Who are you really?
Loki awoke to the sun shining in his room, his breakfast on his desk, and his guard nowhere to be seen. He wondered where she had gone, would she have left the room? He hated to admit it, but he felt safer knowing she was near. Maybe she was hiding behind something. He remembered the presence he had felt last night, but he never saw anything. Maybe she had a way to make herself invisible. He didn't know and he wasn't going to waste his time trying to figure it out, if he couldn't ask her the questions he wanted to, (She probably wouldn't answer them anyway.) he would just have to ask someone else. He would start with Frigga and if he had to, he would ask Odin. He remember he was going to ask Eir about Tuarwen's scars, as well. He smiled playfully, he was going to be kept busy by one girl. One mysterious girl, he sighed, he still knew so little about her. He mentally made a picture of her in his mind. He searched for anything that might help him know more about her. She was small and lithe, perhaps smaller and leaner than most Dark Elves.
"Yes," he thought. "Her build is much smaller than most Dark Elves." But what did that mean? She was a halfbreed maybe? Her eyes were amber, like honey, but they had blue mixed in with them, Dark Elves were not known to have blue eyes. And then there was the hair. Dark Elves never had brown hair. Hers was hazelnut brown with silver streaks, pigmentation was not lacking in it, it was a very rich deep brown. Her skin was ashy gray like the Dark Elves, but it had the slightest amount of tan in it as well. Maybe, if she was out in the sun more, it would be darker. Assassins moved in the shadows, avoiding the light of day as much as possible. Loki made a note to himself to get her in the sun more. She wasn't a Light Elf, she wasn't a Fire Elf, she wasn't Vanir, she wasn't Asgardian, and she certainly wasn't Jotun. What did that leave? Midgardian, perhaps? They would blend in with the Dark Elves the best. She had all the major attributes of a Midgardian, mainly a smaller and weaker body. But, the Dark Elves hated humans, how could one make its way to Svartalfheim, survive, and bear a child? It was a great mystery. He wanted to know more about her Father, but she wasn't open to him anyway and it sounded like he had treated her rather badly. Which would have made sense if she was half Midgardian.
Maybe he would ask the prisoner, he seemed to know something of her past. She probably wouldn't like people looking into her past though and she would follow him everywhere. He had to find a way to get to the prisoner without her knowing. He rubbed his hands in expectation. Nothing this interesting had happened in a long time. A mystery to uncover.
Tuarwen watched him from her spot up on top of the cabinet. He was reading contentedly, but she could tell he had something else on his mind, something dangerous. She kept watching him, waiting for him to do something, anything. He was capable of doing anything, which made him all the harder to guard. He continued to sit in the same spot for some time. It was some time before Tuarwen started to notice something off, the way he was moving the pages methodically, without any emotion, the way his eyes seemed out of focus, and the way his hands were a little too stiff when moving the page. She dropped from her perch, waiting for his reaction. When nothing happened, she slowly walked over to him. She reached out her hand and brushed his arm, or she tried to anyway. Her hand went through his arm. It was an illusion. It disappeared, dissipating into the air.
"He wouldn't dare," she thought, instead of taking chances, she ran out of the room.
He knew he could only fool her for so long and trying to run a double of himself and teleport at the same time was exhausting. He hoped it would be worth it in the end. The guards let him into the prison without hesitation. It didn't take him long to find the right cell, it was the one he had been sentenced to when he returned from Midgard. He shuddered at the thought of it. Somehow he gathered the courage to go inside. It was bare and cool. There were none of the comforts he had. The prisoner was chained to the wall. He was leaning against it with his legs outstretched. The complete picture of calmness and relaxation. A grin spread across the Assassin's face.
"Of all the people to come and visit me, I expect you the least. As quiet as you were, I thought you might be Tuarwen. I thought she would have been dying for company from her home."
"What do you know of her?"asked Loki, ignoring the man's insult. His smile was almost feral, as Loki paced the room. He didn't have time to play this man's game, the illusion would only keep Tuarwen away for so long. She would figure it out before too long, if she was as sharp as Loki thought her to be. Loki played the predator, he circled the Assassin, watching his every move and causing him to tense. He acted strong and brave, but he was really only a fearful child underneath the mask.
"What do you want to know? How she became an assassin? Or how she was given away as a child? How she was thrown from her Father's home when she tried to return? Any of those stories could take hours to tell and I presume your guard will not be pleased to find you missing and trying to find out about her past. She doesn't take well to curious people, or manipulators, or liars. I'm surprised you've survived this long," Loki glared at the assassin, Loki was a Prince, he was to be respected in all realms and by all people. Oh well, a few months in isolation would make him look at life differently.
"How long have you known her?" he faced the Assassin and stared straight into his icy amber eyes.
"I've known her since she was a child in the orphanage," Loki scanned his appearance, looking for lies. He couldn't detect any.
"Her Father is still alive?"the Assassin looked almost alarmed, he gulped down his fear and nodded once to agree.
"Why has she raised in an orphanage then?"the Prisoner returned to his animal instinct, crouching almost, like he was waiting for a chance to pounce. Loki wasn't about to give him that chance.
"Her Father hated her, no one knows why, but," he paused to look around, more for effect than anything else. "They say he hated her for being so small and weak. He was a nobleman and their children are expected to be perfect,"
Loki shifted uneasily, this sounded too much like his own childhood. Was the Assassin playing on his fears?
"But that is merely a rumor, the truth will probably never be known," he said slipping back against the wall.
"And why not?" Loki resumed walking around the Assassin. His step was more forced, he was trying to keep from strangling the man in front of him. His ease and calmness was infuriating, Loki was used to causing fear in the hearts of his fellow men. Accidents usually happened when others refused comply with his wishes.
"In case you haven't noticed, Tuarwen doesn't readily tell others anything," Loki twisted his head towards the Assassin, anger obvious on his aquiline features. His jaw was tense and set, he was going to pay for his insolence.
"So how have you learned so much about her?"
"Her Father and don't forget, I grew up with her," his control snapped, he shortened the distance between them and took him by the neck, lifting him high into the air.
"Do not mistake me for an idiot, Assassin. I know more than you think," Loki was about to threatened him by cutting off his airway for a few seconds, but hurried footsteps caused him to look to the entrance. Tuarwen was standing there, her face dangerously numb. She surveyed the situation before stepping into the prison. She hurled herself at Loki and caused him to fall to the ground and lose his hold on the Assassin. He stumbled to his feet as fast as he could, he had expected she would be angry, but he wasn't prepared for such a violent action. She was up before him and dragging him out the door by the arm. She exited the prison and drug him several feet, he was doing his best to keep up with her, but she was walking fast and he more than half leaned on her to keep his balance. She stepped out of the prison hall and into a secluded hall. She stopped and threw him into the wall. She had more strength than he had given her credit for, he could feel his back colliding with the wall and it was not painless. He righted himself briefly before staring into her eyes. He was surprised to see the emotionless mask on her face, he thought she would be furious at him for trying to get information about her.
"Don't ever do that to me again,"she stated with deadly calmness. "You could have been killed,"
"What?" he thought, she actually cares?
"What difference would it make if I was? I'm sure you would prefer I didn't exist anyway," he replied with the same indifferent voice, his eyes burned her, trying to understand what was going through her sharp mind.
"I will be held responsible for your death," she said indifferently, starting to walk away. Loki grabbed her arm. He was bemused.
"What do you mean?" he voice was calm, but soft. He was trying to be gentle, but Tuarwen saw it as manipulation.
"Unhand me,"she said, voice raising slowly. Loki did not know that one should take her threats seriously. He usually got his way by pulling his eyebrows up in a questioning and threatening way. Tuarwen would need more convincing than one look, she was used to physical beatings, manipulation was not needed.
"What is it you fear?" He asked, not noting the change in her stance and face.
Her reply was quick and avoiding. She whirled around him and took his arm with her, she kneed him hard in the back and he flew forward away from him. He groaned in discomfort, he pitied the prisoner inside. For being so small, she was strong. Her chest rose a little more from the exertion, but her voice was still calm and slow.
"I suggest you listen to me the first time I say something, I don't make threats lightly," she turned and walked away from him. He straightened his back and stared off at the woman swiftly walking away. He was bemused to why she did not react to his questions about her, but instead, was upset that he had tricked her.
Loki found himself heading in the direction of the Healer's Ward. He remembered he wanted to talk to Eir about Tuarwen's scars and if they could be removed. It probably wouldn't be easy if it would work. Of course, it would be even harder to convince Tuarwen to do it. He decided he would just ask now and talk to her when she was a little more open. If she ever changed. He was skeptical about anything changing in the small girl, but it was worth a try.
He didn't see her, but he knew she was trailing silently behind him. He couldn't hear anything, but he could feel eyes watching his every movement. He arrived at the Healer's Ward, he felt the eyes move away from him. It was slightly disturbing not being able to see her, but knowing she was always there and guarding him. He wondered where she had gone this time, he knew her eyes were no longer on him, but where were they then? He shrugged his shoulders lightly and walked through the door. Eir was sitting at a table writing in a book. She looked up when she heard the door close, she was about to stand up to great the Prince, but he held a hand up to tell her stay where she was.
"Eir," he said inclining his head to her as acknowledgment. He grasped a chair and brought it near her desk before sitting in it. Eir turned and closed her book before giving her attention to the Prince.
"What may I do for you, my Prince?" Loki was uncertain, would Tuarwen really appreciate hearing this right now? He couldn't exactly get rid of her without looking like a fool. He'd just have to face her wrath if she did not like this.
"I had a question concerning the healing of scars,"Eir gave him her full attention, his knowledge of healing was not great, but he was always willing to learn more. She smiled at the memory of a small child sitting on a stool and watching her for hours, asking dozens of questions every minute. She wondered what had happened to the innocent child. She knew somewhere along the way he changed. He became too sensitive to what others said and before anyone knew it, he was living in the shadow of jealously. There was still a small glimmer of hope though, and it came in the form of love, he loved his mother so much, that he was willing to give up his freedom to save her life. Love was the only thing to bring him back to the life he once lost. Eir mused about women who might be able to help him. She found it strange that he had remained unmarried for so long and showed no signs of interest in finding a spouse. She doubted that there where any women in Asgard that would put up with his habits and constantly changing personality.
"And what is it you want to know?"she asked, coming out of her revelry.
"How many scars you can remove off of one person," he replied, Tuarwen hadn't made a move yet, so maybe she didn't mind, or maybe she was interested in having them removed. She didn't strike Loki as being vain, but what woman didn't want to look pretty?
"She's an assassin," he reminded himself. "Why would she need to worry about her looks? She was trained to blend in with the shadows and not be seen," but somehow he just couldn't get the feeling of her scarred arms out of his mind. The way her arms were covered in them, or the way they felt against his skin, deformed, tense, and threatening. It was like he could feel every injury and threat she had received in her life. Every sorrow and pain, everything she had been through, being cast away by her father first and then her country. She was unwanted and alone and he could feel it baring down on him and threatening to crush him, it forced him to not think, to not even feel. He could understand why she was silent and numb, it was the only way she could keep her sanity.
"I've never removed more than a dozen at once, but any number can be removed. Have you injured yourself extensively, my Prince?" she asked warily. "What has he done now,"she thought.
"Me?" he asked, voice resounding in disbelief."No, no, no, no, I'm merely curious if it's possible," he lied, voice smooth with deception. Tuarwen smirked from her place behind the door. He was gifted with the ability to lie and manipulate. She hated both traits, they hurt you more than anything else. She never had to lie in her art and she couldn't understand why a Prince would need to. Being fed lies was a terrible thing, the truth could sting, but a lie hurt more. People who told lies were too weak to listen to the truth, or they were too immersed in the lies they had created to believe the truth. She wondered why he was so interested in her scars, surely he had seen scars before? Perhaps not in the number that littered her body. She studied her hands, there were not nearly as many on there, she remembered the feeling of her own skin, it used to be soft and silky almost. Now, it was uneven and coarse, the look of it reminded her of victims of leprosy. It had a puffy and dying look to it. She was no longer able to distinguish them from each other, they were crisscrossed too many times to distinguish the different ones. There was only one that she could distinguish, she gripped her shoulder suddenly.
"No! Don't think about that," she told herself,using all her self will to drop her hand. Her grief all stemmed from one person, one action, one heartbreak. If she ignored it, she would be better off. Don't feel, was engraved in her head by numerous people and she finally realized it was the only way for her to survive in this world, but she found out too late. She had already felt too much and now, she only used it to escape her past and the feelings. The feelings that left her brokenhearted. The feelings that kept her awake at night, the dull throbbing pain in her stomach at the thought of him, the one person so many of her dreams had relied on. She was foolish to have thought them, but even now she still thought them occasionally. Having a home to call her own, a warm fire waiting when she got back from the pleasurable rides, and perhaps someone to love her and help her through the nightmares. She banished the thoughts before they could go any further. It was useless thinking them. They wouldn't get her anywhere. She was here for one purpose and one purpose only, she was a guard, or little more than a slave, really. Her life was tied to the Prince, if he died, she and half of Svartalfheim would be dead. She hated having to be tied to anyone, particularly a Prince who had a gift for lying and manipulation. She couldn't understand the King's concern and fear for Loki's well being. It wasn't like Loki actually cared for his father anyway. She knew the tales of his treachery, of what he did to Asgard and Midgard. How could his father still love him after all that he did? It was a mystery to Tuarwen, an assassin could be put to death if he displeases his king. Unless he was as good as Tuarwen, which if she displeased him, he just made her life as miserable as was possible. Death was one thing, but it was denied her, torture was another. Especially when he played with her, allowing her to have a hot bath before he tore her back to shreds with a whip. Giving her a softening lotion for her hands before burning them. Perhaps the most creative was the time he had given her a soft bed before making her stand, chained, a whole night in freezing rain. She had never been healthy before and she could not take the cold like others, so when she was finished with that ordeal, she caught a disease and remained sick for sometime. To make it worse her King sent her Jotunheim immediately after that. It wasn't until she was sent to Alfheim shortly after that, did she start to recover, but since then she was uncontrollably sensitive to the rain.
Tuarwen studied the woman in front of her, how she could have used a Healer after either a confrontation with her King or after she returned from a mission. She wondered how long she had been a healer while she studied her aged face. Soft lines of wisdom and experience lined it. Her dark hazelnut hair was pulled back into a knot against the back of her head. Her dress was gray and simple. Her arms were strong against her small body. Tuarwen's gaze alighted back on Eir's face. She studied the soft blue eyes, the pale lips that were pulled into a determined thin line and the face lined with of care and gentleness. Tuarwen's gaze snapped back to the healer's eyes. They were ringed with nostalgia as she answered the Prince's questions, tears threatening to fall. Her attention was returned to the conversation rather abruptly.
"Are you all right, Eir?" asked the Prince, gentleness and concern lacing his voice.
"Why, yes, of course. My eyes are just bothering me," she replied. Tuarwen could tell she was lying, the way her words were said rather flustered, the way she was tensed ever so slightly, or the way her face was without pain. If her eyes were really bothering her, Tuarwen would expect at least a small twitch of pain.
"It was a good try, but I know you're lying. What's really wrong?" Eir's sigh was rather dramatic as she smiled at him.
"I just can't trick you, can I? I just can't help but remember the little boy who used to sit there and bury me with questions. I sometimes wonder where that boy went,"she said truthfully.
"That boy is gone, I'm afraid he won't be coming back," replied Loki bitterly. Was that disappointment she heard in his voice? Did he really want to come back? Eir didn't say anything as she got up and placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
"Don't give up hope yet. I feel like something is going to happen. Something that will change all of us," She walked past him to another room. Leaving Loki and Tuarwen to ponder her words. Eir didn't know about Tuarwen, but Tuarwen somehow knew Eir was talking about her. She didn't say if it would change for better or worse, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. What was going to happen? When? How? Too many question, no use in getting hopes up. Nothing was for sure. Loki finally left the room, Tuarwen trailed after him. She felt different, life didn't feel so oppressive and weighed down.
Several hours later, Loki was sitting in a chair and reading, he had been sitting there for some time, Tuarwen could feel her eyes drifting closed, she had to do something soon or she would fall asleep. She dropped from her perch and walked to the window, passing him, he didn't notice anything. She looked out and stared at the Training Grounds, it was sunny and breezy. She hadn't been out of the castle all day, the outside was quite tempting, but she couldn't leave Loki for a minute for fear of assassins. She looked to her right, toward the gates of the palace. People were coming and going, farmers, guards, seamstresses, servants. Tuarwen tensed, she noted an out of place shadow, it was deformed and not coming from any of the people. Another assassin. Why so many all at once? They couldn't know that the other one was captured, unless this was a screen and they were after something else. The Dark Prince was not exactly liked in Svartalfheim, but what could they really be after if not revenge? Asgard didn't have any of the Dark Elven treasures. But, perhaps there was something they wanted in the vault. She wouldn't put it past them, anything to give them more power. She would have to talk to the king and have him double the guard on the vault. Another long night was in store for her. She sighed, she could really use the sleep, her physical condition was in bad shape. She needed rest, food, and peace more than anything else, but they would be denied to her as long as she remained a slave to a nation. Something was stirring in the back of her head, she tried pulling it to the front of her mind, but she was interrupted by something brushing against her shoulder. She reached out quickly and pulled what ever it was to the ground. Pulling a dagger out she held the thing down with her knee and placed the knife against its throat. Her hair hung in front of her eyes, but she caught glimpses of something black and green. She took her empty hand away from its chest and pulled her hair back. She nearly gasped in surprise before struggling to her feet as fast as she could. She was going to kill him one of these days, maybe not on purpose, but certainly by accident. The way he kept surprising her was starting to grate on her nerves, she wasn't jumpy normally, but it seemed like ever since she got to Asgard she was constantly pulling a knife to somebody's throat. Maybe she had just heard too many stories about Loki's tricks.
"You know," he said, sitting up and massaging his throat. "You're going to kill me one of these days. I should get back at you for that," she sheathed her dagger while he got to his feet. When her eyes met his, she took a step back, realizing how close he was, but also because she felt intimidated by the height difference. He fairly towered over her. He took a step closer to her, she refused to move back again. He reached out to lightly touch her cheek, she reached out and grabbed his hand silently. She had no intention of letting him touch her.
"You don't look well, maybe you should get some rest," she silently looked at him. Leveling him with her icy stare, her eyes were not glaring, but neither were they kind, nor puzzled. They were simply empty, devoid of all emotion and inner thoughts. Like her actions were the only thing that defined her. It was strange, they were not afraid of the other at all. It was curiosity in Loki's case and merely a job in Tuarwen's. She backed away, pulling her cloak around her and disappearing before his very eyes. She slipped back up to the cabinet and remained there without moving for the rest of the day.
Loki settled back into his chair and looked around, he wondered where she hid herself. His eyes looked over to every corner, searching for shadows. He could perceive nothing with his sharp eyes. His eyes alighted on the roaring fire and he watched the flames dance and crackle. He remembered the feeling of her hand on his wrist moments ago, he unconsciously held his hand around his wrist. Her touch was unusually cold. That was not normal for a Dark Elf, they lived in a volcanic world the heat was common. Asgard did not have much of a different climate, except being colder in Winter. She should not have been as cold as she was. She wasn't looking quite well either. Pale and almost trembling. She was jumpy as well. Her face, flushed and feverish looking. Was she getting sick? He wondered if it was a physical or emotional ailment, if it was even an ailment. He wondered what went through her head at times, did she remember the people she had killed like he did? Did it tear her apart? Behind the emotionless mask, he knew that there lay a gentle heart. So how did a gentle woman survive with the pain she had caused? How did she live knowing all the lives she had ended? Guilt clawed its ugly head at his heart every day, threatening to take him apart piece by little piece. Tearing him to shreds, but his heart was already broken and waiting to be put back together, so nothing bothered him as long as he was just a shadow of what he once was. And he had tried so long to put himself back together, but there was too much behind why he had fallen apart. Too much in the way to build back together. The broken pieces laid scattered around, his family, a throne, his time with the Chitauri, and Jotunheim. All of them were reminders of what he could have been. Instead, his very identity was stripped away relentlessly. He was too mischievous and he let his jealousy get the better of him, and that's why he let the Jotuns in Asgard, that's why he egged Thor into seeking revenge, that's why he refused to let him back. That's why there was destruction all across the Nine Realms. For once he wanted his father's approval, but he took the wrong actions while trying to get it. He used deceit when he should have been honest, he created bloodshed, when he should have made peace and defended the innocent. So what did he do? Like a fool, he despaired and tried to end the miserable life he lived. He let go of everything, willing to die rather than live a life of regrets. Falling into the void, not sure how it would kill him, but knowing it would. That's when he fell to the Chitauri. That's when life began to take on a new meaning.
