.
"Mother, I don't know if I—" she starts to protest, but the Weeping Siren smiles with that thin edge and she quiets on instinct. The woman takes Sif's arm with more gentleness than Sif would have first expected, guiding it up towards the countertop. She rests Sif's arm flat on the surface and Sif has to bite at her tongue sharply to stop herself from making any noises.
The Weeping Siren tugs up her long sleeve and Sif sees the misformed bone for the first time. It's not jutting out of the skin, which is what she'd half expected, but it isn't pretty. Or normal.
Desperate for a distraction, she stares over the countertop. Everything is what Sif would have expected—everything is too normal here. Why can't there be evidence that this creature is insane? Why is there nothing to suggest that what is happening is real?—but the far wall isn't. It's covered in a streak of white paint with black tick marks measuring the height of something.
Some of the marks are so aged they've faded from a sharp black to a bland gray. Even the most recent is dulled. But Sif recognizes it all the same. It's not a practice that's normally done on Asgard, but Vanir are more sentimental in this regard.
It's the height of children. Two, to be exact. Yei and Holland, if she's reading the text right. None of the children here bare those names. Li comes close, but the letter painted delicately onto the white paint is not an "L".
Her brow furrows, and she glances towards the aged woman carefully tending to her arm. "Who are Yei and Holland?"
The Weeping Siren freezes. Her eyes grow heavy with thick grief for a long moment and a fat tear slips down her cheeks. She's quiet and still for almost a full minute before she answers in a thin voice, "None of the business of yours."
The Weeping Siren rubs the sludge from the jar all over her arm and Sif's bones clench a sharp breath tightening in her lungs. Bone sharpener. Probably for the best, but she wasn't expecting that. It's going to hurt. Her arm will be itchy for days. The muscle spasms likely won't stop for weeks. This is why it's better to just let sedir do the hard work, rather than a potion.
Sif sets her teeth, staring at the weight paint and feels determination settle in her stomach. "There's no one here who's called that. Were they previous...guests?" Captives.
The Weeping Siren's jaw gains a tic, but she says nothing.
Sif hesitantly pushes forward, "Where are they?"
"Dead." The Weeping Siren snaps, slamming the flask onto the bottle. "They have been for many, many moons. Stop asking."
Dead. Dead? Did the Siren kill them? Oh, Norns...if this has been going for so long and she's already claimed the lives of children...but that doesn't make sense with the growth chart. It shows very young adolescents and unless the Weeping Siren was kidnapping babies...
The thought has barely formed before it bubbles out of her throat without restraint, "Were they children of your womb?"
The strike throws her off balance so intensely she can't catch herself and slams into the ground head first. The world blurs and she lets out a heaving gasp, scrambling back and away as the Weeping Siren lets out an animalistic shriek. "I told you to stop your asking!"
"I'm sorry," Sif stutters, raw panic opening in her stomach, "I—I'm sorry. Forgive me, Mother—"
Her arm is ringing with pain. She can feel bones shifting inside her forearm. The world is still spinning. The Weeping Siren strides forward and grabs a fistful of her hair, hauling her upright. Sif can't get the helpless pleas of forgiveness to stop from bubbling out of her.
"No. Questions." The Weeping Siren hisses. "It's not a story for your unworthy ears."
"Yes." Sif agrees, nodding her head rapidly. "It's not. I'm sorry."
The Weeping Siren yanks on her scalp further and Sif can't withhold her pained noise. The Weeping Siren grabs at her broken arm and gives it a squeeze. The pressure makes her gasp openly and tears burn on the edges of her vision. "You will say nothing of this to the others. Yei and Holland are precious and do not have their names slandered."
The woman releases Sif, and Sif collapses against the floor, taking the weight onto her undamaged arm. The Weeping Siren lets out a low hiss, "Get out."
Sif looks up, confused. "I…?"
"Get. Out."
The Weeping Siren delivers a swift kick to her ribs and Sif makes a pained noise before scrambling up to her feet as the Weeping Siren yells profanities at her back. "Get out! GET OUT! Get out you wretched, ungrateful—"
Sif scrambles out of the house and doesn't stop running. The rocks cut her feet and her lungs burn inside her chest, but she doesn't stop. Her arm is burning, her ribs ache, but she can't stop.
She would have gone on forever if arms hadn't grabbed at her shoulders and pulled her to a halt. Her fists tighten and raise for a defense immediately, but stop as she hears the familiar baritone, "Sif?"
Loki.
"Sif, what happened?"
She meets his frantic green eyes and feels herself tumble apart. A gasping sob slips from her lips and she crumbles, unable to hold her weight anymore. Loki catches her weight easily, drawing them both down to the earth as he mumbles reassurances into her ear, pulling her into an embrace.
She feels like a helpless child, incapable of taking care of herself.
Maybe she is.
So much has changed since this all started.
"Is that Sif?" Volstagg questions. His voice startles her. She doesn't know what she'd been expecting, if Loki was here...Sif looks up through her blurred vision and gasping breaths to see the warrior moving out of the barn. She hadn't even realized she'd come back this way until now. She could have ran for the field. For the cellar. Anywhere but here.
She hadn't.
"Yes." Loki's voice is calm. Sif releases a heaving gasp, curling into herself tighter. Loki doesn't protest, keeping his arms wrapped around her firmly. His grip is strangely engulfing, as if nothing can touch her within it. She's ashamed, oddly, to say how much of a relief this is.
A hand gently touches her shoulder, but she doesn't shift to look back at the source. Her body demands she turn around and see what it is, but her mind flattens it out from anything beyond a slight twitch. Loki wouldn't let anything harmful touch her. She's fine.
(Her arm hurts. Norns, she can't…)
"Sif?" Hogun. "Sif, did she harm you?"
Her ribs burn at the memory and her face stings from the backhand, but she can't get anything but a strangled sort of wheeze to slip out in response. It's far from helpful, that much she's fully aware of, but it's all she can do right now.
"Give her some space," Loki instructs, "she's not...she's not thinking clearly right now."
Sif shakes her head in protest. She's thinking fine. (She's not.) Her body won't stop shaking, a prison of terrified flesh. She can't breathe. The panic has clasped around her lungs and filled them with sand. They're heavy, and she can't get them full enough. Her hair is falling in front of her eyes, getting soaked in her tears.
Pathetic.
"Sif." Loki's voice is still steady. "Sif, I need you to breathe with me."
"I-I c-can't—" she gasps out. "L-Loki something's—"
"In for two..." Loki instructs. Someone else's hands move to tug her hair away from her face, beginning on a braid. She thinks it's Hogun. "Sif. In for two." Loki repeats. How can he be so patient? Is she dying? She thinks she's dying. It feels like she's dying. Her heart is going to explode in her chest.
Sif forces herself to pay attention and inhales with a rattle for the two count, holding, and then releases for four. Loki repeats the instructions again and again until her head as managed to clear some and her breathing is less sporadic. Her teeth set into her tongue. She can't get any words to come out, but her face heats with embarrassment.
She broke down into tears. Tears. She's come of age now. She's beyond such childish actions.
"What happened?" Fandral's tone is soft, as if fearing that the slightest raise of his voice will create another onslaught of the water works. Marvelous. Her teeth set further into her tongue, but she manages to pull herself away from Loki. She chances a glance towards his face and sees no disgust or bemusement in his eyes. Only sympathy and concern.
Some of the tightness in her chest eases with relief.
Sif clutches her arm close to her chest and looks up towards the others. They've all taken various positions on the ground around in a semicircle. Volstagg is dully picking at the weeds, but Hogun and Fandral are staring at her. Sif chances a glance towards the direction of the house in the distance, her stomach clenching. The Weeping Siren has not attempted to make a return, but instead is lingering in the home. Sif suspects that she'll be there for a while. Sif hasn't seen her that furious before. Annoyed and self righteous, yes; but not true anger. That burned like the Eternal Flame and wouldn't go out even if she dumped a sea of water on top of it.
"She…" Sif tastes blood. She swallows, clamping down on her voice. "Mother had children. Of her womb." Her arm burns with the touch of the Weeping Siren clamping down on it and hissing at her to tell no one. She's afraid, but she can't keep this to herself.
Loki stiffens and the others' eyes widen. "She...it...what?" Fandral finally manages to get out. "Are they locked up there? In that house? By the Norns if she's keeping children captive up there I will personally remove her spine and—"
"They're dead." Sif interrupts. "I don't know how. Or when. But when I asked about it she—" her eyes squeeze shut. She exhales. This is not the worst thing the Siren has done since you got here. Stop being such a babe. "She struck me and told me to leave. I overreacted. Please...accept my apology."
"Sif," Volstagg sighs, "you've done nothing wrong."
"I'm not a little girl anymore," Sif insists, "tears are for youth."
"No, they're not." Volstagg shakes his head, brow furrowed. "Even the strongest person reaches their limit at some point. You've nothing to be ashamed over. Tears are not weakness."
It doesn't feel like that, but she doesn't want to fight Volstagg on it. She nods with agreement; though she suspects he knows she's fibbing it. Loki sighs softly and shifts, getting up to his feet. "I'll go see if there's something in the barn we can use to wrap your arm. Maybe craft a sling of sorts."
"Do you think we can use it if we find it?" Fandral questions dubiously.
"Mother is caring," Loki's words are barely above a mocking sneer, but Sif knows it's not directed at Fandral, but the creature itself. There's an undertone of terror laced into the tone that assures her the words are more for his benefit than theirs. All of them keep pretending there's nothing wrong with this. How much further do they go before the masks crumple completely?
"If she wants to see Sif use the arm again, she'll let us." Loki finishes.
"I'll come with you," Hogun says, rising to his feet steadily. The Snake Prince nods and the two vanish into the large building, the darkness seeming to swallow them. A pit digs itself at the base of her stomach and she releases out a clenched breath, forcing herself to remain steady. More and more recently she's found herself uncomfortable with letting any of them slip out of her sight.
They're fine. Stop being a nagging old maid.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Volstagg questions softly. Sif lifts her heavy eyes to his tired ones and releases a quiet sigh.
"Is anyone?"
"Your face is bruising." Fandral notes, expression clenched. Sif lifts her hand up towards her face and presses at her cheek. The skin stings beneath her touch and she squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to go home.
"What can be done?" Sif questions quietly. "We're not exactly in the best position to fight back."
"You saved her life, Sif." Fandral whispers. "That would have struck her in the head. We could...we could have—"
"Have what?" Sif snaps, lifting her gaze up to his heatedly. "Even if we kill her, where are we supposed to go? We're in the middle of the Blodig Skog. Where will we go? We don't have a map. We need the creature, as much as all of us hate that! What else was I supposed to do!?"
Fandral flicks his gaze away from hers, releasing out a huffed breath of anger, but she knows he agrees with her. Volstagg sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. The silence settles between them, heavy. Uncomfortable. Sif clenches her jaw and tucks her arm close to her stomach.
A loud snapping noise and what might be a muffled yell stops her train of thought and she turns around to look at the barn with confusion. "What was that?"
"Hogun!" Loki's voice pierces through the silence in a strangled sort of yell and Sif's on her feet before the syllable has finished. What happened!? Has the Weeping Siren returned!? Did she not approve of their searches? Did something attack them!? What!?
She moves towards the barn quickly. Her jaw aches from how tightly her teeth are pressing together. Volstagg and Fandral are barely two steps behind her, and together they enter the wooden building. The floor creaks beneath her feet, much the same as it had earlier, and her leg muscles clench with discomfort.
They quickly move towards the back where Loki is on his knees, looking down into some sort of deep pit. The light is swallowed down there, leaving nothing but an inky blackness. "What is going on?" she demands, moving towards the hole rapidly when she doesn't see Hogun. Is...is he down there?
Please no.
"We—we were just...he moved towards it and it fell and he's—" Loki tries to explain, but his words aren't coming out right. He's stuttering. The Snake Prince looks back at the hole. "Hogun!"
Fandral releases a loud swear behind her. The hole is easily large enough to fit two or three people through, broken brittle wood snapped at the edges, nails and rope helplessly hanging off as if apologetic they couldn't bare the weight anymore. If Sif squints, she can see evidence of two hinges and assumes that this must have been some sort of trapdoor before it broke.
But leading to what?
Who builds a barn on top of...of this. It's not quite a well, but seems deep enough to touch the center of Vanaheim.
"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Hogun calls back and her heart beats a normal rhythm in relief. "Just a little winded!"
"Is anything broken?" Volstagg demands, leaning over the edge. The boards are creaking beneath their combined weight and Sif has to dig her fingers into the wood to stop herself from pulling everyone forcefully away lest they join the Vanir warrior at the bottom.
"Beyond a few planks? No." Hogun promises. His voice is echoing slightly, which is odd. "I think you need to get down here. Bring a light."
"What?" Sif sputters. "What on the Nine are you talking about? Isn't it just some sort of wine cellar?"
In a barn? Sif. Really? (What else is it supposed to be!?)
"No." Hogun says firmly. "Bring a light. Now."
"Really, Hogun, your dramatics are far from—" Fandral starts in a soft sigh.
"Bring. A. Light." Hogun demands harshly. Sif bites at her lower lip and turns to look at the Snake Prince. Praying that Hogun didn't hit his head and is leading them on a pointless search, she gives a slight nod when her prince meets her eyes.
Loki scrambles away from the edge and grabs one of the rusted lamps on the wall and pulls it down. Sif softly despairs, but refuses to visibly hang her head. They don't have a way to create a fire. A light source is in their dreams now. But Hogun demands it all the same. What is down there that he wants to see so badly? At least this explains the creaking wood.
Loki pats down his pants, spinning several times before stopping on one of the pockets and fumbles to pull something out before throwing it at Volstagg. "Here." He says, thrusting the lamp out towards the warrior. "I'm terrible with it anyway."
Volstagg catches the item—items and Sif feels something in her throat constrict. The flint and steel. From all those weeks (months? Years?) ago. Loki had it on his person the whole time. She can't remember any instances where it would have been helpful, and maybe, in between everything else, it just hadn't occurred to him to tell them he still had it.
Something close to shame coils up next to her collar bones as she recalls the last conversation they'd had over the flint and steel. They'd been mocking their prince, as per usual. She can't believe half of what they'd said they'd actually spoken.
Norns, that feels like a lifetime ago.
Volstagg strikes the flame after a few tries and the meager supply of oil inside takes. It immediately casts away any of the shadows lingering on the edges of the room and Sif can see her feet. They're bloody and pale, much like everywhere else.
She lifts her gaze up and sucks at her gums. "I'll go first," she offers, "give me the lamp."
"Sif...I...with your arm, maybe that's not the best idea…" Fandral starts to protest, but she shoots him a sharp glare and takes the lamp from Volstagg. She's already spent too much of today playing the part of helpless. She can enter a hole. It's not that difficult, there's hardly any thinking involved.
The three of them look like they might start protesting so she turns and stands as close to the edge as she dares. "How far is the drop?" she questions Hogun.
"Enough to hurt." He warns. "There's a ladder to your right, but it's old. It might not bare weight. I'll try and catch you."
Reassured, she nods and shifts until she can see the first rung. The ladder is made of wood and thin rope. Her lips press together. Under normal circumstances, it would have been out of the question on whether or not she'd be stupid enough to try and use it. These are not normal circumstances. Hogun still hasn't told them what's down there...and he sounded worried.
Tucking her broken hand close to her chest and positioning the lamp awkwardly against her elbow, she carefully maneuvers herself onto the first rung. The ladder protests, wood groaning beneath her. Please don't break, please don't break, please don't—She sets her jaw and refuses to look at Fandral, Volstagg, or Loki. She knows she'll see them anxiously fluttering there and she's going down this ladder.
It holds her weight. She has to go down nearly six rungs before she spots her shield-brother. Hogun's nose is bleeding dully and his face is covered in grime, but he looks otherwise unharmed. His hands are raised, muscled coiled in preparation should she fall.
She climbs down. The air is thick with must, rot, and some sort of water source. It's awful. Worse than the cellar, and she wasn't sure if such an achievement could be met. The strangest thing is that air keeps drifting past her face as if moving. A draft. If this is a room, that shouldn't be possible.
Idly, in the back of her mind, she wonders what they will do if the Weeping Siren catches them here. She shoves the thought to the side because she knows what the answer would be, and she'd rather not ponder it any further.
Her foot at last brushes empty air and her stomach clenches as she realizes there aren't any more rungs, the rope is broken beneath this point. Jumping off from this angle would almost certainly mean landing on her broken arm, but she can't lower herself either because of the lamp. Apparently having realized this, Hogun's hands encircle her waist to help her down, releasing her once her bare feet have touched the cold stone.
Sif looks up, "Alright, I'm down!" she calls.
She glances around their surroundings. The lamp does wonders for vision improvement. This isn't a basement. Or a cellar. Or even the remains of a well, as her conjectures had first assumed.
It's…
It's—
Her stomach clenches with disbelief and a little noise escapes from the back of her throat. Is she dreaming this? Has she finally lost her mind to insanity and this is the escape that she offers herself? It seems almost too good to be true. After weeks (months? years?) of ignorance from the higher powers, and this is how they finally show their good graces.
It's a set of tunnels. A natural born cave, if she's guessing right. And there's a draft of wind. Wind means an exit. Maybe it opens up out inside the Blodig Skog. She hates the way that excitement claws up to greet the despair with a firm slap to the back and show it an exit. The dome the Weeping Siren created makes it impossible to leave.
If she knows about this…
If she thought to expand the boundary to these tunnels...then the game is up.
But if she hadn't…
She grabs at Hogun's arm, both of them staring into the expanse of darkness with wide eyes. "Is this real?" she questions breathlessly. The stabbing pain of her ribs and the ache of her arm assures her this is the case, but she doesn't know.
Hogun shakes his head, unable to formulate the proper words.
Loki lands with a soft thump and both of them turn to look as he inhales sharply. "Oh." He whispers, moving to stand beside them. His green eyes are rapidly searching back and forth across the dozens of entryways leading in almost every direction. "Oh."
"Well, don't leave us in the dark!" Fandral demands from up top, "Someone needs to keep watch and get you fools out of there. What do you see?"
"Tunnels." She whispers.
"What?" Volstagg demands.
"Tunnels!" She shouts up, looking towards the top of the hole. It's a lot further up than she thought it would be. The fact that Hogun walked away in one piece is nothing short of a miracle. That's easily two stories.
"You—what?" Fandral questions, his voice laced with as much disbelief as she feels. "Did you say 'tunnels'!?"
Loki takes the lamp from off the crook of her arm wordlessly, moving towards a tunnel and taking several steps inside, a hand raised in front of him and waving back and forth. His steps are slow and hesitant, but strangely sluggish as well. He's dying, her mind reminds sharply, he's dying and exhausted because of it.
Sif's jaw grows more taut as she recalls this. He's almost deep enough to have vanished completely when he turns around and races back towards them. Sif keeps her arm clutched next to her chest trying to ignore the sensation of bones shifting inside and stares at the Snake Prince when he comes close enough.
Loki eyes are wide and face pale. He looks like he's seen something lurking in the dark and she's about to take a step forward to ask what it is, but Loki drops the lantern. It clatters, echoing loudly in the space and Sif winces. The light still burns strongly, but it casts long shadows from the floor.
"Oh, Norns," the Snake Prince whispers.
"Loki?" Sif questions softly.
"Sif! I'm serious! Did you say 'tunnel'?" Fandral demands from above. She ignores him. His question doesn't seem as important as everything else right now. Loki mutters something under his breath before looking up so he can meet her and Hogun's stare.
"It's not there." Loki says, voice raising some. He gestures vaguely around them. "The barrier. It's like this buzz in sedir—the Aetheitin hasn't stopped my ability to sense it—I just...it's not here. Mother didn't know to block it or she didn't."
Her breath catches. "So you're saying…"
"The tunnels go on for what I suspect is miles," Loki continues, rubbing at his face tiredly, "but if I could get the Blodig Skog's map from my cache, then we could leave. Navigation wouldn't be a problem."
They can leave.
This is an exit.
They found their out.
"Oh." Hogun voices. The relief in his tone is unmistakable. "We just need to get you your sedir, find the right timing and then we can leave?"
Loki gives a shaky nod. "I hope. I'm...I'm not as certain as I would be if I wasn't...if the sedir wasn't…" he trails, fists tightening briefly. Releasing a stiff exhale, he leans down to grab at the handle for the lantern. "We just need to wait until we can slip out of Mother's grasp..."
She can't wrap her head around this. It seems too good to be true. Nothing like what has been their reality for weeks (months? years?) now. Her voice still contains her shock, even with her attempts to mask it, "And then we're free."
"It can't be that easy."
-Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse
Author's Note:
Next chapter: September 20th. (Ish). ;)
