A/N: So, it's been a while, and I finally gift you with
another chapter! I wanted to explore a few of Eir's
more god-like gifts. Thoughts?
And thanks for sticking with me, guys. Hopefully more
will be coming soon. Don't forget to review!

Burdens of Purpose
Chapter Three: Into the Lion's Den

"I hear you have some skills that may be useful."

"Many of my skills are useful," she danced around his unasked question yet again. They had been at this since she'd left Bruce to his thoughts. However, the noise on the ship hadn't gotten any better. Something was plucking at the mortals' nerves, and it wasn't the scientist.

"I need you to go to Loki and get him to tell us what he knows."

Eir glared at Fury from across his table. "What you want is for me to get you information that I have no way of obtaining." Which was only a partial lie. She could have found it, but she wanted to stay as far away from that part of Loki's mind as possible. She got the impression that demons lurked there that even Odin feared.

He leaned forward, putting his weight on his fingertips as he loomed over her. "You put the Hulk to sleep. Don't tell me you can't find the Tesseract."

"I showed Bruce compassion."

His voice dropped to a growl low enough that Eir's shoulders twitched in response. "I don't care what you did. It worked."

Her stomach clenched with knowledge that Fury wasn't going to let her tell him no. She could smell the sulphur and sweat of his resolve, the fire of his will that burned hotter than most others she had met. Fury was a force to be reckoned with, even if he was a mortal.

"Why are you here?"

The question caught her a bit off guard with the softness of his tone. She looked him in the eye and saw that not only was he passionate, he was desperate. Desperate men in his position could be like bulls in pottery shops. "I am here to ensure no unnecessary lives are lost, and to end whatever war is about to begin before it takes its first breath." She'd already done a wonderful job, hadn't she?

"If you don't get him to give up the Tesseract, people will die. Whatever he has planned, having him here isn't slowing it down. If it's a war, it's still coming."

With ivy eyes narrowed and dark lips pursed, Eir mimicked his stance. "The Tesseract is an artifact belonging to my people, Director." He smelled sour, like old milk, and it made her skin crawl. "I have a feeling people will die if you do get it. More will die if you do not. The lesser of two evils is still evil." She knew it, knew there was something wrong with why Fury specifically wanted to keep his hands on the artifact. The whole thing smelled wrong. "It is not meant for humans to hold."

His fist slammed down on the table, the glass shuddering under his strength. "So you want to let an angry god rule our planet? That's not gonna happen." Fury grabbed the hot thermos from the table and shoved it into her arms. "Now you're taking this to him and finding out what he knows. Be sweet, underhanded, I don't care. Just get it done."

She stood at his challenge and held her chin high, long red hair falling behind her like waves of flames. Even for her newness on the fortress, for her diminutive size, and unfamiliarity with Midgard, she refused to be shoved around like a child. "I will go to him and talk, Fury." Her knees weakened at the thought of it, anxiety threatening to suffocate her. Briefly her heart thumped in her ears. She wasn't going to admit it, but what he wanted her to do to Loki scared her more than death. If she set foot in his mind, there was no way of knowing what she would come across. Sven was her crutch, her tether, and without him she could get lost in Loki's head. "There is no promise that I will obtain your information, but I will see him." With that she walked out of his office, well aware of his irked stare following her. He hated being so openly defied, but she was not one to be bullied into things she didn't believe in.

She came to him in that silly armor that did her no justice, still holding her head high as though he couldn't see beneath an Odin-like mask. He continued with his pacing, but his eyes remained on her like a lion watching prey. Her own eyes didn't meet his but for a flicker of a moment. They were bright and strong with determination unfamiliar to him. Or maybe it was something simpler, like aggravation. Instead of coming around to the railing as she had before, Eir waited by the door. When the hydraulic locks unlatched, she slipped through the tiniest gap before it closed again.

"Two visits in one day? I'm honored, witchling." He mocked a bow, sarcastic grin spread wide across his face. Something was in her hands, a parcel that turned her supple skin pink with heat. "Oh, and you bring me a gift? How thoughtful."

She watched him for a moment, unsure, then relaxed her face and shoulders. "Loki..."

The way she said his name ebbed the rock-like tension from his neck, and he tilted his head. There shouldn't have been anything to ease away. He was perfectly content in the cell he planned to wriggle in and out of. His eyes narrowed at her. This woman, this creature of compassion and pity... He was a god, and this woman believed him pitiful? "I am not one of your Midgardian pets, witch." He spat. "Have you already consoled the beast making play he is a man? Have you fixed the soldier whose country has fallen to pieces in his slumber?" He stalked closer to her as he spoke. "Have you mended these mortals so well that you come to pity me, now?"

His face was inches from hers, and her eyes betrayed her sadness and need, her desire to save him and the knowledge that there was nothing left of him to save. "I am a king."

Before he knew what she was doing, Eir pressed a hand to his cheek. The warmth of it tingled and spread like trails of electricity across his face and down his neck. For a second, he was certain the spells Odin bound him in had cracked, showing himself in his truest skin. His reflection in her glassy eyes told him he remained well-masked. "I do not come to pity you, my Prince, but to apologize on behalf of my King. He was wrong in his treatment of you."

She searched his face desperately for something, but her eyes were far away. Did sadness truly look like that? Her thumb rubbed his cheekbone and sparks trailed his flesh again. With each graze of her flesh against his, his heart pounded a little harder. "Just because he believed he was right did not make him so. He waved the crown before you and pulled it away, favored Thor's strength and bravado. He knew you couldn't be king, but made you believe you could. That is not to say you are not worthy of your birthright." Just as Loki thought he'd regained his bearings, Eir stalled him out again. She took a breath. "You were born a king as Laufey's son, and raised as Odinson. You've been wounded, tortured, and abandoned by everyone you ever held dear, myself included."

The locks on the door released. Eir rose to her toes and crossed the distance between them, brushing her lips against his ear. "I am sorry you suffer." She pushed the thermos into his arms and subtly kissed his cheek. Before he could stop her, she had backed out of the door and it closed between them.

Loki watched her walk away until she disappeared around a corner; then he stared at where she had been. His face was still tingling and warm where she had touched him. He rubbed the spot slowly, coming out of his daze. It had been over six hundred years since a woman had touched him like that. How dare she be so bold? Who did she think she was, talking to him as if he was some boy? He held power that rivaled Odin's! She had no right!

And he allowed it...

Why?

Fury had sent her to him; he was certain of it. He growled with the ferocity of a wild beast and threw the thermos on the ground. With a loud crack the plastic broke and broth spilled all over the floor. If the Director wanted to make things personal, Loki was more than willing to play that game.

Loki's skin was cold as ice when she touched him, surprising her before she recalled his heritage. The fact he was one of Laufey's blood did not bother her as much as it would have three centuries ago. Freyja had taken her to Jotunheim when the Frost Giants were suffering sickness. Aside from his predatory nature, Laufey was a decent person - in the terms of the Jotuns. He cared for his people more than his own life. He wanted them to have their pride again, to even the score between their kind and Odin's.
She looked into Loki's eyes and at the storm building strength within him. Eir let words flow from her mouth like a steady trickle of water; slow, soothing words laced with magic. What precisely she'd said, she couldn't recall. Just that her magic was working. Her fingers and toes began to tingle, then her arms and legs. Black was forming around the edges of her sight, quickly creeping over her vision. Soon her body was acting of its own accord, her mind venturing into the darkness that surrounded her. It was foolish that she actually came to see him, that she ventured into his mind to look at his pain. Without Sven she had no anchor to the present, and her mind could easily get lost if she wasn't absolutely careful.

As soon as the darkness swallowed her, it spat the Asgardian woman out. The world inside two people were as different as fingerprints, and the lifelessness of everything within the Prince was a horrible sign of his own condition. She felt as though she was standing between Niflheim and Muspellsheim. Ice stretched on for miles around them, night sky devoid of any form of light, while smoking volcanoes threatened the land with fire and ash. The wind was still, but the air was nonetheless freezing. A figure stood before her, frail and broken.

What had become of him?

Olive skin stretched over little more than bone, blue pooling and retreating in uneven patches as though in time with his entirely too-slow pulse. Long, dexterous hands curled slightly, the black-blue of a bruise. Bony fingers stretched too far and tapered into ebony claws that may have once been dangerous. In the middle of his naked chest was a massive, oozing wound. Something akin to pitch dribbled down his skeleton-like torso in thick trails. Pants of indeterminable color were shredded up to the knees and revealed stick-like legs and gnarled, clawed feet.

The most heart-wrenching change was to his face. Gashes and bruises ruined his once model-perfect visage. His nose had been broken and never reset. The once steely blue-green eyes that could swallow her in one glance had turned venomous crimson and lifeless, like dried poison. Fire-red light illuminated the sunken pits that housed those eyes. He saw her, but did not respond.

'Loki... My Loki...' On instinct Eir reached out for him. He remained still as her hand gripped his shoulder. Gathering what strength she could, she forced him to look at her. "My prince," she whispered to him, a hand near the wound that burned in her chest as it did in his. Her voice dripped with sadness too deep to be only hers; magic wrapped around her throat and flowed out with her words.

This gained action, his skin creaking like old leather as he tilted his head down at her.

She lost her grip, falling into those eyes. The world of fire and ice spun around her as blood throbbed in her ears. Memories flooded her head in quick succession. As soon as one came, it was gone and replaced by another: being found and warped by the Chitauri, speaking with Thanos in a cave, falling into the abyss, fighting with Thor, watching Odin lay as though dead, killing Laufey, learning that he was of Jotunheim blood, following Thor to destroy the Jotuns, sneaking a few giants into Asgard. They just kept coming.

There were other things, too, sounds of despair and pain. The scent of gore and the feeling of being coated in blood. Longing tore her one way and blind rage tugged her another. For a while, she tried to follow the longing, wondering what it was that made her chest ache, but was greeted by a wall so large, even a bilgesnipe couldn't get through. Following the blind rage showed her the rekindled war with the Jotuns, the feeling of her skin being sliced open, the scent of dust and sweat and feces.

Eir yelped as she pulled back, staring at the emaciated reflection of her old friend. Something about his expression twisted, sharp brows drawn down as he stared at her. Her heart broke a little more when she stepped back. Loki's arm may have twitched in response. "I will help you," she promised, unsure of how exactly to do so. "Believe me, Loki, I will." He remained stoic.

One breath.

Two.

By the third she was back in her own body, bones aching. She took comfort in the eyes that showed life, that searched her face. The pressure locks in the door hissed as they released behind her. "I am sorry you suffer." Eir's lips paused on his cheek. Then she pressed the thermos into his hands, backed out of the door as it slid open, and turned her back to him once it closed.

Shaking hands curled into fists. She walked away as quickly as she could until she hit the first turn. Then she began to run. Minutes felt like hours as Eir searched for a quiet place to hide. Seeing Loki, talking to him, did nothing to her it hadn't from the outside of the cell. Searching him was another matter entirely. After turning down several halls, testing many locked doors, she found one that opened to a storage closet and closed it behind her. The darkness did not ward away what she saw; there was no comfort in the tile she sat on as the cold of his skin continued to bite into her bones.

Her head throbbed as though the bone was cracking beneath a hammer's might. There was so little of him left, her dear friend hardened into a murderer. Fingernails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Rage tightened her shoulders and turned her muscles to stone.

They had hurt him. They had taken what was hers and tortured him until there was nothing left.

Despair clenched her jaw closed before it made her sick. She let her head fall forward to her knees as the first sob was wrenched out of her like a nail from her foot. The dam broke and she couldn't stop the shuddering, the sobs, the wails that rattled the shelves overhead. How long had he been like that; six months, a year? Fragments of memory played behind her closed eyes. The woman's heart raced like a hare from wolves as she watched Loki hang from a spear. Breaths came in short gasps when she saw a massive shadow looking over her (Loki?) like death, a shadow that whispered promise of power. Eir flexed her hands, relishing in the sting that distracted her a little from the images that continued to plague her: a hard hand across her face, narrowly missing an arrow as it flew by, her first kill. Without thinking, in desperate need of relief, she slammed her head against the metal wall behind her.

The memories faltered, but not for long. As soon as the pain began to fade, its effects faded with it. Walking on cracked legs, broken ribs, starving, pain, loneliness, regret, fury. Again and again she banged her head into the wall, and still it held strong. But with each jarring impact, the nightmarish sights stalled. She was not made for the horrors of the Chitauri.

The door to the closet opened some time later, light cast over her bowed head. Perhaps the intruder had been searching for something, perhaps her muted, weary whimpers had attracted attention. When she finally dragged her head off her knees, she saw none other than one of Midgard's champions standing in the doorway. There was no convincing her eyes to focus on the man's face, so she stopped trying and drew in another ragged breath. "Please, do not touch me." Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. There was no more iron in her, no strength. So she begged for pity. "Close the door and leave me." Before the man could respond, she dropped her head back down and let the darkness take her somewhere far, far away.