Author's Note: HELLO! I am late and I apologize, but like-guys. Mental illness kills, you know? I really feel like I dragged myself out of coffin this morning, haha. Anyway. :) Love you all! Thanks so much for your support! You're amazing. :D Please enjoy the last chapter of The Weeping Siren! ;D
Warnings: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, anxiety, some mentioned gore, mentioned child abuse, potentially disturbing elements, paranoia on my part. ;)
Chapter Eight:
"...Looks dead. Are all of them like this?"
"More or less. Some worse than others."
"Mm. Yes, I have heard about the prince's...condition. Norns I just—is Sif going to be okay? How could someone do this? All of them are nearly dead...on the All-Father, I can't believe that she's really here. It's been so long, Eir. Too long."
"You'll settle."
"I should have refused to let her continue with the Einherjar once I learned what she was doing. I should have pulled her out all those years ago instead of letting her continue to run around with those fools. If I had, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't be nearly to Valhalla. Norns curse it, Eir, I'm a terrible mother."
Sif's head feels weirdly clogged, but the last word seems to settle her consciousness in reality. Mother. Mother. Mother…
What? What is this? This voice isn't the right one. Not the nasal tone that she's supposed to know. Not the one that's been following her for weeks. Months. (However long this has been going on). What is going on? This—this isn't right.
A hand touches her cheek and Sif panics. Her stomach drops and her fists tighten with horror. She reacts. The Weeping Siren isn't—she doesn't want to do this anymore. She's...she's...it. No more kisses on the forehead, no more cheek touching, no more touching. (Something, somewhere, insists that the Weeping Siren has done something terrible and to put herself close to the creature is to endanger herself and others). Sif jerks upwards, a sharp, agonizing pain smashes into her gut. She needs to leave. She must go.
She can't stay here anymore.
"Sif!" A voice shouts as she scrambles off the bed and smashes into the hard ground. She needs to get away. Away, away, away.
"Daughter!"
No.
She's back. (She left?) She can't do this. She needs to find the others and they'll leave. They'll get out of this. Everything is going wrong and she needs to get out. Away. Sif scrambles up to her feet. She moves for the nearest exit, and a hand grabs at her arm to halt her. Panicking, she whirls and slams her fist into the face of her captor and runs.
She manages to break through the door and into a hall, feet aching and she slips on the smooth surface, unsuspecting it. The floor feels like polished marble, which is ridiculous because the Weeping Siren's basement is cold rock. There isn't any floor like this.
She nearly goes crashing down in a crumpled heap on top of everything, but strong arms wrap around her shoulders and catch her before she can fall. "No!" Sif screeches, "No! Let me go! Let us all go! I won't do this anymore!"
She shakes her head wildly and hair falls in front of her face. She struggles in the grip frantically, kicking her legs out and trying to break free, but she's too weak to make much of a dent. All she can do is wiggle, and the arms are too strong for her to claw her way out of.
"Sif!" the voice is male, and it throws her. This...this...what? "Sif, calm down, it's fine. You're safe." No. That's not right. They're never safe here. "Sif, please, breathe."
She'd stopped?
"I…" her voice dies.
"Sif," her mind manages to place a name to the voice. Thor. Loki's brother. Thor. Safe. She crumples in the grip and Thor takes her weight easily, slipping his arms around her and lifting her up like she weighs nothing. Her head lolls towards his shoulder. Her stomach hurts. It's burning. Is she dying? She feels like she's dying.
Thor's eyes are shadowed and his blond hair is a mess around his face. He looks like he hasn't slept for days. Maybe he hasn't. If the Weeping Siren caught him...who knows what will have happened? Where are the others? Where is the creature herself? Where is Sif?
"Thor." She breathes out his name. "What's...how did you get here?"
Thor's expression washes with confusion before he seems to catch her meaning. His eyes gain a pained look. "We're in Asgard, my friend," Thor murmurs. "We have been for five days now. It's alright. The creature can't cause you anymore harm. She's been dealt with."
His tone is dark, eyes holding a promise. Her stomach flips. "You killed Mother?" she whispers. Her eyes feel as though they've gone wide. She's going to be sick, and it will be all over the Crown Prince. A part of her wants to laugh at the stupidity of this. Her first few minutes awake in Asgard and they'll be spent hurtling vomit.
Thor's expression flattens for a moment, "Why do all of you insist on calling her that?"
Sif grabs weakly for his shoulder, keeping her other arm planted against her burning stomach. "Thor—where is Mother?"
Thor shakes his head, "This isn't the time for that, Sif. Keep breathing. I think you nearly stopped your mother's heart with shock." He hesitates and then adds, "Your birth mother. Not...not the creature."
That is my mother.
"Thor, am I dying?" she asks, hand gripping at her stomach when it gives a pulse. None of this feels real. Thor's arms seem like a fantastic dream she's destined to wake up from. The blond still hasn't moved yet, keeping his grip tight around her. The crown prince's eyes go wide and he looks down at her, shaking his head several times.
"No, Sif. You're not dying."
"I think I am." She whispers. "I think I'm dying."
"You're not." Thor says firmly. If only his words could sway the fate, she might be a little more inclined to believe him that way. The burning renews itself with vigor and she makes a little strangled noise before her body gives out and takes her consciousness with it.
000o000
The next time her consciousness grounds, there isn't anyone talking. No hands trying to grab at her face or grip her. She's laying on something so soft it's uncomfortable and the room smells of burning incense. It's thick, almost to the point of making her nauseous, but she manages to hold back vomit and instead focuses on what she can pick up on her surroundings without getting up.
Her mind is still clouded, but vague memories are leaking in. The tunnels, the attack and—the near murder. Sif jerks, her eyes ripping open as she shoves her way upwards, trying to scramble off of the surface to find the Warriors Three, the children, and Loki. Her limbs are still weak and she barely gets up before hands grab at her shoulders and shove her back down.
A noise escapes her. She's not sure what it's supposed to be, only that it leaves her.
"Sif." Voice. Female. "Don't get up."
"I'm…" Sif breathes. Asgard. She swallows. "Where—who...why…?"
"Focus girl." The female voice chides, and Sif forces herself to. The world is blurring, but after keeping her gaze pinned up, she manages to make out the familiar figure of Eir leaning over her. The head healer's lips are pressed into a thin line and her golden hair swept away from her face. She looks tired. Sif feels tired.
"Am I dead?" Sif asks, hand lifting subconsciously to the burn in her stomach.
Eir huffs, shaking her head. "No. You won't believe how many of your companions have asked me a similar question."
The Warriors. Loki. She grabs at this, reaching weakly for Eir's forearm. Why is she so sluggish? She was never this slow when the Weeping—when the creature was keeping them. She may have been tired, but it was never lethargy. At least, not like this.
"How—how are they?" Sif's amazed she got the words out with how tight her throat is.
Eir sighs and untangles herself from Sif's grip with ease. The head healer takes a seat on the edge of Sif's cot, expression twisting into something uncomfortable. Sif breathes out, trying to remind herself to stay calm and does a quick assessment of the room. A basic healing room, private. Sif's stomach churns uncomfortably at the amount of open space.
The cellar was so crowded. Cluttered. Dark.
This room is nothing like that. It's unnerving after so long of the same.
"Your mother and father went home to sleep," Eir interjects into the silence, "a good thing, too. I was close to strapping them down and forcing a sedative down their throat."
Sif's mind flashes to the Siren's dry skin touching at her forehead and the whispered word of "sleep" before everything would drop off as her body was forced to command. A shudder washes through her, much to her embarrassment. (Her parents were here? Her parents were here. Not the creature. Not...no—her father. Her mo—both of them). Eir's lips turn down at the edges as she sees Sif's reaction.
Sif keeps her lips pressed together, afraid to ask about the Warriors, the children, and Loki again, but reluctant to wade through the next few hours without any answers. Does she push, or not?
Apparently picking up on her mental contemplation, Eir sighs heavily and stills her fidgeting hands. "I'm certain that you have questions."
Sif nods reluctantly.
Eir dips her head. "Well, on with it, girl. I'll do my best to answer what I can."
The reassurance is enough. It wouldn't have been in the cellar, but this is Asgard. It's Eir. She wasn't there...and she's a healer. Sif can't see her—she shakes off the thought, refusing to let it run course. "The others?" Sif croaks.
"Alive." Eir promises, then tips her head. "Barely. If the rescue party had been even a few minutes later then it wouldn't be the case—" Volstagg wouldn't have a head "—you were lucky. I was there, I saw the worst of it."
The warm blood pooling under her as she bled out comes to mind, and Sif thinks she might be sick. She's never been so close to death and unable to do anything about it before. Typically she's unconscious, or she can patch herself up and move on until the injury goes away on its own. Not like this.
"What of the children?" Sif murmurs. "Did you find them?"
"Smashed right into them as we were going to the tunnels." Eir promises. "You were unconscious for the return journey. As almost everyone else too, save Volstagg. Stubborn lad. Refused to sleep until he was certain the lot of you wouldn't be standing on Valhalla's doorsteps when he awoke."
Yes, that sounds like him. A small ghost of a smile tugs on her lips at the thought.
"Last I heard the All-Mother had finally gotten all nineteen returned to their families or placed in new homes." Eir shrugs, "I'm not sure. My business has been here. What I know is mostly through gossip. When I switch with one of my apprentices to keep watch over Prince Loki, I'll ask for you."
"Thank you." Sif whispers. She chews her lip, blinking back exhaustion. It's barely enough to keep it at bay, but she has more important things to focus on instead of sleep. "Where is Moth—the Siren now?" Sif asks. "Did you kill her?"
"I didn't." Eir promises with some bite.
Panic pools in her stomach. "Someone else did?"
The head healer's eyes settle on her face, expression hard, but almost sad. The latter is so strange on the brisk woman that Sif thinks she's reading it wrong. "No, child." Eir says quietly. "Vanaheim is calling for a proper trial. Until the identity of the woman can be uncovered, she has a lovely cell in Asgard's lower dungeons."
"She's here?" Sif squeaks. Her fists clench around the blanket and something hopelessly close to fear tightens her chest, making it hard to breathe. (A sickly part of her wants to leap from the bed and run to the dungeons, pleading forgiveness for trying to leave. She hates that it's so.)
Eir's lips tighten and she pushes Sif back down when she tries to sit up again. "Stay there. I think that's enough questions for now. You should sleep."
"But what—?"
"Sif." Eir's voice is firm. "I'm serious. They can wait until later, you're exhausted."
Sif grabs at Eir's arm desperately. "Is she cross with us? Mother?" Her voice is almost near babbling. "You tell her she needn't be, alright? Tell her that...that we just made a mistake. Please. We'll be better next time."
Eir's eyes harden. "I'm not telling her anything of the sort."
"Madame—" Sif tries to start, panic bubbling in her chest. She thinks she's going to vomit, but she can't let the Weeping Siren harm any of them again. She's in the palace. Asgard won't be enough to hold her. She's powerful. So much more powerful than they're even thinking and she'll be so angry and—
Eir's fingers press against Sif's forehead, and that awful, warm, but familiar feeling of sleep crashes into her.
000o000
When her parents return again, Sif is awake. She's not doing anything of particular note, but she's awake and studies them with a frantic note of desperation. She hasn't seen them since before they left for Vanaheim. She can't even remember what the last thing she said to them was. Probably something snippy, or nothing at all.
Her mother's blonde hair is tucked up close to her head, her clothing rumpled. There's flour on her dress, despite what looks like some margin of effort put into removing it. Her mother has always been a stress baker, so Sif's not awfully surprised by this. Her father's red hair is falling over his eyes, face hard. The soft edges she remembers have been tightened by stress, and his brown eyes stare her down with a clear relief.
Sif remembers the feeling of his hands pushing against her wound and inwardly flinches, sickened.
Her mother only stands still in the doorway for a moment longer before moving forward and sweeping her into a tight embrace before beginning to fret and worry over her. She wipes dirt away from Sif's face and pulls out a brush, coaxing her up into a sitting position so she can begin to work her way through Sif's plethora of knots and tangles.
She'd kept her hair braided as much as possible, but the length makes knots inevitable.
"Norns curse it, Sif, did you even brush your hair once while you were away?" her mother demands sharply when Sif winces again at a particularly sensitive patch. Her father has taken a seat on the other side of the bed, lips thinned together as he studies her. He's usually louder. The silence makes her uneasy.
"No." Sif admits quietly. "Didn't have a brush. Mother wouldn't let us."
Her mother sobers. From this angle, Sif can't see her expression, but she hears it in the breathing. Sif's eyes squeeze shut and she resists the urge to tip her head back. She's not certain what to say anymore. Anytime she's brought something to do with the creature or their captivity up with the healers or Eir they've given her one of those looks—like her soul has been possessed and they've been tasked with the unfortunate responsibility to keep her body functioning.
She thinks she's insane.
Any time the Weeping Siren is brought up they clench.
Her parents are no different. There's a visible tension in her father's shoulders and her mother's hands are rough when they draw the comb through her dark locks again. "Sorry." Sif whispers. "I...I won't bring it up again."
"On the contrary," her mother's voice is barely steady. "I'd rather you discussed it. I want to know what happened. I've heard accounts from Hogun, and Volstagg's mother, but that's not the same as it coming from your mouth. Talk."
What is there to say? So little actually happened. Just that farm, those long days, and the slow loss of her sanity. "I…" she chews on her lower lip. She feels so much younger than her proper age. A child, barely able to stand upright. She fell down, and she doesn't know if she'll get up. "I'm not sure what to say."
"Start with our questions." Her mother answers promptly. "You can narrate later. For now we just want to know a few things." Sif inclines her head, though inwardly she dreads every moment of this. "Did the creature ever harm you?"
She hesitates. Remembers too many instances to count and then gives a slight nod. Her father coils up tighter in his corner of silent disapproval. Her mother only works the comb through her hair. It offers such a grand illusion of serenity.
"Why do you call her mother?"
"Because that's what she is." Sif murmurs. That's what she made them say.
"How on the Nine did you escape her prison?" Her mother's note holds an air of possible pride. "They searched for you for months and you'd already been leaving."
Months.
Six years since I started collecting my family.
"How long were we gone?" Sif counters instead, a burning desire to know suddenly pulsing through her. She can't just sit here anymore. She wants to move. Breathe the air of Asgard because it's been too long.
Her parents are quiet a moment, sharing a look before her mother sighs and rests a gentle hand on Sif's shoulder. It feels heavy, as if it's meant to keep her in place. "You left for Vanaheim almost ten months ago."
Sif's eyes go wide. Her throat runs dry.
Ten.
Ten?
That's almost an entire year.
They were hunting the creature for nearly two weeks before it caught them, and then free for about a week. They were captives for nine months. Nine. Everyone must have assumed them dead when they vanished after an attack like that. In the wild reaches of her most elaborate fantasies, the longest they'd been trapped was a little over a month. That was wrong. It explains everyone's awe over their return, at least.
Her mother has a few more questions that she pushes for, but Sif can barely remember much of them. She focuses on keeping herself awake and not much else. At least, until her father finally speaks up. "The Weeping Siren's trial is ten days from now. King Odin asked me to prepare you to testify."
Sif stills. Feels herself go rigid so quickly that something shifts uncomfortably in her stab wound. She can't get her voice to work right, and finds herself in the all too common position of not knowing what to say anymore. Trial? Didn't Eir mention something about that?
They want her to testify.
She can't.
"No." She whispers. "I'm not—I won't—"
"Sif," her mother sighs heavily. "You don't have much of a choice. Once the creature has been taken care of then you won't have to talk with her again. Or see her. We're not happy about this either, but the State demands a recompense for what happened."
Sif pauses, and then, "No. You have. I can't testify against her. She's my mother."
"No." Her father retorts sharply. "She's not. I never want you to call her such again. That demon was your captor and your near killer. She doesn't deserve a title so precious as mother. The amount of damage she'd done to those children on Vanaheim physically and physiologically—the evidence keeps staking against her—" then why can't they use that!? "—especially since Prince Loki was declared—"
"Ahni." Her mother calls sharply. "Husband, I don't know if this is best time for our daughter to learn of that."
Sif's stomach coils, an apprehensive dread threatening to eat her. Whenever she's asked over her shield brothers and the second prince, people have clamped up and said almost nothing, especially regarding the Snake Prince. She knows that Volstagg and Fandral are awake, but details on anyone else has been faint voices discussing over her half-asleep mind.
"What happened to Loki?" her question sounds so innocent. She has an assuring lull in her gut that the answer will not be. "Where is he? Is he alright? No one has mentioned anything and I need to know. I can't just sit here."
Her parents share another one of those looks before her father sighs and leans forward, gently taking Sif's hand in her own. Whatever he says next, he knows that she isn't going to like. This doesn't make her feel any more confident than before. "You know he was being fed Aetheitin, yes?"
"Yes." Sif confirms. (No, no, no. Please don't say he's dead or sedir-less. Please don't—)
"It's a powerful substance, and given how weak your bodies are from lack of substance alone...it really was inevitable, I suppose." Her father sighs heavily, gripping her hand tighter. "Loki never woke up. Your companions have all aroused at least once now, but seven days since they found you and Loki still has not...Eir declared him brain dead or nearly there yesterday."
Sif's world comes to a shuddering halt. It shakes, twists and then falls apart in her lap. Her lips draw apart, but only a faint noise gets out. Brain dead? Loki? It can't be right. They have to be toying with her, even if she can't see the point of that.
Brain dead.
She pushes past the tightness in her throat to get out one syllable, "What?"
Her mother's hand settles against Sif's scalp. "The Aetheitin isn't meant for long term use, Sif, not unless it's a planned execution or killing. Given the state of all of your health, Eir is amazed he survived this long. If he doesn't have some revival in the next few days...monitoring his mind has drawn Eir up to this conclusion, and the Crown is less than happy about it."
Thor must be devastated. Norns, she can't even imagine how much pain he's in because of this. He loves his brother. (Sif sees why now. She couldn't before their capture, but she can now. Oh, this doesn't feel real. She's still waiting for someone to pinch her and send her back to the cellar).
"He's…" Sif tries to get the words out, but her throat is raw. Salty tears slip down her cheeks and Sif startles at them. She hadn't even felt them build in her eyes, but they're suddenly there. Her father sighs and smooths one away from her cheek with his thumb.
"It will be alright, daughter." He promises. She flinches at the word, and realizes that her parents have spent the entire conversation thus far avoiding it like it might set her off. It's a familiar family endearment. She can't believe she'd missed this until now. It's considerate of them, but only makes her feel embarrassed.
She can't even hear a word without being reminded of her captivity?
Loki was declared brain dead.
Apparently hoping to change the subject, but not willing to ease the tension, her mother switches topics entirely. "I've spoken with your sister, Sif. She's spent every possible moment she could at your side—" somehow Sif doubts that, given the fact that Systra hates her "—but time has been thin. The country is in an uproar with all that has happened. I think when we go home, I'll invite her to stay with us for a few days."
Distaste fills her mouth with a sandy, dry sensation. She'd rather her stuffy, distant older sibling remain in the crown castle where she can tend to her duties as one of Queen Frigga's aids, and they don't have to sit and fight about everything for hours. Systra never supported her decision to join the Einherjar, always so insistent that it's not a woman's place—and even now, she still ridicules and belittles Sif's decision.
The last thing she wants to deal with is Systra.
"I'd rather not." Sif grumbles under her breath, but adds quickly before anyone can call her on it, "My shield-brothers? Where are they? Can I see them?"
"That depends on what Eir says." Her mother promises. "They're bedridden, much the same as you."
But alive. Some of the tension leaks out of her at her mother's words and she breathes in deep. "Will they have to witness at Moth—" she remembers her father's demand and backtracks quickly, unwilling to enter into anyone's wrath "—at the Weeping Siren's trial? Or is it just me?"
"Them too." Her father says. "But don't focus on that for now."
Then why'd you bring it up? The only thing she'll think about now is this.
000o000
Her parents excuse themselves when they're called away on business with regretful eyes, but Sif assures them that she'll be fine. With how weak her body is the chances of her walking off are very little. She is surprised to see that there's Einherjar outside of the door. Two recruits that she trained with. Their names evade her for now, but when she gives an awkward wave to one, he returns it with a faint smile.
She thinks he asked to court her, if she's remembering right. She has no idea why her mind decides to pull up this useless bit of information, but it does.
One of Eir's aids returns shortly, fussing over Sif for a few minutes and changing the bandage on Sif's wound. It's the first time she's seen the stab, ugly, thick and deep, but the only thing she feels for it is an overwhelming wave of apathy. Fandral's weapon was designed to do more damage being pulled out than going in. The blade's edges are very subtly jagged. It looks smooth and straight to an untrained eye, but Sif has seen it in practice enough to know that the damage is extensive.
Maybe the Weeping Siren knew this, and that's why she claimed the weapon.
Is it terrible that Sif doesn't care?
The aid is a chatty girl who's clearly inexperienced dealing with trauma. (Sif's mind shies around the word, insistent that she's not traumatized, but she can't find a fitting word for what's going on beyond that). The girl rattles on and on about speculation that Asgard had come to when everyone upped and vanished, explains about how no one thought anything was awfully suspicious until Thor arrived back in Asgard, half dead.
"Broken leg, here," she gestures to almost the exact same place of Loki's break on her own leg, and Sif doesn't know whether to be amazed or laugh at how much the universe takes as frequent pleasure in damaging the brothers in a similar fashion. Thor may not get seriously hurt often, but when he does Loki was usually took the first serving of it. "All mangled up. I helped Eir treat it. It was a bad wound, though, we're not sure if he'll ever lose the slight limp."
Sif remembers grasping at the thought that Thor's posture was lopsided when they arrived in the cave.
According to the aid, Thor said he got it on the return journey to Asgard, but hasn't said anything more. At least to the public. The only people Thor would talk to about things like that would be his parents, brother, her, or the Warriors Three. But she hasn't seen Thor since that first time, and she can't exactly ask him.
Given Loki's state, she's not surprised about this.
The aid switches topics abruptly, moving onto the Weeping Siren's trial and Sif clenches up like locking her bones in such a manner is a type of game. She doesn't want to think about the trial. (Doesn't want to think about condemning Mother, or having to see her again).
The aid rattles on.
Sif has to remind herself that strangling someone who's trying to help her is frowned upon.
000o000
It's another day before Sif's door is opened and she looks up to see Fandral slowly shuffling in. There's a panicked worry on his face and he scrambles towards her as if something is biting on his heels. She sits up, confused. He looks a little better than Sif remembers. His face has more color and he's shaven and his hair is cropped. The latter looks like it was done with a knife because it's sloppy and uneven on one side.
"Sif." Fandral breathes her name out slowly. Carefully. He takes one of the chairs beside her bedside heavily. "Sif, they're driving me insane. I can't do it anymore."
"Mm?" She blinks several times, wondering if she's going to have to fight something off.
"My parents." Fandral whispers. "Norns, I think they think I'm going to wither away at the slightest touch or harsh word. They're making me testify at Mother's trial. Loki's—have you heard about Loki? Oh, it's awful, I can't—Sif, if we hadn't been so stupid, we wouldn't be responsible for our prince's death."
Sif's teeth set. She's thought along the same lines, but hearing it out loud suddenly makes it real. "I know." She says stiffly. "We were fools."
"I feel terrible." Fandral admits. "I wish it hadn't taken all of this—" he gestures wildly "—to convince us to stop."
"Me too."
The confession is tight, but it comes. Fandral stays in the room for a long time. Sif doesn't know how they seem to know, but Hogun appears sometime after hour one and Volstagg isn't far behind. Sif takes reassurance in their presence, relieved that they're alive and they're well.
None of them are thrilled about this stupid trial.
Later, she's shifted from sleep when Eir steps into the room and stares at all of them. At some point exhaustion was communally un-voiced but decided, and they all squished onto the small hospital bed. Through half-lidded eyes, Sif sees Eir's expression soften.
"They're in here." She murmurs to someone.
"Had you expected much else?" Queen Frigga?
"No." Eir promises. "Stubborn lads."
"They'll pull through, Eir," Queen Frigga reassures. "It's been a long few months for everyone. We're going to be okay. I promise."
Sif drifts off after that, unable to focus on the conversation. When she awakens, the Warriors are gone and Thor is seated at her bedside, expression grim. His hands are steapled under his nose and he appears to be in deep thought. He looks more sleep deprived than she remembers him being, hair a mess and she's fairly certain he hasn't changed clothing in at least four days.
He's eyes are distant. He must thinking about something heavy.
Sif draws herself together in a soft inhale, trying to remember where she hid her sense of humor to preserve it all these months. Laughter became on short supply not long after Fandral's lung got infected. She can't even remember the last time she did laugh.
Sif's so tired of lying down and sitting in this hospital room. She hates it here. It smells funny.
"If your attempting to figure out what direction you'd need to summon Mjolnir from to knock the room flat on top of us, I'm fairly certain that corner would be your best bet." She points at the far west one, with it's wobbling column and overall sick appearance. Thor startles at her voice, eyes snapping down to her face.
"Sif—what? Sif! You're awake, I'd thought that you were still resting." Thor admits, eyes wide with surprise.
Sif shakes her head, rubbing at her eyelids. "Not anymore. You look like you've been there for a while. What are you thinking about?"
Thor's lips pinch together and he shakes his head. "There's no need for me to trouble you with my thoughts."
Sif raises an eyebrow. "I'm not exactly busy." She wants to hear him talk. She hasn't heard his voice in so long and there's something reassuring about it. It wasn't at the Siren's layer. Thor is safe. She desperately needs something safe.
"Sif." Thor's voice has gained an exasperated tone. "I'm serious."
"As am I." She counters. Thor's mouth thins into a line and Sif sighs. She recognizes that look. For all that Thor wears his heart on sleeve, when he decides not to talk about something there is very few things that can string it out of him. Loki is one. Sif knows of almost none others. The lip thinning is usually when his stubbornness settles in and no other words will be said.
Sif pinches the bridge of her nose, drawing her patience in. They sit in silence for a long few minutes before Sif looks over at the crown prince. His face has settled into that distant expression again. If she had to guess over his thoughts, she'd probably say Loki. (Brain death. Brain death.)
She doesn't want to just sit in silence.
She can't stand the silence anymore.
"What happened? After you left? No one has told me much of anything." Sif says, swiping a stray piece of dark hair away from her face. Her throat still feels raw—will it ever stop?—and she can't get much else beyond weird sort of rasps to escape. Thor's expression flickers, a weighted exhaustion settling into his face even as he moves to grab some water and offer it out to her.
The liquid is almost bitterly cold, but Sif enjoys every drop of it.
"My brother's suspicions on Prince Tjan proved correct." Thor admits at last.
Prince Tjan? Who—Oh. Him. In the midst of everything else, between all of this mess, she'd forgotten all about him. The dead eyes of Captain Yan look back up at her in a memory, and her teeth set. Did someone clean up their bodies? Sif can't remember what Vanaheim does to their dead for the life of her right now. Midgard buries them, Asgard releases their ashes to the stars, Muspelheim burns them, Nidavellir...gah, she can't remember. It's dwarfs. Maybe...it doesn't matter.
What matters is that Captain Yan and all but two of Prince Tjan's guard were killed in a skirmish.
They assumed the Weeping Siren.
Were they wrong?
"How so?" Sif murmurs, holding Thor's heavy stare for a moment longer.
Thor sighs deeply, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "It's a long tale. Not one I feel all to keen on talking over at the moment...but I…" another sigh, and then, "it's probably best that you know it before the trial."
The trial. The only thing anyone ever wants to discuss anymore is the trial. It's driving her insane. She doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't want to think about it.
"Contrary to what I was presenting, I, too, had my doubts about our cousin." Thor admits, shifting. He seems unable to sit still, legs jittery and hands flexing in and out. "There was just something off about him and the others, as I'm sure you noticed."
"I had." Sif confirmed. She thinks back to those nights in the taverns—a lifetime ago—and faintly recalls the haunted eyes and sickly pallor of their skin. "They seemed possessed."
Thor huffs with agreement. "They were."
Sif's eyes go wide and she leans forward, mouth parting. No sound comes out for a long few seconds before, "What?"
"The Weeping Siren was...I'm not sure what exactly happened, but Prince Tjan is not an idiot. He and his guard had success in locating the Weeping Siren long before we ever arrived to help. From what my father managed to extract from him, Prince Tjan took a group of forty men into the Blodig Skog one night and they caught the woman. She...resisted. You must know by now that the term "siren" wasn't added because she wailed."
No.
It was because anything she said was a curse. A command, and not one they could say no to.
"She sung to them." Thor's eyes grow distant, as if recalling a memory. "Those who resisted her power were slaughtered and everyone else is what remained of the guard when we arrived."
"But—" Sif stops, lips pressing together. "The reports said that they were attacked with weaponry. Prince Tjan and the others killed—"
"—everyone who wouldn't succumb to the phantom's voice. Yes." The crown prince's voice is soft. "But that isn't even half of what happened. The Siren began to use them to scout out the village. Six children were taken in the few months Prince Tjan was there alone because the Siren was using him. My brother, I suspect, could feel the sedir enveloping them better than we could, which is why he was so reluctant."
"I thought it was residue from the Blodig Skog." Sif admits, a knot of discomfort growing in her stomach. The night they were taken is seared into her memory like it was branded, and she doesn't know if she can ever get it to go away. She remembers the panic that washed through her, Hogun being dragged into the dark and the Weeping Siren laughing.
Come and catch me.
Then Loki catching the Weeping Siren in a headlock and her nasal voice hissing out, the sedir wielder. I told Prince Tjan to stop bringing them in here.
Sif hadn't thought about that line for months. She'd almost forgotten about it entirely. It wasn't important, so she hadn't saved the space to remember it. Now it burns. Her hands lift to her mouth to cover it as she makes a little noise.
Thor seems to snap back into the present by it, and his brow furrows. "What?"
"Moth—the creature. She...she'd mentioned something about Tjan before." Sif admits, trying to keep her hands steady. "I thought it was rubbish. And then it hadn't mattered anymore. She mentioned something about Prince Tjan stopping sedir wielders from entering the Blodig Skog, but I hadn't..."
"That had mattered." Thor grumbles. "It always had. That's why I went with him that night. On the hunt. It wasn't because I didn't trust him not to poison us—well, mostly not because I didn't trust him not to poison us, but I'd overheard my cousin and Captain Yan discussing a way to remove Loki."
Her stomach churns. "An assassination? He's family."
"No." Thor shakes his head. "Just benching him permanently. All the distinct details are fuzzy now, but I wasn't happy with it. I confronted him in the woods, and he and his guard attacked me."
"But everyone...we saw the bodies. They weren't killed by Mjonlir or another weapon." Sif argues, "He couldn't have attacked you unless...you didn't fight back."
Thor smiles grimly. "I couldn't. The creature found us and bound me by her word. Tjan pierced me with a blade here," his fingers lift up to ghost over his chest. Over his heart. Or near it, anyway. Too close. "And I was too focused on that to do much else. When I awoke, only Prince Tjan and two others lived. The details of what happened to soldiers have yet to be discovered, and I can't remember anything. I took Prince Tjan and the other two as my captives and we wandered in the Blodig Skog for a month before finding Ju again."
Stabbed nearly in the heart and of course he decides that's the perfect time to take captives. He really does think himself indestructible at times. It's familiar, but in a dull, aching way. Sif's jaw shifts. "A month?"
"Aye." Thor agrees. "Heimdall returned us to Asgard, and thus began the long interrogation process. Tjan's mind was lost, and the other two died before anything could be strung from them. We'd barely gotten the whole story out before my mother and father demanded three weeks time from the court to search for everyone. We were on our last few days before we found you in the tunnels."
"How?" Sif never thought to question it before, but the sudden appearance of Asgard is bizarre. They didn't know about the tunnels for nine months. How could Asgard have found it in less than three weeks?
"The map." Thor shrugs. "My mother's unrivaled persistence. My father's tracking spells? Perhaps the Blodig Skog wanted to let you go. We'll never know. I'm just glad you're here."
"I can't believe that witch nearly killed you." Sif whispers. She lifts her eyes up to his chest, staring at the thick layers of clothing as if she can see the wound beneath them. It's nothing more than a sealed wound now, if that. It takes effort to scar an Aesir, even faintly. She doesn't know if a stab would do it. Maybe repeated stabbing in the same place.
Thor's eyes grow soft and he grabs her hand gently. "I'm fine, Sif. I swear it to you."
Sif's eyes feel oddly wet. She doesn't know why she'd be crying in the first place, so she shakes it off. "I'm sorry we didn't find you." Sif murmurs, "Loki wanted to go, but we stopped him. If we'd been less stupid perhaps this whole thing could have been prevented. But we weren't. We never trusted him."
Thor offers a sad smile. He says nothing in response, but Sif can feel the quiet agreement. Her teeth set and she squeezes her eyes shut. She breathes out steadily, trying to convince herself she knows how. "Thank you for telling me."
The crown prince is quiet a moment. "Tell me what happened on your end. Please."
She shudders. The memories leak at the edge of her mind, threatening to overpower her. She shoves at them, but she can't resist their pull. Thinking back, there's not one distinct moment when she felt like everything took a turn for the worse. There was no great torture session. It was a slow descent into madness.
Sif doesn't know if she'll ever be able to crawl her way out of it.
Her lips part. She doesn't want to do this, but Thor asked for it and it's the least she can do after everything. She doesn't even know what to say. How does one describe the monotony of months of the same thing on end? She has to shove to get anything out of her throat, but she does. Slowly, she begins to speak.
000o000
Loki wakes up. Alive. She doesn't learn this by Eir calmly telling her, but rather waking up to the Snake Prince curled on the chair beside her bed. She nearly jumps, hand straying for a weapon as adrenaline pumps through her.
Is this a dream? What on Helheim is going on?
"Loki." She hisses, glancing at the door. How did he get in here, past the guard? Everyone has professed his brain's inactivity for days and now she wakes up and he's sitting in the chair next to her. No, she re-evaluates, she's not surprised.
Of course he's here.
Dramatic little snot.
Loki moans softly and lifts his head, staring at her through mess black hair. It's hanging over his face in a way that she's become familiar with the last few months, but she knows is likely a startling change for anyone else. His green eyes are shadowed heavily. He looks awful. Bone jutting out, skin almost white with how pale he is. His hands tremble almost rhythmically, but one is pressed firmly against his heart.
Aetheitin withdrawl.
Curse the Weeping Siren.
"Loki what are you doing in here?" Sif demands, shoving up onto one elbow. "You need to be laying down. How did you get in here?"
"Walked." Loki mumbles under his breath.
"In your state?" Sif's voice raises, incredulousness bathing it. "You shouldn't even be able to breathe. They were saying you were brain dead."
Loki looks up, blinks twice with wide eyes. His lips part like he wants to say one thing before he swallows and instead murmurs, "I believe they misdiagnosed, then."
She's going to hit him. She shoves up into a sitting position properly, her teeth set and tight. Norns, how can he make light of this? Thor's been a mess for days—the entire royal family has. And he just wakes up and walks off. Queen Frigga is going to have a heart attack when she sees him missing. Asgard will be thrown into chaos as it's torn apart to find him.
(Somewhere, distantly, she's flattered that he came to her. In another part she's so relieved it's knotting in her chest. He's alive. She can watch him now to make sure.)
Sif's hands curl into fists before she reaches forward and wraps her arms around him. Loki immediately sinks into the touch, resting his head against her shoulder and sighing under his breath. "Don't do that again. No more walking." She demands harshly. Softer, "I'm glad you're alright. Why...why did you come to me?"
"Was alone." Loki says softly. "I...I couldn't...your room is closest. Fandral's that way," he waves a hand in a generalized motion, "but his parents are there. So are Hogun's, and Volstagg's mother. I didn't want to be alone anymore."
"You're not." Sif promises, running a gentle hand through his hair. It's softer than she remembers it being. Someone must have washed it. "We're okay. I promise."
"My heart hurts." Loki whispers. "I think it's going to explode."
The familiar thrum of worry twisted in panic sparks through her. A swear threatens to pour out of her tongue, but she bites it back. "We'll be fine. I'll call for Eir. You can stay here if you agree to let her check it." Loki nods somewhat distantly, his head heavy against her chest. She can hear his heart if she focuses, the drawn out thump, thump, thunk that sounds off pattern and awful.
How on the Nine did he get up?
Sif keeps Loki as still as she can as she twists around and cries for help. (How wonderful this is, to be able to weep for assistance and finally receive it. They're not alone anymore.)
000o000
Loki's living, breathing form sparks and uprising throughout everywhere. Anywhere Sif pays attention, she hears someone talking about it. Thor looks more alive the next time she sees him, some of the etches of stress washed away.
Sif could have been content like this, but with her wound mostly healed beyond an awful bruise, her parents sweep her out of the healing rooms, insisting that she stay at home as soon as she can. (Sif thinks that it will be a long time before they let her go with the Einherjar, and part of her is relieved about that.)
Sif stands in front of her childhood home for a long moment, staring up at the golden-tipped roof and the familiar stained glass. It seems so big, suddenly, and she wonders if this what guests feel like when they step onto Asgard. It's so bright. Big. Sif's grown accustomed to the small spaces and dark, blurry colors.
This is so different.
Her mother touches her arm, quiet question on her lips and Sif shakes her head, moving forward. She doesn't really want to talk about this. Talk about anything. She wants to see the children again, make sure they're alright with her own eyes because though she's received reassurances, it's not the same. She wants to see her shield-brothers again. Loki. She doesn't want to be here.
Sif shoves forward. The house, normally so familiar and welcoming with its smells and sights only makes her vaguely sick. Suddenly the healing rooms don't seem so stifling anymore. Sif spends a majority of the day wandering the grounds and the house, trying to familiarize herself with it. She sees her parents watching her with worried eyes, talking quietly among themselves.
Sif barely picks at the dinner—Eir warned strictly against anything heavy as her stomach adjusts—and realizes that the only thing she really wants to eat is bread. Maybe some of the fruit, but she's not picky. Everything tastes much the same: flavorless.
Maybe she lost that in the capture, too.
Sif barely says more than fifteen words throughout the whole meal and her parents have to fill the empty space, but do so with clear reluctance. When the meal is finished, her father herds her upstairs to sleep. Sif realizes that her spear and shield are on her desk and looks back at her father with a sudden urgency.
"Restless, is she here?" Thoughts of her mare had plagued the back of her head for months. She'd no idea what happened to her, and hadn't wanted to ask for fear of learning of her death.
"In the stables." Her father promises, something that's obviously relief at seeing her present something other than apathy. "A few villagers in Ju found the horses with him. When Thor arrived he took them back with him."
She still knows so little about what happened to Thor, despite all that he's said—he said so little. No one will talk about this. Just that stupid trial. Sif can't wrap her head around everything that's happened. It still feels like a dream. She wishes that her parents would stop treating her as something breakable. She wants to scream. Yell, kick something. But she can't. They think she's broken.
She wishes they would listen.
Her teeth set and it's probably this line of thought that makes her do it in the first place. Her father insists on tucking her in (she's of age, not a child, but she doesn't fight it) and Sif twists her foot, waiting. Her father stares at her for a long moment, expression furrowed. "Sif...Sif, what are you doing?"
They still avoid "daughter".
Sif's head tilts and she looks at her ankle and then the end of her bed. She remembers that this isn't the cellar and her face heats. She tugs her blanket over her bare ankle and chews at her inner lip. "Sorry." She whispers.
Her father sighs and rests a hand on her hair. His gaze is oddly searching after she struggles to meet it. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He promises. "I just...I don't understand what has happened. Half of what you react to now. I wish I could have stopped this Sif, so you wouldn't have to endure it."
Sif bites at her tongue.
Her father's lips pinch into an unhappy line. "What were you waiting for?"
Sif barrels past her initial instinct not to tell and admits, with reluctance, "Moth—the Weeping Siren would chain us to the beds at night. I was waiting so you would...and then I could…"
Her father's expression flashes with a heat so intense she shrivels from it. He smooths it over when he sees her face and slowly exhales. "Forgive me. You have done nothing wrong."
"I left." Sif counters, her stomach churning. "We left Mother alone because we are ungrateful. She was killing Loki, Father. And we just…" she buries her face beneath her hands. "I'm sickened at how much I'm pulled by this."
"That's alright," her father promises, "you don't need to understand it all at once."
"Yes, I do!" she counters sharply. "I have to know so when I testify at Moth—at the creature's hearing I'm not a bumbling mess!"
"Breathe, Sif." Her father instructs. "Just sleep. I'll stay in here until you do, alright?"
Sif hates how relieved she is by that concept. Child. "Papa, it hurts," she whispers, "and I don't know what to do."
"You'll be alright. Just breathe. If it's any consolation, I'm very, very proud of you for leaving." He presses a kiss on her brow and rests a hand on hers. The words settle something, not a lot, but something. Her father stays until she's asleep.
Sif wakes up more than six times, brain restless and jerking at night terrors. Her father soothes her to sleep again every time.
000o000
"Something isn't right with her," her mother hisses, and Sif stops. Eavesdropping has never been something she engages in, but that was before and this is now. "She's jumping at everything and she won't settle down."
"They were held captive for nine months," her father counters, ever the mediator. "You can't honestly expect that nothing would have changed. Wife, did you really expect to see our daughter when Prince Thor returned barely alive all those months ago?"
"No. But I—"
"Then accept her as she is right now. Don't expect her to be better in a few minutes, it's not our place to decide how she settles. It's hers." Her father says firmly.
"Aren't you worried?"
"Yes. Of course I am," her father promises, "she's...she's not right in the head at the moment. She'll get there."
"The Weeping Siren stole our child, Ahni. Sif didn't come back. This—this ghost did."
Her chest aches in a funny place she thinks is where her heart resides. She stands next to the edge of the hall for a long few moments, unable to catch her breath. Her parent's continue on, their quiet slander something she's not supposed to be listening to. She hadn't been expecting this when she walked past, and now—
"You shouldn't be listening to that." Systra murmurs behind her. Sif jumps, whirling to look back at her older sister with wide eyes. The blonde has a bag swung over one shoulder, dressed in clothing that's far to simple for someone of her status. Sif remembers her mother talking about inviting Systra to come back with them. She hadn't believed they were serious. (Hadn't believed Systra would come.)
"I—" Sif gets out in a harsh whisper. She doesn't know what to say. (She wishes she wasn't being eaten by this apathy. This—this awful thing in her chest that isn't going away.)
Systra makes a clicking noise and sweeps her gaze up and down Sif, eyes tightening at the edges. "Come with me." She commands. A few months ago, Sif would have refused and stormed off, indignant. Now she only feels a heavy apprehension and follows after her older sister. Systra stops first to drop her bag off in her room and then leads Sif out of the house. She sits down on a bench hidden in the small corner of the property and Sif recognizes it from when they were little and closer.
Before Systra left.
Sif takes a hesitant seat beside the elder, clamping her hands together incase they start shaking. She's so fidgety. Sick. She hates all of this. Years of training and all of it was lost by a few mere months in a demon's grasp.
"You look ill." Systra notes out loud.
Sif huffs, rubbing her thumbs over her hands. "A wonder why."
"Yes. I think so." Systra's head tilts, the familiar expression of quiet judgement splitting down her face. Sif's chest tightens, years of honed frustration with it pooling in between the ribs like they're trying to weave between the bones.
"Why are you here?" Sif demands instead, turning her head sharply to stare at the elder. "You and I both know that you had more than enough excuses to stay at the palace."
Systra hums, sitting back. "I was right, you know, dearest sister."
"What?" Sif glances away for a moment, confused. Right about what? There's nothing for her to parade over yet!
"I said that you weren't fit for the Einherjar, and well," Systra gestures vaguely, "look where it got you? Nearly murdered. You nearly killed our prince. You honestly expect that I'm going to pity you for being such an idiot? This whole disaster is your own fault, if you'd been less arrogant than—"
Something in Sif shatters. Like a vase being dropped onto solid earth. There's no resisting the broken porcelain as it tumbles around them. The apathy that's been drowning her since they were rescued washes off and Sif draws in her first breath of life since the Weeping Siren took them. She jerks up to her feet and whirls on her sibling.
"Don't you start! Do you really think that I don't know that? That this whole disaster is something that I played a part in!? Do you really think that I'm not doubting myself? Because of how I treated the prince, we nearly died! And now we have to live with that knowledge—knowing what happened and not being able to discuss it because NO ONE IS LISTENING!" Sif draws in a haggard breath, trying to calm herself, but can't. She slams a fist into a nearby tree and feels so much relief when it hurts.
There's blood pooling on her fist.
And she can feel it.
Sif's shoulders drop and she inhales deeply, but the release doesn't stop. She doesn't stop feeling. Sif turns her head slowly towards Systra, unsure what to do. Her jaw tightens some as she sees a grim sort of satisfaction and...relief? in her sister's face.
Sif's lips part with disbelief and she points an accusing finger out towards her, swearing under her breath. "You said that on purpose. You were trying to get a rise out of me!"
A small smirk tugs on the edge of Systra's lip. She shrugs. "I was. Mother expressed her concern over your...apathy, and I wanted to see the extent I could push before you breathed life again. I succeeded."
Sif punches her arm lightly. "All-Fathers, I hate you." She promises. Systra huffs with amusement, but tilts her head towards her, long hair falling over one shoulder.
"Sister. Sif, if you want to talk, I'd be more than happy to listen." Systra promises. "I know we're not...not close. But I can offer you this much."
000o000
Sif doesn't see the Warriors, Loki or the children until the trial. All of Asgard seems to try and stuff themselves into the throne room to see it up close, likely to get a glimpse of the creature that held their second prince captive for nearly a year.
Sif is shuffled towards the front to be a witness and catches the Warriors eyes with a slight nod. An entire conversation seems to pass between them with the slight gesture. Sif spots Loki standing next to his brother, expression masked. His hair is swept back in the way it was before the Siren took them. He looks better than he did in the healing room.
Still tired. Still sick, but better.
She catches his eye and he gives her a weak smile. His apprehension is obvious. None of them want to be here. Sif takes her place beside the Warriors and does her best to not adjust her clothing for the umpteenth time. The only highlight as Asgard and Vanaheim officials shuffle their way into the room is the children. Sif didn't see them enter, but knows they have when Idrissa's arms wrap around her legs. "Sif!" she declares happily, looking up towards her face.
Sif feels a genuine smile spread up her lips and she leans down to lift the child up into her arms. "Idrissa." She greets and the daughter smiles cheerfully. She looks happy. Sif looks up and sees the other children moving towards them. Not all, but about ten of the nineteen. The others are too young to witness anything.
They all look better.
Happier.
The Weeping Siren...the Weeping Siren did nothing for them. Sif may feel a sickly part of her long to return to the simplicity of their captivity, but this—this makes it all worth it. Idrissa's wide smile and the relief and release Sif feels inside.
She feels better.
Li's dragging another daughter by the hand as he walks up towards them, a gleaming expression of cheer on his face. He begins to talk rapidly with Hogun and Avil, more life in him than Sif has ever seen. It's relieving. Warm.
"Look—" Idrissa points out into the crowd towards a woman. "Maman came. She was happy to see me again." The daughter rests her head against Sif's shoulder. "The All-Mother was good. She helped us go home." A beat and then a confessed whisper, "I think she's a better maman than Mother ever was."
Sif is quiet a moment, and then admits quietly to the girl, "Me too."
They don't have to sit among the restless crowd for much longer. King Odin and Queen Frigga finally arrive and the sight of them silences everyone. Chained nearly an inch of her life is the Weeping Siren, being guided by at least twelve Einherjar. Sif's stomach clenches as she sees the familiar strands of silver hair fall around the thin face. Thick cuffs are strapped around her wrists, binding her sedir. Her voice will be useless here.
Hogun's arm wraps around her shoulders in reassurance and Fandral grabs for her hand. Sif keeps a firm grip on Idrissa with her other, drawing out a deep breath.
She doesn't miss the subtle power play the King and Queen are doing. Their backs are to the creature. They're declaring her so inferior of a threat that she isn't worth guarding themselves over. Sif thinks about how simply the Queen dealt with the creature and can't say with total honesty that she's surprised at this.
King Odin takes a seat on the throne and Queen Frigga comes to a stop beside their sons.
The curia regis and parliament handle most of the formalities, and the only thing Sif can really get herself to pay attention to is when Hogun's father, Governor Tusin, addresses the Weeping Siren by her name. Her actual name: "Rydat, daughter of Fienda."
The names mean nothing to her, but Loki stiffens slightly at them.
The Weeping Siren's dull eyes lift up, but she seems far to lackadaisical for this.
"Daughter of one of the Blodig Skog's enchanters." Governor Tusin adds. Sif's lips part.
Oh.
"Your identity was a hard fought battle, but not impossible," Governor Tusin promises, keeping steady eye contact with the creature, "you married a man called Tuss, son of Eart, six centuries ago and together you bore two children together, Yei and Holland. Beyond transactions with the village of Hai-Han every so often, all of you effectively vanished. But you were clearly busy—" putting it lightly "—if it wasn't for what happened to your husband, I'm certain that we'd have almost nothing on you. As it is, your brutal slaughter of him was hardly subtle."
The Weeping Siren's chin lifts slightly, self righteously, but she says nothing.
"Given that he was driven mad by slow exposure to the Blodig Skog, I suppose one could argue it was self defense that you killed him in. But your children...you never did find them until it was far too late, did you? Telling them to run, I suspect, when Tuss attempted to kill all of you and they vanished. I have witnessed from my son that their remains lay in the tunnels beneath your home.
"This is hardly an excuse for what you did next, stealing the lost children because you never found your own. There is a reason no one lives inside the Blodig Skog, Rydat. It plays with your mind, takes your sanity and leaves nothing behind. You are a living, breathing example of its effects, and I'm not certain I can even pity you after what you did to my children."
Is that blood?
Yes.
It was never Yei and Holland's. It was Tuss's.
Sif can't look at the Weeping Siren and attach the name to her. Rydat. Rydat? (Why does this matter? Why now?)
Governor Tusin lists a few things, the children she stole and from where, but Sif is already well aware of this. She was when they left for Vanaheim and far more so after she met the stolen children. King Odin takes charge of the trial afterwards, calling forth the witnesses and having them state their evidence. Her stomach is twisting into tight knots thick enough that Sif's certain she'll step forward and throw up, but she doesn't.
She can't remember anything that she said.
She's up one moment, standing in the witness's stand the next.
The words keep coming out of everyone, but Sif can't make much sense of anything. She's trying hard not to, keeping her gaze pinned on a spot on the wall above her parent's heads and trying to breathe. Loki's called forward, the last witness, and she forces herself to pay attention.
Loki inhales raggedly, visibly drawing himself together before taking a hesitant step forward. Sif's grip on Fandral's hand tightens, but she manages to keep her expression schooled to only a faint grimace. The second prince keeps his head up, fists clenched and crosses down the dais of the throne.
"Rydat, you stand before the court accused of crimes that I have been asked to witness." His voice doesn't waver. No hesitation. Only the smooth silk of his silvertongue. "As a victim of your monstrosities, I, Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard am—"
Unlike every other member, the Weeping Siren's head tilts up at Loki's voice. Her sickly eyes lock onto the second prince with a sick sort of longing or hunger before her chapped lips part and—"My darling," she sighs, voice scratched. Sif flinches at it, drawing into Fandral with discomfort. "My dearest darling. I have done nothing wrong, surely you must know this."
Loki's teeth smack together. His expression tightens.
The Einherjar surrounding the woman appear to brace themselves, and she sees several hands go for their weapons. The curia regis is breathless, and those witnessing the trial are straining to look or listen—as if they want to hear this demon's voice. Sif can't stop no matter how hard she tries. Sometimes she wonders if it will ever leave her head.
"My son?" the Weeping Siren whispers. "Please. You are the last to testify against me. You must plead my case. We can go home. We can be happy again...don't you want that?"
Thor's mouth parts and he takes a step forward, clearly prepared for a sharp rebuke, but Queen Frigga lifts up a hand to stop him.
"You weren't given permission to speak." Loki's voice is almost small. It barely penetrates the open air and sounds far more like a question.
Fat, wet tears begin to roll down the woman's cheeks. "I was being a mother. It's my calling. Surely you want to come home? I'll forgive your transgressions, my child. We'll be so happy. I loved making you happy."
"You tortured me for months." Loki rebukes, jaw gaining a tic. "I was never happy."
The Weeping Siren's expression twists and she lurches forward. The Einherjar grab at the chains surrounding her, halting her movement, but the damage has already been done. Loki leaps backwards, scrambling away as fast as he can and nearly trips up the stairs. Thor catches the younger in a fluid movement and Loki buries himself into the blond's large frame. They're nearly the same height now, save a few inches on Loki's part, but Thor's cape and arm seem to swallow the raven-haired prince completely.
Sif's heart thumps rapidly in her chest and her head begins to ache from her tightly gritted jaw. The creature can do nothing. They're in Asgard. They're safe. The creature can do—
"That's quite enough." Queen Frigga says stiffly. "My son's reaction alone is enough evidence for the case. We have more than enough to condemn her. Lords and ladies, I ask you to consider what justice is to be done. My husband and I have already made our judgement when we found our son and the others in the Blodig Skog."
It's usual for the Queen to take such direct control over political affairs, but given the circumstances, Sif isn't surprised. King Odin's face is so taut Sif thinks if he tries to speak all that's going to come out is an animalistic growl. Perhaps even a raged scream.
The Weeping Siren audibly scoffs.
Queen Frigga's weighted stare shifts to the woman and Sif can see the withering effect, even if it's not directed at her. "Do you have something you wish to add, creature?" the Queen questions.
The Weeping Siren lifts her chin, chains clicking. "I have done no crimes. I kept the children safe. I helped. I was good. You are the ones who stopped them from happiness. I could have kept them all content and loved for the rest of their days, but now you've stopped me. All because your greedy."
Sif's neck muscles strain to stop herself from nodding in agreement. She doesn't agree, it's just what they did for all those long months in the field. (The prison). To disagree meant to invoke the wrath of the creature, and none of them were too keen on it.
Queen Frigga finally seems to reach her breaking point. Her spine goes rigid and she slides down the dais with the grace of a lioness, passing her children without a glance towards them. She grabs the Weeping Siren by the neck, fingers tight against the creature's jaw. "You sorry excuse for a living being."
The Weeping Siren makes a noise of protest, hands shifting, but unable to do much because of the restraints.
"You parade the title of a name you have not earned since you lost your mind. A mother is sacred, and you are wretched. I did not earn the title All-Mother by murder, kidnapping, torture, and fear. You will never understand what you have lost. What you have taken. And you are so far beyond pity I can't say I'm sorry for this. Your soul is going to rot, and I'm going to find great pleasure sending it there."
Sif feels her jaw go lax.
Queen Frigga releases the Weeping Siren's jaw forcefully and shoves her back into the Einherjar, forcing them to grab her before she smashes into her back. The Queen gathers her composure and looks up at parliament. "You are adjourned to discuss your judgement. We'll reconvene in an hour's time."
Turning and wrapping an arm around Thor's shoulder who is still hiding Loki with ease, the All-Mother guides her children from the throne room. Unlike proper protocol would demand, King Odin does not stay behind to dictate the curia regis and parliament's decision. He gets to his feet, grabs Gungnir, and walks after his wife and sons with an even pace.
Sif's hand has gone numb, so Fandral releasing it startles her. "That went well." Fandral mutters under his breath. Sif huffs with agreement, but keeps herself rooted in place. As if her boots have melted into the floor of the throne room. It's what they have to do. What they're supposed to. As witnesses, so they can be interrogated further for missed details.
Sif wants to run.
Far, far away, where the sun is shining and the Weeping Siren isn't less than twenty feet from her.
No one approaches to ask. It's one of the fastest conclusions parliaments's ever arrived to that Sif can recall, and her stomach churns with anticipation and dread. The answer could be almost anything. She doesn't know if she wants to be here for it. Maybe it would be better to have someone tell her when this is finished.
The court re-gathers and King Odin rises to his feet, Gungnir clicking against the ground and silencing everyone. King Odin moves down the dias slowly, coming to a stop in front of the Weeping Siren with an unreadable expression.
"Rydat," his voice is low, he almost spits the word. "Vanaheim and Asgard have come to the conclusion on your fate."
"And, pray tell, what is it?" the Weeping Siren hisses. "I am innocent."
King Odin's jaw gains a visible tic. "Your mind and soul are so far lost now that the greatest mercy we can give you is death, but you did not leave your own scars. Prince Tjan now rests in a medical ward as Vanaheim's sorcerer's attempt to unweave the mess you've made of his mind. You have the cold blood of more than a hundred Vanir dripping from your hands. And you committed violent acts against many youth."
"I did not—" the Weeping Siren starts angrily, breathes out and then, "I was a good mother. I would never—"
"Your execution has been ordered for this evening." King Odin continues on as if she did not speak. "Your sedir will be drawn from your body by my wife. If you survive this, your head will be taken."
Sif's lips part with some surprise at that. For a sedirmaster, she can't think of a more painful way to die. Sedir is blood. To draw it out...she will suffer. (A quiet, sadistic part of Sif who has been pushed too many times over the edge since this began, is pleased. A larger part of her wishes the death could have been cleaner. Faster.)
The Weeping Siren bares her teeth, but King Odin is unfazed.
Sif releases a blown breath, squeezing her eyes shut. This is the last time she sees the demon, standing in front of the court like she's something important. Long silver hair falling down past her waist, thin frame bound up by the chains.
Sif is not upset by this.
000o000
The children are returned to Vanaheim, ancient tradition demanding that children not be present for the sedir purge. None of the rest of them—herself, the Warriors, and Loki—want to see the execution. Maybe they're pathetic for it, but the thought of having to see the Weeping Siren past the courtroom makes her stomach twist with disgusted, panicked swirls. She can't do it. It's some relief to her that the others are much the same. It's not just her.
She honestly doesn't even know how it happened, but one moment she's panicking and her mother's shuffling her out of the throne room, the next she, Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, and Loki are in Thor's quarters, sitting down in the balcony adjoining the space. She thinks she has vague memories of Thor insisting they stay here until the deed is done, but she's not sure if that's real or not.
Her lips are pressed hard enough together they hurt. She can't stop digging her nails into her hands. It's over. The last ten months of their lives are about to be washed away with the Weeping Siren's blood. The mission that seemed so simple before is completed.
They're safe.
It's fine.
She doesn't think she'll believe it until someone tells her the creature's head has been removed.
"Do you want to know what my favorite part of Asgard is?" Fandral asks, breaking the more than two hour silence between them. Sif lifts her head from the weapon she was attempting to sharpen—the wet stone keeps slipping out of her hands and her fingers are a mess of cuts and dried blood—to stare at the blond.
He's leaning against the palace wall, hands behind his head, and legs outstretched as he calmly looks up towards the setting sun. Beside him is Volstagg, who tilts his head to stare at the blond with one red eyebrow lifted. Hogun, on her left, barely acknowledges that Fandral spoke, far too concentrated on finishing the braided bracelet he's making for his mother.
Loki, seated on the stone railing of the balcony with a book stuffed next to his face, lowers the paper to give Fandral a moment of his attention.
Fandral lifts up a foot and gestures towards his ankles. "Socks. Shoes. Both of them are marvelous."
A slight laugh of surprise escapes her and she stares down at her own feet. She doesn't know if she could take off the boots even if the situation was dire. She didn't realize how much she missed shoes until her mother presented her with some this morning when they were to leave for the palace.
Sif sees several nods of serious agreement pass around their small group. A small smile tugs on the corners of her lips.
"I don't miss cutting my toes up on everything," Volstagg admits, "it was incredibly uncomfortable."
"And hitting them against everything." Loki grumbles in agreement, turning a page in his book. "I don't miss that."
Sif releases a breath and nods several times, "Oh, Norns, yes. I will never doubt my foot's ability to bruise after this." Dozens of times, at least twice a week. It seems like such a trivial thing against everything else that happened, but it was an annoyance.
"I think my toes will never set right," Hogun grumbles, chancing a glance towards his feet. "Even with Madame Eir's assistance."
"Mm. I'll invest in peg legs for you for your next name day, then," Loki assures.
Hogun rolls his eyes, "I'm to lose my whole leg then?"
"Of course." Loki agrees smoothly, a slight smirk on the edge of his lips. "That's the common medical procedure for broken toes."
Sif shakes her head, tipping her head back and forth fondly, looking towards the weapon in her hands.
"How am I going to wear socks?" Fandral mourns, throwing up his hands, "On my hands!?"
Oh, the horror. Sif scrapes the wetstone across the dagger, huffing and trying to hide a smile.
"Those are gloves." Volstagg points out helpfully.
Fandral groans, lightly whacking Volstagg's arm. "Thanks. Now I'll never get to wear my socks."
Silence settles between them. It's not uncomfortable. Not the way it would have been so many months ago, before this all happened. Before the Weeping Siren claimed them. She's more than sure that they would have already been in a fight with Loki if it had been then. Not now.
The silence stays for almost a full minute before Loki closes the book he was attempting to read and turns so he's facing them better. "Bruised toes aside, do you regret it? Going to Vanaheim?"
The movement in her hands stops as she contemplates. She thinks about the cellar, about the terror that followed them like a shadow, all those bruises and tears, the desperate escape, her parents worried tones and the trial. Focusing on that makes the whole experience a nightmare, but Sif...doesn't. Instead, she looks around the group and she's nothing but relieved. Grateful, almost.
She shakes her head, and looks up so she can hold Loki's eyes. "I don't."
Loki's expression furrows. "Why?"
Sif smiles softly, tilting her head at his ignorance. For all his intelligence, he's hopelessly clueless sometimes. She keeps her words even, so he has no reason to doubt her sincerity. "Because if we hadn't been there, we wouldn't know you, Loki. That makes this whole disaster worth it to me."
Author's Note: End. :) Thanks so much for your support throughout this story guys! Horror/mystery was pretty fun. I'll probably give it another try sometime soon, but we'll see. Anyway. Really though, I have deeply appreciated all your support, it's definitely given me the boosts I need to keep going and posting frequently. Love you all, my stars! Hugs! ;)
Bonus chapter: Frigga's POV, requested by Natt, arriving-yeah, no idea. Sometime soon. Stay tuned. ;D
