Author's Note: Digging through old work and found this. Behold, those who know it, the beginning of the Weeping Siren. This is where the whole thing started was as this one-shot. ;) I will admit this isn't my favorite work, but it's a fun little snippet.

Warnings: Bullying, blood, under-age drinking, mentioned alcoholism, and a character falsely suspects another of self-harming. Please take care of yourselves. :) (No smut, no slash, no non-con, no incest.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Pairings: None.

Summary: "Hrifi was oft flanked by at least three others, and she caught them thrice following after the youngest prince with lifted noses and snooty comments. Sif barely processed it. Hardly considered it important. And then the bruises started." (No slash, no smut).

For your information, this story is cross-posted on Archive Of Our Own under the pen name of "Galaxy Threads".

Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)

We're Not Friends, Nor Are We Enemies

Ask anyone and they'll tell you, Sif does not bare a great love for the second prince of Asgard. Perhaps any love.

Their relationship can be boiled into two simple facts: one: She hates him, two: she tolerates him for Thor. That's it. There is no interweaving complexity between them, some hidden harbored romantic love between them-no. She has lived off of these two reasons for decades now, and sees no need to change in the future.

It has prevented her from strangling Loki and kept her relationship with Thor at ease. Thor, who she knows would weep if he could even grasp a small idea of how deeply she and the others truly hated his brother.

And why shouldn't they?

Loki is hotty, arrogant, and nasty, with a tongue that can cut like a knife. He watches all of them like they are lesser than him and their minds are smaller than his own. He's constantly berating them, ready for a fight, and, most frustrating of all, he is given high status that Sif can never achieve personally, simply because he was born a member of Asgard's nobility.

He is entitled to his position, but she has had to work tooth and nail for her own, pounding muscles until they stretch and she's so exhausted she could cry. But Loki merely has to breathe and he's granted everything she wants.

And he doesn't even realize what a spoiled brat he is.

She hates it.

Like she hates him.

Maybe their relationship would be a little better if they weren't always trying to take each other's heads off, but Sif can't tolerate Loki on her best days and Loki doesn't exactly go out of his way to not provoke her. If she were a bucket of fire, he'd be the fool who's constantly kicking at it and seeing how much he can be burned before the situation is dire. She burns him and he laughs at it.

When she takes such accusations to his brother, Thor merely laughs and claims that she's jesting, for Loki is always trying to make others laugh. The depth that he knows his brother is purely shallow. She and Loki could be in the process of beheading each other and he might give them a second glance, but that is it. He is ignorant to the strain that Loki causes on their quests and friendship.

The stain that Loki causes on their realm.

Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun, though they'd never say such aloud of a prince of Asgard, feel the same way as her, and she supposes that's a relief: She is not the only one who sees the treacherous snake for what he really is.

As they've gotten older, they're better at hiding the rivalry (and lately Loki has not seemed to care, nose stuffed into a book and avoiding the lot of them like they're carrying a plague), but she has grown to hold back the worst of her bite and Loki has mostly stopped dousing her and others in venom. They're civil, and can usually work well enough together without one or the other seriously plotting murder.

But that's it.

They aren't friends.

Or even acquaintances.

Them "getting along" is purely for Thor or some others sake, not their own. They hate each other, it's mutual, accepted wordlessly on both ends. So she doesn't understand, in the least, why she's concerned. Perhaps that's too strong of a word, "uneasy" is better. Less robust and related to liking someone. She's uneasy, and she hasn't the faintest on why.

To be honest (and she rarely isn't), Sif would have to pinpoint the entire mess beginning when Loki and Thor arrived back in Serenity, Asgard's capital, from a hunting trip. At Thor's age and rank it is common for each member of the class to take another, lower ranking one on some sort of hunt or quest to practice leading large groups. Thor, who has been guiding herself, the Warriors Three, and-unfortunately-his brother, in such trips had no problem with the idea.

The problem arose when it was revealed that the class he would be leading was Loki's.

It really was just a training exercise. Thor led them out nearly a week ago for a four day hunt and when they returned, they were victorious with many beasts. Thor passed his test, but Loki has been in an even more foul mood than usual. She suspects it's partially because he was the only one to return injured.

The other boys in his group wouldn't stop teasing him about it, and Sif had watched with slight resentment when she went to greet Thor at the gates of Gullpalasset, the crown castle. Loki's arm had been broken by some sort or another, she's not certain, but he'd slipped off to Lady Eir and the feeling had passed. She's not attached to Loki, and she wasn't about to defend him either. He's the younger than her by several years and she supposes she was just sympathetic because of that.

Nothing more, nothing less.

She doesn't like him.

Because of the others' successes and Loki's subsequent failure, one youth in particular, Hrifli Drakson has been boasting about his ability to best a prince of Asgard at combat for days now, and the others in the army have been pushing at him to prove it. All they have is stories of when Thor sent Loki and Hrfili to scout ahead and there was a great beastly bear that attacked them. Loki's arm was broken in the attack and Hrfili defended him from death.

Loki has not disproved-or confirmed-it. He's been silent as the dead of late.

The boast has gained a great deal of attention, and many others want proof that Hrifli can actually do as he said: beat Loki in battle, because Hrifli has been claiming that because he beat a great beast while Loki lay injured, surely he can beat Loki. Or some version of that tale. Gossip travels quickly through the army's ranks, Sif has learned over the last few years, but what exactly took place in the hunting trip has so many distorted tales, she's uncertain which even to believe. Nothing uncommon with the battle arena's gossip.

Still though. Uneasy. She's not concerned.

She doesn't like him enough to be concerned.

"Come now, my prince," Hrifli says, shifting in his position to better grip his sword. His dark brown eyebrows are lifted and he keeps rocking on his feet, something Sif personally finds annoying. He says Loki's title in a sneer, as if Loki is not worthy of it. "Don't you want to prove the rumors incorrect? I hear you have a thing for disproving gossip."

It's...from what Sif's seen personally, that's a partial truth. Loki is drawn to mysteries and things he doesn't understand, so when the occasional outlandish rumor will spread throughout Gullpalasset, Loki will put some effort into proving or disproving it. He's cast aside more than thirty of these myths, one of which had to do with Thor gaining a record for the most ale ever consumed in twenty seconds. (He was off by two-thirds of a pint).

Loki, at last, looks up from the book he's reading to hold Hrifli's stare for a long moment. The displeasure and annoyance is prominent, and Sif barely resists the urge to roll her eyes at the childishness. Anyone within Loki's circle knows that to interrupt him while he's reading is to court death. "I believe I've already given you my answer." Loki replies calmly, flipping the page.

"One round." Hrifli presses.

The training grounds are mostly empty now, and Sif herself would be returning home if not for the fact that Hogun and Fandral were working on a technique and asked her to stay behind and spot them. So far, neither have given her much mind, however, and she's beginning to suspect that they're simply trying to prove a point to her. Noting that she was mostly useless, but not about to admit defeat, she'd began to sharpen one of her daggers.

Loki is down here because Thor wanted to spar with him, and after Thor nearly re-broke Loki's still tender shoulder, Loki had admitted defeat and slumped at the end of the bench she's present on (though there are plenty of others empty). He's been reading since, and Hrifli has been attempting to goad him into fighting for nearly two minutes now.

"No," Loki answers flatly, turning his gaze down to the book. His eyes are shadowed and Sif notes that his cheek bones are jutting out more than usual.

Hrifli snorts and shakes his head, "Well, I cannot say I expected much else. We may be in the same class, but I'm leagues ahead of you." He says firmly.

Loki doesn't respond, opting to ignore Hrifli instead. Sif returns to sharpening her dagger, quietly hoping that Hrifli will give up so she can finish this. Loki won't fight with him, it's nigh impossible to goad him into battle.

"Come now," Hrifli pushes, "surely a prince of Asgard would not turn down my offer."

Loki shakes his head slightly, eyes rolling up towards the sky with his irritation before he rises to his feet, book balanced in both his hands. "Hrifli, I'm not going to fight you, give it up."

Hrifli's eyes narrow thinly, "You have to."

Loki snorts, "Just because my brother put you in charge of a small group doesn't mean that you're suddenly High Commander."

"I will be someday." Hrifli combats, fist clenching around the hilt of his sword.

"Yes, certainly." Loki agrees with a dry edge. "I'll be certain to get a good seat to watch Asgard fall apart from afar-" Hrifli makes a noise of protest, but Loki lifts up a hand before Hrifli can continue any further, "-that's what will happen, not the glory and riches your heart is set on. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some very important business to attend to." He closes the book and moves to walk away, but Hrifli grabs his shoulder.

The shoulder, Sif notes at Loki's barely repressed flinch, that was only healed several days past. Whether or not it was intentional, she is not certain, but it fuels something in her all the same.

"You are afraid I'll beat you." Hrifli states firmly. "No...you know I will. That's why your brother chose me, you know, he knew that you aren't nearly the warrior you claim to be. Loki Odinson, you are a coward."

Loki's expression is turned away from Hrifi, but it isn't from Sif. She sees the flicker of open hurt flash across his face, but it's gone just as quickly, and she must have imagined it. Anger flickers across his features, before Loki tears away from Hrifi's grasp and jabs him in the chest. "I am not a coward, you nerk. I would remind you that you asked for this."

Sif's hands fall a little with surprise. Hrifi...Hirfi got Loki to fight him? Ragnarok surely must be around the corner.

Hrifi smirks, then draws his sword. "Good. Now we have a fight."

Loki shakes his head slightly and lifts his hands towards his chest in a "x" position, tugging them down and drawing his daggers. Hrifi gives a confident smirk, "No magic, prince, it's cheating."

Loki's jaw is tense, "I wouldn't dream of it."

The two circle each other for a moment, and then Loki leaps at Hrifi. His weapons are a blur against Hrifi's sword, the offensive position giving him more ground to beat Hrifi back with. Sif realizes with no small surprise that Loki is...well...good.

Hrifi still gets hits in, especially when he nails Loki in the nose, but Loki appears to merely be toying with him when he flips the grip on his daggers to knife pick and simply tears Hrifi apart. Sif has rarely seen him fight this close in combat, he usually works from the background, throwing knives or shooting arrows at their enemies. Sif had always thought him a long-distance fighter, but Hrifi is on his back, his sword in Loki's hand and pressed against the young man's throat in a little less than two minutes.

"Yield." Loki commands, his voice is grim as he wipes blood from his upper lip.

The tip of the blade is pressing against Hrifi's neck, and Sif can see the radiating fury rolling off of the Aesir. Hrifi stares at Loki for a long second, and then grits his jaw, "I yield."

Loki nods and pulls the weapon back, wiping at the gash on his nose again, and then offers a hand to Hrifi. Hrifi doesn't take it, scrubbing at a cut along his cheek and shooting Loki a scowl. Loki offers him back his sword and Hrifi snatches it from his grip, his face turning a light red with embarrassment.

Loki turns and walks back towards the bench, collects his book on Bifrost physics, and then exits the training grounds, unaware that every eye in it is on his back. Or if he is, Sif has never seen him act with more skill that he doesn't.

000o000

Word spreads quickly of Hrifi's defeat against Loki. By the next evening, Sif has heard a dozen re-inventions of the tale, most involving Loki cheating of some sort or another. She suspects that that is the work of Hrifi, but she, and the few souls that were there, know the truth. They know different. Loki didn't use a drop of magic save to summon his weapons.

The battle was fair.

One fact remains true no matter the tale: Hrifi lost to the prince of Asgard.

Thor's excitement is obvious and his pride even more so, but Sif can't bring herself to be anything more than a little annoyed. What it is that she's so irritated about, she can't place, only that she is and she wishes it would stop. She should be happy for Loki, isn't she the one that's always pestering him into being a real man?

But the thing is-Sif has beaten men, too, and she has never received this much admiration.

That's probably why she's so angry, and it's stupid. Actually, no, this is Loki, she can be mad that he's getting the attention that she deserves. Yes, the battle was, in truth, something awe-worthy, but Loki is not the only one to have won something on the battlefield.

Hrifi Sif barely spares a second thought for.

He lost, what more is there to it?

000o000

If she'd been paying more attention, Sif expects that she would have noticed it earlier. It's never been in her nature to parse anything but a battlefield or her studies, and people fall under the lackadaisical attitude of analyzing. She's aware of the feelings of her friends near constantly, but Loki was not something she's oft given attention to.

It was really the little things at first.

Loki began to avoid the training ring like it carried Frozen Bite, a deadly disease of the Frost Giants, he grew more quiet and withdrawn, and he hardly picked at his food. If Thor were to ask him on a quest, Loki would frequently say no if there was a guard to follow them. (Until Thor has officially reached adulthood, his mother often requires it of their party).

At first, she'd be a liar to admit she didn't think that he was childishly sulking that the attention was moving away from him, but the worst of this regression seemed to happen right smack in the middle of the heated debates of Hrifi.

The second thing she noticed was that she saw Hrifi a great deal more often than she did in the past. He was oft flanked by at least three others, and she caught them thrice following after the youngest prince with lifted noses and snooty comments.

She'd barely processed it. Hardly considered it important.

And then the bruises started.

"What's this?" Sif demands sharply, grabbing at Loki's hand as she spots the deep discoloration of his forearm. Loki attempts to tug their hands apart, because they're technically at a formal dinner party and Sif gripping his hand is going to start rumors. She hates it when the palace maids get lovesick, but for the sake of Loki, she's going to tolerate it.

Loki hasn't worn short sleeves for centuries (tonight is no different), but the long sleeve is loose and slid up his forearm as he rested it on the table. Sif had been leaning over to tell Thor something when she'd spotted Loki's green-yellow skin beneath his clothing. She knows how to spot a bruise when she sees one.

Loki manages to tear their hands apart, but not before Sif gives it a long stare. It was in the shape of a hand print, she could make out the long separation of fingers. For some reason she doesn't understand, this infuriates her.

Someone grabbed Loki hard enough that it bruised his arm like that.

Who would dare-!?

Why does she care? This is Loki.

He's a part of the Crown, and she is loyal to Asgard. That's why this matters. An attack against Loki is an attack against Asgard. That's it. Nothing more.

"It's nothing," Loki hisses between his teeth, and hides his hand on his lap for the rest of dinner. Sif doesn't get a chance to ask, and when she brings it up to Thor, he says that he never saw it, and it was likely Loki just pulling a prank to gain a moment of her attention.

But Sif knows that she saw a real, flesh bruise, so she doesn't simply drop it.

She doesn't go after Loki with a broom and demand to know what on the severed hand of Tyr is happening, but she does keep a closer eye on him after that, trying to determine the origin of the bruise. Loki spends a large chunk of his time in the library, the rest in the stables or atop his mount, and a thin fraction with his family. He rarely says a word to his parents, and manipulates his brother into talking the whole time when they're together with practiced ease.

He pretends as though everything is normal, but Sif knows that something is terribly wrong.

He's lost weight, again, and she can tell he's not sleeping.

The bruises keep showing up, though, and she can't figure out from where. She's not one to accept defeat, though, so she enlists assistance. "They're getting more frequent," she explains to Fandral three weeks from the formal dinner, "and bigger. I want to know who is hurting him."

Fandral's lips are pressed together tightly, and Sif can tell that he's thinking of something he doesn't want to share. Sif stops her restless pacing, and turns to look at him, hands on her hips. "What?"

"What what?" The blond demands.

Sif lifts an eyebrow.

Fandral sighs and runs a hand through his clean hair, he chews on his lower lip before asking, slowly: "Have you considered the possibility that these might be self inflicted?" Sif nearly rears back. Self inflicted? Loki may be violent, odd, and unnatural, but he's not...he's not like that. (She refuses to accept that possibility).

"It's not," she says flatly, "the hand print I saw was to large to be Loki's. And besides, it was a right hand on his right forearm. How do you suppose he accomplished that?"

Fandral shifts a little, "I suppose you make a fair point."

"Of course I do," Sif agrees, "there's something else going on, and Thor is no help. I need your assistance, and the others', if I'm to figure out where he's getting these bruises."

Fandral sighs. "Very well."

Progress doesn't immediately increase with her shield-brother's assistance, and this makes her want to strangle something. Captain Ullr recognizes her aggression after she's laid the fifth man on the training grounds with a broken body part, and pulls her to the side.

"Go home for the day, my lady," he instructs, voice level, "you've done enough damage here."

Sif sniffs and storms off, furious, but not arrogant enough to not recognize the truth in the captain's words. She's on her way home, walking towards the stables to get her stallion when she hears the sound of something crashing inside. Her senses jump on high alert, and her hand grasps at the hilt of her dagger.

It could be a servant or an animal, but this is not a Fool's Tale where they arrive unprepared and are slayed. Sif will fight to her death, thanks, and she's not going to accept Valhalla in a measly barn.

She can hear the distinct murmur of voices, but what they're saying isn't clear.

Sif advances with caution, blade at the ready and feet silent. She slips through the doors and takes her first steps into the stable. The dim overhead lights aren't offering enough to see much from, and they're also sputtering in a way she hasn't seen before. Not unless a greater source of power is messing with it.

"-told you not to tell anyone, you lying brat." Sif's posture comes to a surprised lurch as she recognizes the voice to be Hrifi's. It's darker, though, heavier, and Sif can smell alcohol now that she's focusing.

What is he doing in here?

Where are the servants?

The sound of a boot meeting flesh ripples through the air, and the lights flash again, causing Sif to draw back a little, wary. "P-p-please…" Sif nearly drops her weapon with shock. Loki? Loki is here, too? What is going on? His voice is wet and quiet, unlike the confident baritone it usually is. The one that she knows.

Sif advances further, trying to determine where the two are in the building.

"My father disowned me for what you did," Hrifi hisses, "you shamed my name with your actions. You deserve this, and I know you know that, my prince."

"I didn't…" Loki starts again, but there's another thunk and Sif hears the youngest prince cry out. Something in her chest snaps and her feet propel her forward before she has time to stop it. She spots the dark hair of Hrifi in a stall, and rushes towards him, lifting her double edged sword towards his back.

"You scum," she hisses, "how dare you betray the name of Asgard!?"

Hrifi laughs, and turns to face her, giving her a clear view of Loki. Thor's younger brother is curled in a fetal position on his side against the far end of the stall, blood leaking lazily from his nose as he stares at her with wide eyes of disbelief. Some of his fingers are disfigured, and Sif's stomach clenches as she realizes how terrible this has been for at least two months (the date of Hrifi's public defeat) and how she noticed so little.

If it had been Thor, she would have stopped this in a day.

Hrifi is holding a canister of alcohol, and her nose twitches with displeasure. None in Loki's age group are old enough to consume the substance legally, and most have sworn not to until they return from their first quest with victory.

Hrifi has not done either, which means he fond access to it without the government's consent, and, judging by how frequently he's sipping at it, he's been doing it for some time. Likely since the event that lost his family their honour.

Intoxication is no excuse for treating Loki this way.

If she wasn't sworn to honour, she'd kill Hrifi on the spot. Even with her oaths, she's still quite tempted.

"Good...lady...Sif," Hrifi slurs and giggles a little, "you come to...help me?"

Sif's lip curls with disgust, "I would never sink so low as to where you've crawled to."

Hrifi sighs, "Pity. I'm...stop...you from stopping me...and what? Loki made me do this," he takes a swig of the bottle, then cries out in a singsong voice: "He made me do all fo this!"

Loki curls into himself, and Sif glances at him, and then Hrifi again. Loki...Loki believes that. Her gaze flicks between the two again and again until the bubbling rage grows to much for her to bear and she slams a fist against Hrifi's face, grips his shoulders before he can stumble back, and drags him off his feet to ram him against the post of the stables.

The bottle slips from his grip and his head smacks against the post.

Sif kicks the bottle. "You disgust me," she promises, "rot in Helheim. It's the only place you've earned yourself now, you coward."

Hrifi's expression darkens, and he fights weakly. Sif shoves him harder. Hrifi is easily a head taller than her when they're on their feet, but she has no problem keeping him where he is. "Get out of my sight before I dishonour my vows and slay you where you stand." She promises, and drops him, "Now get."

Hrifi scrambles to his feet, lingers until she jerks to grab her sword, and then hobbles off.

She's breathing heavy in her fury, and forces it to settle before she turns back to Loki. He's managed to shove himself into a sitting position and is watching her with far too wide green eyes. Sif's stomach heaves with the desire to hit something again, but she stays it. She crosses the distance between herself and the younger Asgardian, resting a hand on his shoulder. Loki flinches at the touch, tilting his head towards her.

There is little need to ask if it hurts, Sif can see that it does.

"Let me see," her voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and she's fairly certain this is the only reason that Loki's hands slowly lower from his chest and face. His nose is swelling, and the cut across his cheek is bleeding. Sif's lips thin with anger.

She should have just killed Hrifi. There's still time.

She reaches out a hand to swipe loose hair from Loki's face to get a better look at his cheek, but the younger Aesir flinches away from her touch, his back slamming against the wall. A little noise escapes him, and Sif's stomach heats.

How dare Hrifi?

How dare he do this! He had no right!

"Loki," Sif keeps her voice level with effort, "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear," she promises.

Loki's gaze flicks down, as if humiliated and he releases a little sound, "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Sif counters, and slowly reaches her hand out again. This time, Loki doesn't pull back from her, but he still tenses as she smooths hair away from his face to see the cut. Norns...when did he get so uncomfortable around her? There was a time when they were still children instead of youth, that she would braid his hair. He was never this tense around her, then.

What happened?

What do you think, fool? You aren't friends. You aren't enemies. You're an awful mix of the two.

With one hand, she pulls out a wad of gaze from her belt-years of fighting on the training grounds has taught her better than to arrive there without it-and rips at it sharply. With the torn piece, she wipes at the cut, and then presses it against his cheek. "Can you hold that there?" she questions. Loki nods weakly, and then raises his hand up to apply pressure as she draws her hand back.

"Where else hurts?" she asks. Perhaps a better one would be "what else is bleeding", because that's all she can care for here. She needs to get him to Madame Eir. The head healer would have better success in putting Loki back together than she ever will.

Loki's eyes, still wide as if she can't believe she's here, flick towards his other hand's fingers, and then he shakes his head a little. "No where. I'm fine."

"Loki." Sif's voice is without amusement. "I'm trying to help."

"I'm fine, Lady Sif, you can take your concern elsewhere," Loki grits out, and Sif's stomach clenches a little. "Lady Sif"? How long has he been addressing her by a title rather than-

Stop it.

They aren't friends.

This shouldn't matter.

Sif shakes her head, standing her ground, "No, I heard what he did, and I know that you-"

"I don't want your help!" Loki hisses, struggling up onto one elbow, "Get out of here!"

Sif nearly rears back, but manages to catch herself. The venom in his words she can see clearly behind. It's not anger. It's desperation. She has rarely seen Loki this vulnerable, and it makes her wary, but also rouses a strange protective desire within her. She should have killed Hrifi rather than let him walk away.

Look what he did.

Sif doesn't snap back at Loki like she might have an hour ago. "You need my help," Sif counters, "and I want to give it. Let me."

Loki's lips twitch on a smile, but it's lopsided and all wrong. His eyes are wet, and she can see that he's visibly trembling. "You hate me," Loki counters, voice softer, quieter, uncertain, "...you hate me."

Sif bites sharply at her inner gums until she feels blood pool. "Let me help," she counters, and reaches out a hand to gently grip at his shoulder. Loki draws away from her slightly, but he seems too exhausted to do much else.

Loki's eyes are gaining a hazy look, and he twitches a little, curling further around his stomach. "Okay," he agrees breathlessly, "please don't make it worse."

"Why would I-?" Sif cuts herself off, shaking her head, "I won't. You have my word. Now let's get you to Eir, alright?"

Loki offers a wordless nod, and Sif gently eases him into an upright position and helps him back to the main gates.

It's three days before she sees him again after that, and he refuses to meet her eyes as he mumbles "thank you" and scampers off with Thor trailing behind him like a lost, protective puppy.

Sif is happy to report that she was personally part of the guard that dragged Hrifi to his punishment, and even more jubilant when Fandral assured her that the Aesir doesn't really have anywhere to go when he reaches adulthood but prison or banishment, courtesy his of his father.

So no, Sif doesn't bare any love for the second prince of Asgard, but if anyone touches him, she'll break their sternum without regret. He's a brat, but he's her brat.