WHO: Sif, Thor, Jane, Fandral, Volstagg, and a Dr Strange WHEN: BACKDATED to after this exchange. WHERE: Avengers Tower, Sif's quarters. WHAT: The Lady Sif is not herself, and all who can come to aid the fight. WARNINGS: Somewhat disturbing poisoning? Fantastical themes! Upholstery defiling. __
It was unfortunate the happy greeting usually shared between brethren had been buried deep by concern for one of their kinship. Was it fated that Volstagg arrive as the Lady Sif fell ill? Fandral did not know, and yet he was glad. While being in Jane Fosters company did give Fandral comfort, Volstagg added a commanders strength. Once collected, the three of them made way to the narrow building known as the Tower, where Sif - and now Fandral - dwelt. Jane was her pleasant, and steadfast self, giving Volstagg the same courtesy Fandral was privileged to only weeks before on his arrival. Yet it was easy to navigate back to the building, and their pace through the halls saw no delay.
“I know not the details,” Fandral subdued the comment shared just between the two at either of his sides, “yet certain we should be there. The Lady may need all of us.” A glance was shared with Volstagg, and another with Jane. Fandral’s concern was evident by the way he clenched at the leather strap across his chest, holding his sword inside a cardboard tube. He told Volstagg all he could while they traveled, and now the rest was left to speculation.
“It aggrieves me to my very soul to hear of Lady Sif’s condition.” Volstagg’s face was lined with deep concern. “By your description, what vexes her may be from within, and not an external enemy. Would I be able to dispatch of such an enemy, I would show no quarter, for none may do harm to the friends of Volstagg!” A subtle foe was more dangerous than one he could physically confront. “Think you that this is sorcery?”
He glanced down and noticed for the first time, “What is this new sheath?” He poked at the cardboard tube. “It is not your style.”
Sorcery. Fandral had not thought such until now, and to hear Volstagg provoke the idea brought a chill into his core. It did sound of something like, and he had been foolish to not see it. Fandral slowed, giving Jane a pace step ahead to guide them, to give a concealed reply to his friend. “If so, we must speak with Prince Thor at once. Midgardians are known not for sorcery. We should be seeking out this enemy.”
As they turned a corner, taking the last steps toward their intended, Fandral adjusted his tunic snug, and tightened the knotted binds under his arm. It made the tube fasten closer against his back for Volstagg to inspect. “Jane Foster gave instruction that if I must have my sword close at hand, t’would be better inside. Mortals fear sight of it, and in turn would bring misfortune upon her. She, my navigator of Midgard. I have been under her guidance from the start, as I waited for Prince Thor and the Lady Sif.”
“I didn’t know how we would explain if you were arrested,” Jane put in, with a glance over at Volstaggl’s axe. “We should probably get inside.” That was soon accomplished, Jane leading the pair like a couple of heavily-armed ducklings up to Sif’s quarters. Volstagg was worried and maybe it would bring Sif some comfort to have another friend nearby.
On the other side of the door, Sif's spartan quarters stood in shambles. And in the midst of it, using the underside of the sofa as a makeshift prison, Thor chained his friend to the thick wooden beams. (And he chained the sofa to a support beam, not intending that Sif could or would bring down the entire building but putting his trust in Stark's engineering strength seemed close enough a sure bet in the wake of this, what he considered to be nigh catastrophic.
His gaze never left his shackled friend: "My Lady, Doctor Strange will arrive by and by. There we will see to your wound."
Beneath the metal cuffs, her skin was nearly rubbed raw in earlier, enraged struggles to be rid of the bonds. She (it) had been quiet now in the failure of her last attempts to rend flesh from bone (the scratches and bruises had not quite healed upon Thor's neck), a shackled limp figure curled upon the floor who only tracked, in kind, every move Thor made with unblinking dark eyes, making no sign of recognition for his words or even his presence.
This presence - this creature inhabiting Sif’s body - made every golden hair upon the back of his neck stand on end. Where once pale irises gleamed with firelight, now there only inky pools. He wondered if, unchecked, every part of her would simply blot out and this illness would take her wholesale. I wonder … but he clamped down on this feeling of vulnerability. Sif needed his strength, and she would have it with zero percent interest.
“Fandral has come to Midgard,” he said lightly, convinced that distraction and discussion were key to keeping her still. Sif seemed nearly gone, but he meant to draw her out. To serve as touchstone to the warrior maiden he loved well. “ -- on mission from the All Father. He will be pleased to clap eyes upon you.”
The chamber door opened and once Volstagg caught sight of the disturbing scene, he staggered backward a couple paces with his mouth hung open. “What horror be this?! Before I have witnessed warriors engaged in battle with bloodlust in their eyes, but never like this! Hail, Prince Thor! How fare thee? And how fare the Lady Sif? ” Such was his horror, that he had to stay his hand from drawing his axe, sheathed across his back.
While Volstagg bounded into Sif’s encampment, Fandral had a mind for Jane. He had grown used to her company, and in turn thought on her safety as they breached the doorway pushing forward - roused from what was discovered . A hand was placed on Volstagg’s arm to answer the inquiry as he caught up.
“Be still my friend,” he said, although he sought out Thor’s glance with apprehension. “My Prince, pardon our intrusion. We could not stand idle. Nor could I keep Volstagg in the darkness when he arrived.” He did not give cause for Jane’s company, obvious her reasoning, but held himself like a shield near her while surveying the destruction of the scene, and that of Thor. All of which choked his resolve to be of help. Effort there was to not stare at what only appeared by form to be the Lady Sif, shackled like a beast. A nightmare that tore at his attention, unforgiving.
Thor could not say if it was dread or relief he felt so acutely when his friends arrived. Though he had requested solitude with Sif - though he had specifically told Jane to stay away - he could not force them away now. “Volstagg my friend, welcome to Midgard.” He paused. “And Fandral, I well understand this … the Lady Sif is not herself. Doctor Strange is coming to ascertain her condition, and if he cannot heal her immediately I shall call on Heimdall.”
He rose, shifting his shoulder to cut Sif’s line of vision from their presence.
“Do stay behind me, though.”
Jane pushed herself past Fandral’s protective stance at the sight of Thor, obviously injured by Sif. Any chance that she would leave in order to keep her word that she would keep her distance melted away. Thor wanted to protect her but she felt the same way and her worry that Thor cared so much about Sif that he would let her hurt him seemed well-founded. “You need help,” she said firmly. “What can we do?”
“You may step aside, please.”
From behind, Stephen did not wait for Jane to comply, but gently placed his hand upon her shoulder to guide her out of his way, for he was in a hurry to get past. He’d arrived as soon as he could, after checking his sources a second time. HIs expression was frazzled with deep concern over Sif’s condition, and upon seeing her chained like an animal made him pause in his step and take a sharp breath of air before continuing forward.
“Who are you?” Volstagg demanded to know, irritated by the apparent rudeness, glancing over to Thor for some sort of confirmation as Stephen knelt before Sif. The mortal’s attire, his tunic and high collared cloak, was more familiar to Volstagg than the usual clothes Midgardians wore, but once Stephen began his spellwork, his reflexes ached to grab his axe to protect Sif. “A sorcerer!” His experience with sorcery had been negative, and he looked to Thor again guidance how to react.
Kneeling directly in front of Sif, Stephen’s heart was wrenched. “Dear, Sif,” he muttered, though he knew in her condition, she could not hear him. “I blame himself for not anticipating something like this happening after your fight against Huitzilopochtli, but I shall set it right.” He stared directly into Sif’s eyes and held up a hand to gesture with a mystical symbol, invoking the power of the spell. Energy flared from his palm, and he told her, “You are strong, Sif. You fight this even now. Focus upon the sound of my voice and the light.”
Fandral assumed, and since his Lord mentioned such, the newest person in the room was the Doctor Strange. A name of slight remembrance, yet not one instant in such an hour. Volstagg announced his distaste, and Fandral had instinct to do the same, but instead he put forth effort to anchor his friend from more interruption. The man appeared to show concern, not contempt - and with no idea how to fight something from within, Fandral thought their might be hope with even accursed magicks. He kept a hand on Volstagg, even traded a worried glance, in hopes the sorcerer would find some success.
Jane wasn’t sure whether Dr. Strange was a name or a title but she looked at the back of him as he brushed her aside. She settled on title when he began to work and Jane’s eyes widened. She’d seen a small piece of the universe but nothing like this. What happened wasn’t Asgard science appearing as magic because it was so advanced or Loki’s illusions. This was something different. Jane stepped away from the cluster of worried Asgard warriors to get a closer look - and to be close enough to step in if something went wrong.
And though Thor called Strange to Sif’s side -- though he understood that this Midgardian magic was of a making that perhaps Asgard could not call to -- he bristled. The man put him off his guard enough that his interactions (irregular as they were) had become stilted. To some degree, he had grown accustomed to the sorcery of both his mother and his brother. But this --
“Strange,” came cold and hard. A prince’s command: “Fix her.”
As if sensing the presence of a powerful new threat, Sif went from lax in Strange’s arms to sudden action. Her shackled hands did not give her much reach, but certainly enough to whip the chain around Strange’s neck and squeeze with an intent to strangle even as she bared her teeth in his face. “You,” she hissed, “would remain untouched, Sorcerer, even as all around you suffer.”
It took self control to keep Stephen from rolling his eyes at Thor’s statement to fix her, as if he needed to be told that, given how that was the reason for him being here at all. He turned his head to respond, and in that unguarded moment, Sif lashed out and caught him by the throat with the chain. It happened so quickly, his mind barely had time to register what had happened. Reflexes had his hands instinctively struggled to pry the stranglehold away, but his ordinary human strength was no match for an Aesir’s. A gurgling noise escaped his mouth, he had no breath to cast a spell. Eyes opened wide with fear and face turned pale, for Sif was not only choking him, but was dangerously close to snapping his neck.
Thor’s hand came to bear on Stephen’s shoulder to create tension between his neck and Sif’s grip, before he sought to insinuate himself between them. His mere presence sought to break her grip and focus her ire elsewhere -- namely, him.
And swayed Sif’s focus was, turning to Thor with a feral growl, roughly releasing Strange as swiftly as she had grabbed him in favour of doing much the same to him.
“No!” Jane rushed forward, careful enough to stop out of striking distance but unable to only watch. “Sif, let him go.” Her voice was level but firm.
Stephen fell back and away from Sif, hanging his head and gasping to catch his breath. He lifted his eyes to witness the struggle between her and Thor, and knew he had to act quickly, before any more damage was done. Hopefully, it was not too late, and the effect of the poison was not irreversible.
“In the name of the Dread Dormammu! By the Hosts of the Hoary Hoggoth! I call upon the Mystic Realm! Let the power of the ageless Vishanti show itself - Dr. Strange commands! By the twelve moons of Munnopor expel this fell poison from its unwilling host - my will must be done!”
It was a powerful and dangerous incantation, for it summoned the might of all the Ancient Ones, which was not to be taken whimsically. Stephen touched Sif’s cheek with his left hand to guide her face to look directly at him while his other motioned another arcane symbol; the energy surrounding his hand crackled and came to life. An internal battle was taking place. Had Stephen been in his astral form, he might have witnessed it, but in his present state, he could only feel the intensity. The effects of the poison was being drawn out, but it resisted - it had been in her body for so long, it took claim of her and did not want to leave. There was a concern that Sif might not recover, that she was contaminated by the poison for far too long for it to be removed, but while casting the spell, there could be no insecurity or doubt. It was his will, along with Sif’s desire to be healed that would invoke the Vishanti to channel through Stephen and work the sorcery.
Jane’s voice drew Sif’s attention--a more appealing target than anyone else in the room. She reached for her, intent to rend, when she felt herself jerked back by an invisible force from within. A fierce burning fire blazed through her veins for it felt as if the very marrow of her bones were being forcefully drained. She parted her lips to scream and snarl, an animal desperate and hurt, against the source of the affliction: the sorcerer.
The poison, spread throughout her body, collected and pooled at her throat, turning it temporarily into a sickly blue color. It was working, and Stephen was encouraged, doubling his efforts with great concentration, though his body trembled with exertion. “You are almost there, Sif. Set yourself free!”
She staggered forward in an attempt to attack Strange once more, but as a ray of light could pierce the thickest cloud, a spear of thought -- true conscious thought -- filtered in. You are hurting your friends. It was this pause in intent, the blossoming seeds of doubt, which allowed her to shake off the strongest vestiges of the….it had been poison. She had been poisoned. This was not natural. She had attacked the sorcerer, attempted to kill Thor--her eyes widened in realisation as the impenetrable blackness began to drain from them and---
Sif’s mouth opened, and the poison escaped in the form of a noxious cloud. Before it could escape or try to affect anybody else, the energy from Stephen’s right hand came forth and encircled it, trapping the fumes inside a translucent globe of light.
"It is done! In the name of the venerated Ancient One, I dismiss the powers that be! They have served me well!"
Once the spell was completed, he leaned forward and directly addressed Sif, "My Lady, can you hear me?"
She had fallen to her knees, clawing at her throat when the poison was forced from her, and now felt only extremely hollowed out, as weak as a newborn -- and hot with shame.
Her eyes opened reluctantly opened to the darkening bruising around Strange’s throat.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, her voice cracked and hoarse, barely more audible than a whisper.
A wave of relief washed over Stephen and the tension held in his shoulders, eased. Instead of answering Sif, he quickly turned to those standing around, and demanded, “Bring her something to drink. Water.” Looking back at her, he told her with great attention, “You are going to be alright now.”
Stephen then became quite aware of the other Aesir - Thor especially, but also Sif’s friends - and he moved aside to let them come closer.
It was Jane who went to retrieve the water to give Thor and his friends room to see Sif and to give herself a moment to catch her breath after the way Sif had lunged her. She was gone a little longer than was needed only for water but when she returned Jane had a glass of water, a couple damp washcloths, and a few dry hand towels. Jane handed Sif the water and a washcloth and gave another to Thor. Both of them looked like they needed to clean up a bit and this was a small thing Jane could do to help.
With a grateful quirk of his lip Thor accepted Jane’s thanks - later, they could discuss how close she came to Sif’s unbidden grip - and turned his attention to his friend. Her bindings were easily rent by his bare hands and he crouched near her, using his own cloth to gently wipe the blood from her face.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
Sif accepted the glass, barely aware of having done so, for she could barely hold Thor’s gaze for long, was only peripherally aware of other witnesses to her shame (her closest friends), but it was Thor’s gentle open expression lack of recriminations that were too much to bear. “I failed my duty. I failed you.”
“The only duty you owe me, Sif, is a life well lived. And this --” he gestured over his shoulder to the poison globe held within Stephen’s hand -- “this is not so. Later, let us talk of how we might protect ourselves against such poisons. But for now, I am simply glad we have you still.”
Little else there was to be done as Jane and Thor cared for Sif. Fandral felt helpless to act beyond inspecting the scene, or witnessing Doctor Strange’s vocation. And since it was all he could do, he paid the strictest attention so to not be swept away with restless worry. When the sorcerer gave space for others, Fandral took step to be nearer to him - glaring at the globe of light in Doctor Strange’s hand.
“Poison?” He muttered under breath, trying to not disturb the others, but loud enough for the sorcerer to hear. “Of course ye shall stay to explain matters.” The tone of such words meant not in kindness, but demand; Fandral would not allow Strange to leave if he tried such foolery. Lady Sif had been taken by something so foul that all in the room would wish to seek resolve of such injustice. “To him,” added quickly as Fandral motioned discreetly at Prince Thor. Fandral wanted to hear the sum of it, but Prince Thor, and the Lady Sif, deserved clarity more than he.
Stephen’s service was no longer needed and Sif was in good hands. He hoped to slip away before anybody noticed, and would have done so, had Fandral not spoken. The bruises around his neck where Sif kept her chokehold were painfully throbbing, and while he did his best to hide the fact, his whole body was exhausted from the strain. Only his eyes showed weariness. He wanted nothing more to leave and rest. So he told himself. But there was more: the intimate physical relationship he had with Sif in the past made Stephen feel a bit awkward in the presence of the man whom Sif truly loved.
Looking a bit perturbed that he wasn’t able to escape so easily, Stephen heaved a sigh and spoke out loud, announcing what he had to say to the entire room. If Thor heard, then good. It seemed wrong to otherwise disturb this tender moment between Sif and Thor. “A few months ago, this past October, Sif assisted me by defeating Huitzilopochtli of the Aztecs, who had come to this planet bringing disturbance with him. After soundly defeating her foe, Huitzilopochtli wounded her on the leg with his mace. We did not realize at the time, but the mace had been coated with this poison,” Stephen nodded to the ball of light that hovered in his hand. “When I told of Sif’s symptoms, I travelled astrally to the planet of the Aztec’s for confirmation. Sif’s strong, Asgardian constitution kept the poison from reacting sooner, and from doing worse harm. It was caught just in time.
“She ought to be completely free from the poison now. But she should be kept under strict observation for the next forty-eight hours. If she shows any of her former symptoms, I should be contacted, immediately.” Stephen hoped this was enough to pacify everybody, so he could leave.
Volstagg, who had been standing beside Fandral when he asked his question, glowered between the sorcerer and the globe of light that now contained the poison. Just because he saved Sif didn’t mean Volstagg trusted the sorcerer more, but he was relieved to see Sif better. “And what are you going to do with that?” he roughly asked, gesturing to the poison.
Seeing the mistrust upon the Aesir’s expression, Stephen calmly replied, “I shall take it to my Sanctum Sanctorum, where it may be carefully and safely disposed of. Now, if I may take my leave?” He inclined his head in a slight bow to offer his respect to those present, hoping that there wouldn’t any other questions.
Thor rose from Sif’s side, laying his fist over his heart as he inclined his head in deference to the Doctor’s work. Though he was implicated in the original battle over the Aztec immortal, war made wounded. And Thor laid the responsibility upon himself for neither inquiring after his friend nor keeping up with communication.
“Doctor Strange, I thank you for this service you have done on behalf of Asgard. If you have a need, feel free to call on me personally and I will do my utmost to assist you.”