Chapter Text
"You see, you just don't observe."
-Sherlock Holmes
"Fandral, Fandral—give it back you nithing!" Loki's voice pierces through the otherwise quiet stable and Sif has to withhold a deep sigh of annoyance. She can't quite stop her eyes before they roll up to the wood ceiling, though. Must Loki always make such a show? It's simply teasing, as it has always been, but Loki's shrill voice makes it seem like Fandral has just kicked his favorite pet in the shins.
Fandral lets out a loud laugh and ducks past her, dirty blond hair flying in front of his eyes for a brief moment. Sif looks up from smoothing out the tangles in her mare's hair to see Loki stalking up towards them, thin face etched in a scowl. Dressed in his dark colors, he looks every inch a murderous viper. Sif is struck, once again, with disbelief that Loki and Thor are related. Thor is ever a golden light, where Loki carries shadows with him like it is his life's duty.
"What do you have in here that's so private, then?" Fandral asks, and Sif's head tilts towards the warrior as Loki's eyes widen with what looks like brief panic. In one hand, Fandral has a satchel of some sort that's been flipped open and he's rifling through it. Sif feels brief annoyance flicker through her at the sight. Digging through someone's travel bags is still a violation of privacy, even if it is Loki.
She sighs, "Fandral—"
Loki makes a lunge for the satchel, but Fandral pulls it back, and laughs harder when Loki nearly tumbles to his knees, barely managing to catch himself in time. Sif reaches out and snatches the heavy satchel from Fandral, who looks up at her with a wounded expression. "Oh, don't start that," she says sharply, "you know better than this."
They're of age now. Such childish pranks should have been left behind them a long time ago. They haven't been, and she doubts they ever will be.
Fandral scoffs, "I know better?"
Loki scrambles up to his feet and tears the bag from her grip without a word of thanks, holding it close to his chest, and then turns a piercing glare to the warrior beside her. "For your information, there is nothing in here—"
"But your diary?" Fandral quips, "Your confession of love to Sif? Oh! A list of potential suitors? Ha! Who would want to court you," the warrior sneers, then, in a high-pitched voice mocks, "I know who's at the top of the list! It is I, High Princess Sigyn of Alfheim, because I have a deep, untold love for the Snake Prince of Asgard, despite the blood he got on my clothing—"
Sif smacks his arm, trying to bury a laugh, "Fandral."
The swordsman stops, but a smirk is etched onto his features and he shoots her a knowing glance. Everyone knows that whatever blossoming romance between Loki and Princess Sigyn that had started when Alfheim came for its last peace treaty nearly a decade ago was squished when Loki smashed his fist into the High Princess's face for still undetermined reasons. Princess Sigyn, unlike the legendary patience she's famed for, had retaliated by tackling Loki to the floor. It was a moment that Asgard's courts have not shut up about since the whole affair began, and Sif would be lying to admit she doesn't find the whole event nothing short of hilarious.
Loki is hopeless, even at romance.
She has to lift a hand to her face to block a snort of laughter from escaping her as Fandral makes a little high pitched giggle. "She was swooning at you, wasn't she?" Fandral asks, and Sif's chest compresses in her effort to withhold a laugh.
Loki looks close to smashing the bag over Fandral's head. His gloved fingers are tight around the satchel, but his expression reveals nothing of what he's thinking, as usual. "It's a map, you dolt, of Vanaheim's forests from my father. He let me borrow it."
Did he?
"A map?" Sif questions, brow lifted. The way he leapt after it wouldn't give that indication. A map seems hopelessly useless in comparison to anything else, even if it is one of the few scarce sources for Vanaheim's greenwood in existence. Sif would be lying to say she's not grudgingly impressed that Loki got one, but she's not going to admit that to him.
"Yes." Loki says impatiently, looking down into the satchel as if making sure something is still there. "I'm under strict instructions not to let any damage come to it."
Fandral gives a coy grin, "Because your father is well aware that you break everything you borrow? I'm amazed the Palace Archives haven't toss you out on your rump."
Loki's stare grows cold. "I do not break everything—"
"And tell me," Fandral interrupts, seeming bored, "how is it that a map is going to catch Vanaheim's beast for us? We'll put you in front so you can discuss over its facts and woo the creature into a trap? Bore it to death with your seemingly endless pits of knowledge, eh?"
Loki's face heats, and he snaps the cover of the satchel over the bag. "There are three maps of Blodig Skog in existence. Being able to get out once we've caught the beast is something you want, isn't it?"
"Surely it can't be that hard to leave a trail to follow," Sif remarks, settling a hand on her horse as the mare shifts uneasily. She's been hunting before, she knows that the woods can be daunting, but not nearly to the extent that Loki is insisting. He himself should know this, given that Thor—unfortunately—drags him along on almost everything they do.
Loki stares at her for a long second with what's clearly disbelief before he shakes his head a little, "Vanaheim's forests are cursed with heavy, overlaying magic. My father explained this before we left, weren't you paying attention? Heimdall's gaze cannot reach us in the Blodig Skog, and the forest is cursed. With your simple understanding of sedir, you wouldn't understand the significance of that. The only way to get out once you've gone in deep enough—"
"—is to use a map, yes, we know," Fandral waves a hand, "we're not complete idiots. I just think it pointless that you brought Asgard's only copy when Vanaheim has the other two. Prince Tjan has plans to use one from what I've heard."
Sif runs a hand through her mare's, Restless, mane, trying to quell the sudden rush of twisting anxiety and excitement as it pours through her. It's been several months since the last time she went hunting with Thor and the others, and a few years since something of this significance has popped up. Vanaheim's request wasn't expected, even though they had heard tales of the dubbed Weeping Siren, no one had anticipated the mercy mission Prince Tjan was sent on to request their aid in hunting and killing it.
Sif is excited, not just for the thrill of accomplishing something this difficult, but also to help where she can. The territory that the Weeping Siren seems to play with the most has been terrorized for nearly five years now, with recent attacks getting worse and more damaging. The last one left ten dead and Hogun's younger sister missing from Prince Tjan's report. She'll get to help these people, and vanquish another bit of corruption from the Nine.
Just as a Valkyrie would have done.
"Yes, well," Loki seems oddly hesitant. "I'd rather be prepared in case Prince Tjan goes running off and leaves us there."
Fandral smirks, tipping his head, "Don't trust your dear cousin, do we?"
Loki scowls at him, "Prince Tjan is—"
"You're scared of the woods." Sif realizes, interrupting him. At the slight tightening of Loki's fingers around the satchel, she can't withhold a huff of laughter. "Blodig Skog's enchantments are spread canards, Loki, surely you can't—"
"If that's so, then why has Prince Tjan lost over thirty men?" Loki's chin lifts. "The Vanir's elite, and yet Prince Tjan turned to Asgard for help because he fears them. I'm not afraid, I'm just not stupid."
"Oh, I'd be more worried about the Weeping Siren," Fandral says and raises his hands to wiggle his fingers. "Don't go running after anything crying in the dark tonight, eh?"
Sif snickers, nudging the warrior in the side, "Don't be stupid, Fandral, that's the woods trying to scare us off, isn't it Loki?"
Fandral laughs out loud. "Of course. My mistake. Fear the great Blodig Skog—the woods that will drive any creature mad."
Loki's jaw sets.
Irritation crosses through her, and she has to ground her feet to stop herself from moving forward. All mirth has fallen from her expression, and she shakes her head. "You're paranoid. Prince Tjan didn't drag us to Vanaheim to drop the Allfather's sons in the Blodig Skog as bait."
"I'm not so sure," Loki murmurs, "you saw how sick he looked. He's not thinking straight. Hunting this creature has not done pleasant things to his mind."
"You'd know, eh? Chasing after madness like it's a sport?" Fandral questions pointedly. Restless shifts uneasily at the words, and Sif strokes a hand through her horses hair to soothe her.
There's no change in the Snake Prince's expression save a slight tightening of his eyes, but his voice is ice: "Shut up."
He turns sharply on his heel and begins to stalk off towards where Moa, his mare, is waiting for him to finish removing her tack and snatches at her reigns. He looks intent on completing his task outside of the stables, and Sif barely resists the urge to roll her eyes at his childishness.
They're just joking. Doesn't he have a sense of humor that doesn't involve dumping a gallon of cold water over someone's head to wake them up in the morning? Or turn wine into snakes and laugh at the outcry from the table? Gah, he drives her mad. Privately, she'd been hoping that Queen Frigga wouldn't let her youngest go on this hunt given the whispered dangers around it. Loki is barely of age now, getting him killed or captured by the whispered creature of Vanaheim's forests is something Sif thought a mother would actively try to avoid.
Unfortunately, the queen is on an errand to Muspelheim to talk with the thinning population there about resources, and she won't be back to Asgard for several days. They left this morning, which is long before she could interfere, or insist she come herself.
"This is why we let Thor do the planning!" Fandral calls at Loki's back, "He doesn't include maps as an integral part!"
Moa huffs, and she gives Fandral something that looks close to a stink eye before disappearing from view behind her master. They've no sooner vanished than Sif releases a few open laughs, turning to look at the swordsmen, shaking her head. "Must you antagonize him like that?"
Fandral pokes her upper arm, "You're one to talk, you laughing cheat!"
Sif attempts to swallow her mirth, "Now is not the time to get him riled up. You know he's so much worse to deal with when he's upset."
"Is he ever not, then?" Fandral questions pointedly. Sif barely bites back a breath of frustration in agreement. She doesn't know how far Loki went to finish taking the tack off of Moa—she thinks as far as would be acceptable, but she never can tell with the eavesdropping skank—and she doesn't want to further rile him. He's always so irritable and nit-picky these days, and she's rather be on Thor's good graces when they start hunting this thing.
It's rare that their teasing will antagonize Loki enough that he'll whine to Thor like a weepy child, but it has happened before, and Thor will often give them the cold shoulder for a few hours, then ask what happened. He doesn't remain on Loki's side after hearing that their intent to reach out to his sibling failed, yet again, and will encourage them to keep trying.
For what point she doesn't know. She's rather be acquaintances with a dragr than Thor's younger brother.
He is, by all intents and purposes, a spoiled, bratty, royal pain in the rump.
She has never liked him, and that isn't going to change because Thor pats her on the shoulder with encouragement. Nor is it going to change as Loki continuously keeps looking down on them like they're lesser than the dirt his feet dread on.
"No," Sif says to Fandral's statement, and shakes her head again. "But there's no need to make it worse."
"I don't even try," Fandral promises, "he is just incapable of anything normal, isn't he?"
Sif wants to disagree simply because that's awful to say, but she can't. Besides, it would be mean to someone else, not Loki. Loki is abnormal, and if everyone on Asgard doesn't know that by now, nothing else will teach them.
"Augh," she breathes out, and kicks his left boot with the side of her right.
"Oi!"
"Are you going to dither here whining to me, or finish unpacking so we can meet Thor and the others at the inn? I'm exhausted and would like to go, so hurry up!" She demands, placing her hands on her hips. Fandral makes a face at her before moving away to his horse's stall and slipping inside.
"I'm already prepared, love," he counters, "I've been ready since before Thor left with the prince."
Sif raises a brow.
Fandral sighs and rolls his eyes, "Alright, so I've been ready for about twenty minutes. I didn't see you hurrying about to finish."
"Prince Tjan wanted to meet in the inn at sundown." She counters, "I didn't exactly need to rush. Even if we leave now, we'll still have plenty of time to meet him and the rest of his hunting camarilla."
"Fearing a putsch, are we?" Fandral questions halfheartedly as he begins to braid a few loose strands from his stallion, Atmis.
Sif rolls her eyes. "No. I wasn't implying that I thought that someone was going to overthrow the stupid government. I meant that I don't want to go hunting with Prince Tjan's guard. They're only going to get in the way of our success. We won't be nearly as fast or effective that way. Loki does make a point—they've lost nearly thirty men to those woods, surely the elite would know what they're doing. Why did Vanaheim even reach out to us if they're going to stick a leash on us?"
Fandral shrugs, swinging a bag over his shoulder.
"Because my native realm isn't stupid or arrogant enough to assume that a creature who has led more than eighteen adolescents including my sister into the dark is not simply a man who can be arrested."
Sif whirls, facing the back entrance of the stable with surprise and feels a flush heat her face. "Hogun!" she cries on seeing him, and clenches her fists. Norns, she never would have admitted that to Fandral knowing that the Vanir warrior was behind her. Even though Hogun has been living on Asgard for centuries, he is still hopelessly patriotic to this realm.
Sometimes it bothers her.
There is nothing wrong with Asgard, and she doesn't understand why he seems hesitant to give his full support to her countrymen. Hogun is fiercely loyal to Thor, herself, Fandral, and Volstagg, but not...not really Asgard. He is never afraid to speak up in defense of Vanaheim, but hardly seems to care for the Golden Realm.
She knows that it isn't the case, but sometimes she can't help but wonder.
"I didn't mean—" Sif starts to sputter, but Hogun waves a hand to silence her, taking a step further into the stables. He doesn't seem unsettled or offended by her blatant slander.
"I know, Sif," Hogun promises, "but it would be well with you to keep such thoughts to yourself now that we are on Vanaheim."
As if she wasn't.
Sif snaps her jaw shut, clenching her fist around her mare's mane. Restless tilts her deep brown eyes towards her, and Sif gives a weak grimace in response to the horse's quiet question. It saddens her to know that on some realms, like Midgard, these creatures have lost the intelligence they once carried by being treated so long as dumb animals. She knows that Restless understands her, and that she is in tune with Sif in a way a foolish creature couldn't be.
Fandral tilts back against the post beside Atmis's stall. "This isn't our first visit to Vanaheim, dearest Hogun. You hardly need to fear that the peace instilled by our lovely Royal Head's marriage over a millennia ago is going to snap because we'll say something out of line."
Hogun frowns.
Sif sighs.
"It's just a hunting trip," Fandral assures, "nothing is going to go wrong."
"We do not usually track creatures spat back up from Helheim itself," Hogun's voice is still level, but it's dangerous. "Don't tread on this lightly."
"I'm not." Fandral shoots down quickly, "I just don't see a point wandering around like we're walking to our execution. We've dealt with sirens before. How bad can the Weeping Siren really be? It'll sing and cry at us at the same time? The horror."
Sif huffs, swinging her satchel over her shoulder and grabbing at her sleeping pack. She rests a hand on Restless's muzzle for a moment, turning to the two men before they can really get going in an argument. It won't be very vocal, given that bickering with Hogun mostly means fighting with his eyebrows, but it will be distracting. "Alright, calm down. We should go find Volstagg and Thor before the sun sets." She reminds.
"Yes. I was sent to collect you," Hogun says tonelessly, turning on his heel to exit. Fandral makes a slight face, but follows after the Vanir once he's grabbed the rest of his equipment. After settling Restless into her stall and a quick word of goodbye, Sif follows the two from the inn's stable. Unlike most inn's on Asgard, there aren't any horse keepers. Sif finds that a little strange, but given the poverty of the town, it's to be expected.
Sif squints up at the pink sky, noting that the setting sun has nearly vanished into it.
Vanaheim looks much the same as she remembers it. Whereas Asgard is known for its cliffs, bountiful water sources, and overall rocky climate, Vanaheim is hills. The sloping edges of the grasslands and forests is a deep contrast to Asgard, but not without its own beauty. Thick, clouds overcast most of the pinkish sky, suggesting that it will rain soon. Winter is a foreign concept here, the warm temperatures leave most of the realm wet with only rain.
They have to enter the lopsided, wooden inn before she sees any of her other companions. The inn has a tavern on the ground floor, something that the citizens are heartily engaging themselves in. It's loud inside, and it takes her a moment to adjust to the sound. It smells faintly like thick dirt clouds, alcohol, and strong mead. There's more than a dozen tables set up, and almost all are filled.
Towards the far left, tucked in a corner, she spots the back of Thor's blond hair. It sticks out like a sore thumb among the dark heads of the Vanir. Light hair colors are typically only found on Asgard and Alfheim, so Sif can't count how many times she's been asked if she misses Vanaheim because those who don't know her assume she's Vanir.
No, and she wouldn't have to deal with that confusion if Loki wasn't such a snob.
Sif, trailing behind Fandral and Hogun, reaches the large table without too much of a scuffle. Thor is seated on one side with Volstagg on his left. Loki is on his right, but Sif nearly misses him by how well he disappears into the shadows.
Prince Tjan is on the other half with, as expected, his ten member guard. His tanned, freckled skin is bruised in some places and she can see a thick bandage wrapped around his left forearm that's a lot dirtier than it was when he greeted them at the Bifrost site. The third Vanir prince is dressed in the standard light brown and deep red of the royal family here, but his black hair is tucked up into a messy ponytail. It's obvious that the strain of hunting the Weeping Siren has made him restless. Deep bruise-like bags hang under his eyes, and his face is flushed a little as if he's sick.
None in the rest of his group appear much healthier.
"—elusive, and it's moving now." Prince Tjan is explaining with his thick accent, "Before it would stick to the village near the outskirts of Blodig Skog, but the forest has apparently ceased to be good hunting ground. It's moving north, we know because it took a child last night."
Thor and Loki share a look, and Sif feels a sympathetic sigh slip from her lips. That's now the seventeenth since this whole thing started, isn't it? No one has found any bodies, nor any evidence as to where the children and adolescents are going because of Blodig Skog's enchantments. From what she understands, they are to hunt the Weeping Siren, and find evidence of the missing youth. If they're lucky, they'll be alive. Sif isn't too hopeful.
She wants to be, but she can't.
"Isn't there usually more time between the captures?" Loki questions, looking confused. "From what I'd heard, I thought it would wait weeks before claiming another. The last daughter that was captured...Askel? She was only six days ago."
"Aye." Prince Tjan agrees, and rubs at his forehead. "It has no pattern, but this is out of the ordinary. I don't want to imagine what it will do when it gets to a city. Hai-Han is only six miles north of here. The Weeping Siren must be stopped in Ju."
"I agr—" Thor stops, looking up for a second and his eyebrows lift with surprise. "Hogun! You have returned."
Hogun nods, tipping his head. "My apologies. I did not want to interrupt."
Prince Tjan flicks his gaze towards them and as it settles, Sif feels unease slide down her spine. There's just...something so off about his eyes, and she doesn't know what it is. Maybe Loki's superstitions weren't far off. When Prince Tjan came to Asgard yesterday, she didn't see him in the proceedings. Loki had.
But still. A map. So pointless.
Prince Tjan nods once and then gestures for them to take the unoccupied chairs. "It is fine, Hogun. Please,"
Sif takes the seat, unfortunately, next to Loki with Fandral on her right. There's still two more empty chairs, but Sif doesn't know who they'd be for. King Odin only offered a hand in the aid of destroying the Weeping Siren because Hogun had plead when he'd learned of his sister's capture, and Thor refused to let him go alone. Thus had resulted in the rest of them tagging along.
If there's more coming, it isn't from her realm.
Prince Tjan waits until they're settled before saying, "As I was explaining to my cousins, the Weeping Siren took a child last eve. A son. We still don't know what it does with the children, but our priority is to find the missing eighteen. If we knew an age group or a pattern for the Siren's thirst, it would be easier to protect the villagers. Ju has not been its first victim, but it has been the most frequent. Thus far, six children have been taken from here. The other twelve were elsewhere."
"Six in a row would mean its been here for months, if not a year." Hogun points out. "My father was sent to deal with it before you, wasn't he?"
"Yes," Prince Tjan admits, "but it didn't go as planned. Governor Tusin was told not to bring his family, but did anyway. Insubordination. Through his stupidity he lost your sister." Hogun's eyebrow lifts dangerously, and Prince Tjan backtracks a little. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to defame, but I can't believe he would disobey a direct order like that. Not with his position, or his connection to my father."
A quick save, but apparently not fast enough because Sif can see the tenseness in Hogun's shoulders. He's not typically a man to react with violence, but in matters of family he would not be opposed. Fandral's hand subtly reaches out under the table to grab Hogun's arm before he can do something stupid.
Prince Tjan sighs deeply. "It has been here for months, yes."
"And still you have no luck with catching it?" Sif questions, turning her attention back to the Vanir, "How hard can it be to hunt? Surely a dumb creature—"
"This is NO 'dumb creature'!" Prince Tjan's voice raises as his fist slams against the table, a wild look coming to his face. Sif's hand strays towards the dagger on her person and from the corner of her eye, she sees the other members of her party shift to their weapons. They aren't stupid. Royalty Prince Tjan may be, the madness in his eyes is not something to be ignored.
Captain Yan, beside the prince, grabs at his arm. "Sire," he murmurs in warning. "Guard yourself."
Prince Tjan takes in a ragged breath, settling himself back down. "Please accept my apology, it has been a long few months. People are not taking this seriously enough save those who live in it. I myself was ensared by such arrogance."
They are taking this seriously. That's why they're asking these questions. Sif probably could have been more gentle in her inquiry, she'll admit that, but for a creature that has caused so much terror since its arrival half a decade ago, she would think they'd have better luck getting rid of it. Even lower ranking trainees in Asgard's army could have.
Sirens are rare, but they stick to water and aren't that hard to kill. A simple beheading could do it. Shouldn't Prince Tjan just be looking for bodies of water in the Blodig Skog?
"I assure you, cousin, that we will help you kill this beast." Thor promises, voice sincere, "But you must respect our disbelief that you still have no luck after five years."
"I wasn't hunting it until four months ago," Prince Tjan corrects, then shakes his head. "But none of that matters. We are not here to argue. We are here to discuss our plan of attack. The Siren's ideal hunting ground is the night, it prefers to be swathed in shadows as it sings its haunted song. I have a map of Blodig Skog that we will be forced to reference for aid."
The Vanir prince lifts up a wad of paper before setting it down on the table. "We will not hunt the beast tonight. My men and myself are exhausted, and we need rest."
"But my sister—" Hogun starts in protest.
Prince Tjan shakes his head. "It won't matter, Hogun. Once the creature as claimed someone, we don't hear from them again. No notes, no encoded messages. We will find your sister, but if we start tonight or on the morrow, it makes no difference."
She would daresay she disagrees, but Prince Tjan has more experience hunting this than she does.
Sif chews on the inside of her lip with sympathy. Her only sibling, Systra, moved to work in the palace when she was very young. She doesn't know the attachment to a sibling the way that Hogun does. Her sister has felt more like a stranger than anything else, even after Sif joined the Einherjar. They don't talk. She would be concerned if Systra was the Siren's victim, but Hogun seems to be doing his best not to openly panic.
Prince Tjan smooths the map down across the table, and Sif notes with some interest that it is clearly enchanted. The trails that have been forged are there, but it's not the whole forest. Its captured only what Prince Tjan wants to see, apparently. Personally, she'd find it more frustrating than anything else. She doesn't use maps frequently, but she imagines seeing the whole area would be more helpful.
Sedir. Gah. It tries to make their lives easier, but only fails.
Additionally, she can sense the faint spell on the map. Every child in the Nine is born with a sensitivity to sedir, but only few can wield it. Sif is not among them. Honestly, after learning all the dangers that come with becoming a craftsman or woman in the art, she doesn't understand why anyone would like the risk. She can sense spells or magic, every child is trained to, and the map is thick with it.
"My men have already searched here for the Siren's captives, but found no success," Prince Tjan gestures with a hand over a large area, and Sif blows out a stray piece of hair from her face. It's a sizable chunk, but not nearly enough to take pride in.
"The Weeping Siren's cries can frequently be heard from going east," Captain Yan adds calmly, and Sif's gaze flicks towards the bald man. "But, as you can see, we've found no evidence to support the claim."
Thor hums with agreement.
"Our plan is to march into this territory," Prince Tjan gestures a little past his first indicated area, "and search. We don't have much to go off except a few descriptions and our own experience. We hope to follow it back to whatever lair it has and retrieve the children first."
"Have you tried using a searching spell?" Loki questions, and Sif tries her best not to roll her eyes. Of course he would fall back on sedir. He can't hunt in the normal, perfectly effective way.
"Yes," Captain Yan assures, "but we've lost three sedirmasters to the Blodig Skog and killed two others. Sedir doesn't...the energy in the forest is tainted. It doesn't work as well in there."
Prince Tjan sighs deeply, heavily, "Prepare to leave first light. We'll get as far as we can into Blodig Skog before returning here. Once we've received word that someone heard the Siren, we'll leave Ju completely. Until then," Prince Tjan rises to his feet, and the other members of his guard follow suit. "My men and I are going to rest. Thank you again for coming to our aid," Prince Tjan adds and gives a low dip of his head in respect, grabbing his map.
Thor nods in agreement. "Of course. Asgard stands at your side."
Prince Tjan, Captain Yan, and the others leave the table; once they've slipped up the stairs towards the rooms, Sif feels a slight weight slide from her shoulders. Their presence was unsettling in a way she can't place. Maybe it was just their anxiety, but it felt like something deeper. They all looked sick and slightly dazed. As if they weren't all here.
Fandral blows out a breath, "Cheerful fellows, aren't they?"
Thor snorts. "Hardly. They are paranoid and ill."
Sif shifts, "How certain are we that this is a real threat, and not something they've imagined up?"
"The locals are all in on the game, then." Volstagg points out, and Sif flicks her gaze to the large redhead at the sound of his voice. It's the first time he's spoken in this entire conversation, and she'd be lying to say she didn't forget that he was here.
Hogun shakes his head. "My sister is missing, and other children. Where did they go if not claimed by this beast?"
"Anywhere but Vanaheim?" Fandral mutters under his breath, "Everyone is a bit peaky here, no offense, Hogun," he rests a hand on the Vanir soldier's shoulder, and Sif sees the dark haired man shoot him a scowl. "You're wonderful shield-brother. And friend." Fandral promises with a tight smile.
"Will he be as wonderful when he's punched you?" Sif questions conversationally. "We've done enough denigration to his realm, I think."
Loki leans back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the ceiling. "Prince Tjan lied. They haven't taken any sedirmasters into the woods." He mutters. And he can tell because? Well, the best liars make the best detectors, she supposes, but that still doesn't justify his mistrust in the prince. He's been nothing but paranoid since they arrived on Vanaheim this morning.
Thor looks up at him, "Come now, Brother. We have no reason to doubt his word."
Loki's eyebrow raises and he glances up at his sibling, looking a little miffed. "Yet you were just—"
"We don't doubt there's a creature in the woods," Volstagg interrupts, "we just don't know what it is. It could be a bear or dragon for all we know, but Prince Tjan treats it as dragr. Perhaps he has turned to sedir for assistance, you can't know."
The Snake Prince sighs deeply, eyes briefly closing before he rises to his feet. "If it's all the same to you then, I'd rather not spend the entire search exhausted tomorrow. Good night." He doesn't wait for a response before walking off towards the stairs leading to the rooms, and Sif sighs deeply.
He's in a mood. Lovely.
She bites back a remark, but only just.
Thor nods, running a hand through his hair. He rises to his feet after a moment, grabbing Mjolnir. "My brother makes a point. Get some rest, my friends. Tomorrow we hunt and kill this Weeping Siren for Asgard!"