The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost. –G. K. Chesterton
"Of course, I don't believe in magic," Jemma said, scoffing indignantly.
Geir's amused smirk did nothing to alleviate her fears for what he might have in mind. However, her anger was running hot, fanned by the helplessness she felt in the face of this strange alien world full of people, codes and customs she couldn't comprehend on such short notice.
"There is no such thing—but I do believe in science," she informed him loftily. "I'm sure whatever you have planned is some sort of science. Perhaps pheromones? But that's rather crude, isn't it?" She glared at him warily, her fear was so palpable it was like a fist in her belly. "So, is that how you salve your conscience? Use some chemical to cause a reaction so you can believe a woman desires to be with you?" She practically spat the last part, hoping to prod to life some scruples in the elf. She really wanted him to have some sense of morality that ran along the lines of her own thinking but it seemed a bit much to ask for under the current circumstances.
"I assure you," Geir said, holding his hands up before him in surrender. "I have no such intent. Love is my aim, not subjugation, and my name would simply replace that of the one you were destined to love. After that any decisions would be your own. Unless…" he grinned as if he'd thought of something terribly clever as he let the word hang in the air, "…you've already met your true love as was fated." He looked over at Fitz briefly and then back to Jemma. She was growing tired of Geir's showmanship. His pleased expression suddenly melted into irritation as he seemed to begrudgingly add, "The soul bond is notoriously difficult to break. If you have met, then the spell will have no effect."
Jemma wondered if there were many elven women who fell for this. His last caveat sounded more like a carrot to her. How many women would like to believe that they already knew their "one true love"? She guessed that most would.
"How long does it last?" she asked, her voice echoing through the quiet room.
"This life," Geir said. His voice was soft and he seemed no longer amused by her questions.
She scoffed again, having imagined some drug-induced stupor or perhaps some more authentic chemical reaction on the brain that might induce feelings of lust so he might feel less guilty. However, nothing could change you for the rest of your life. It simply couldn't be done. Jemma's mind refused to accept it because it just wasn't how the human body worked. Part of her was terrified of putting herself in this man's power on any level, but she also couldn't allow anything to happen to Fitz. Geir had already threatened both of them with death, she suspected that he already understood that all he had to do now to gain her compliance was threaten Fitz. If he did, she would do just as he asked no matter what it might be. If he demanded she submit to his lust without drinking anything, Jemma knew she would do it, if only to save Fitz. She had little choice when it came down to it really. But Geir was speaking of a lifetime. She shivered at the horrible thought. However, he also said she would be able to choose—and she knew exactly what her choice would be.
"So, it will make me love you…until I die?" she asked, voice dripping with disbelief. Geir nodded at her question. "What makes you think we'd be a good match?" she asked, curious. The man was clearly mad, they'd barely met after all. Getting more information from him seemed her only potential way out this rapidly worsening nightmare.
"It matters not, true love knows no obstacle. None but death," Geir said sadly. Jemma felt like she was in some fairy tale—a grim, menacing, and exceedingly dangerous fairytale.
"Well, what about your true love?" she asked, thinking of it suddenly as a potential escape from this madman. Even insanity had some sort of logic behind it, and perhaps she could reason his out and thereby gain her own freedom?
He chuckled rather humorlessly, dry barks of laughter that erupted from his throat like a cough, then he said, "She's been dead for a millennia."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Jemma said automatically, annoyed that she suddenly felt guilty and even ever-so-slightly sympathetic toward such a monster.
Geir was looking at her with a slightly bemused expression expression again—she felt her anxiety rising—clearly he knew he had the upper hand and he would soon press his advantage.
She suddenly wondered how their mythology factored into her situation. She was desperate to latch onto something that might help her out of this mess and she blurted, "You know, I really don't understand how you can believe in fate as this driving force of predestination and yet not want to worship it as a god. If it controls your fate and has consciousness as you seem to be indicating." She realized she was rambling rather inanely but anything to gain information or delay the inevitable was welcome to her terrified mind.
"What makes you think that we do not? The three Goddesses of fate create our destinies before our birth. Magic is the only force that might sway them to alter our fortunes," Geir said, gazing at her curiously.
"Oh," she said faintly.
She struggled to see how this new information might help but she wasn't familiar enough with the source material to come up with anything. Evidently, they really did look at fate as some sort of a God—or in this case, Goddesses—but how that might help her, she really didn't know. Why, when she was eight, had she been obsessed with Greek mythology instead of Norse! Regardless, the whole concept of fate was ridiculous to her, she knew there wasn't any such thing. There was no consciousness or any number of Goddesses controlling the events of her life. There was certainly no literal "tree of life" or "names carved by fate"—it was all ridiculous.
Failed by her lack of knowledge for once, all she could do was dread what would come next.
Then a desperate thought flitted through her brain—that if she did have a true love, then perhaps it really was Fitz. Were that the case, there would be nothing to worry about because love would then protect her from the potion and the enchanted wine would have no effect as Geir said. As comfortless as it was (since all this was completely foolish), she was morbidly amused by her own desolate stray thought. It forced her to glance up, seeking him out, and she instantly caught sight of Fitz's terrified, bloodless face.
It was a mistake. She was always an open book to Fitz and he instantly recognized her resignation, her readiness to make the sacrifice.
"No, Jemma. You can't!" He started to stand but, in a sudden flurry of motion, Halli was there restraining him, forcing his arms behind his back. Fitz struggled weakly in the elf's grasp but he stood over Fitz by more than a foot.
Looking to Geir, Jemma asked, "If this works…" she indicated the wine in the cup, "and I would like to stay, then what will happen to Fitz?" She had to make sure he was alright no matter what happened to her. She wanted everything in order before she agreed to anything—no treachery or tricks.
"Jemma, no!" Fitz was yelling now as he struggled more fiercely, lunging and fighting, trying to wrench himself free. Having a difficult time despite his advantage, Halli bent down to speak into Fitz's ear and he went suddenly still and quiet. She felt a sudden swell of emotion looking at him with tears standing in his eyes, forcing himself silent, likely due to some threat she had no doubt. It made the tears come to her own eyes, just knowing he would somehow manage to blame himself for this as well, if something did ultimately happen to her.
"I swear an oath to let him leave freely," he paused a beat and then continued, "Unless, he chooses to stay as well." Jemma suddenly felt hate for the elf at the sight of an unpleasant, treacherous curl to his lip.
"Why would he?" she asked, suspicious and suddenly terrified that no matter what she did it would all end badly.
The elf raised his open hand in a gesture of innocence. "I would never force him, of course. But if he wishes to stay…for you, Jemma. I will allow it. A companion of your own world would surely not go amiss."
"If–if anything happens, p–promise me...that you'll leave, Fitz. And get yourself back to Earth," she insisted, her voice was harsh and broken as emotion spilled out into her words.
"You must drink now, Jemma," Geir said, leaning forward on his throne. "I've given you answers but my patience grows thin."
She ignored him, she was focused on Fitz. If he promised she knew he would go. He wouldn't lie to her. She had to make him promise. She didn't know how the concoction would change her thinking, even if it was temporary. She had to get his agreement so he would be safe. She couldn't bear for Fitz to stay here and see her brought low. His red-rimmed eyes were brimming but his tears didn't fall. He shook his head sharply.
"Promise me!"
"Drink now!"
She picked up the cup. "Promise, Fitz!" His eyes were wide with horror as she brought the cup up toward her lips. "Leopold Fitz, promise me!" He shook his head subtly but resolutely. She could barely contain the tears that were rapidly filling her own eyes. She held the cup level with her lips. She looked across the table, into the depths of her best friend's implacable expression and knew she had to do something drastic—for his own good.
"I said, drink!"
"Promise, Fitz, or..." her heart broke a little as the words came to her, "no matter what happens, it's over between us!"
Fitz's face seemed to crumple in on itself and he nodded his head once as his pent up tears finally dropped from his lower lids, leaving glossy tracks as they slipped down over his cheeks.
"Drink now or he dies!"
Jemma drank.
From the moment the wine touched her lips, her vision grew blurred, cloudy. As she swallowed the acrid wine, she became woozy and had to catch herself on the table to keep from falling over. She vaguely heard the metallic clank as the cup bounced on the stone floor. Events unfolded so quickly after that, it was like a haze of images.
She saw movement and, darting her eyes to the side, she spotted Geir moving toward her purposefully with one hand outstretched. At his full height, he towered above everyone in the room, even Halli. He eyed her hungrily as he closed in and she instinctively cowered from his touch.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a kerfuffle as Fitz fought Halli, managing to wrench his arms from the elf's grip. Halli must have been prepared for him to run to the side, around the table, but instead, Fitz launched himself at her across the dining table. Dishes and food clattered to the floor as Fitz scuffled toward her. Thinking only of helping him, she reached out, feeling Geir's hot grip on her neck just as Fitz's clammy fingers took hold of her hand. It was so close, she couldn't have determined who touched her first.
Her murky head promptly cleared and, despite her previous assertions as to the ridiculous nature of the whole affair, she quickly took stock of herself. She looked down at Fitz and…yes, she loved him as much as she ever had. More, for his effort to save her from such an unpleasant outcome.
She turned to see Geir, his large hand already slipping from her neck. He searched her face and she frowned, unsure how to act. The sudden look of disappointment in his eyes was far less than the enormous amount of relief she felt at seeing it.
"Skuld has spoken," Geir said, his eyes slipping away from her face as he turned to go back to his throne.
"I want to leave," she said to his back, the words tripping over themselves to escape her lips.
"You should stay for the night," he said listlessly, sitting back on his throne looking suddenly exhausted. "You have met the terms. You are under my protection now. No one will harm you."
Fitz was clamoring down from the table, dishes and silverware clanking under his clumsy movements. Halli appeared to be helping him now, reaching a hand out to help him.
"If it's all the same to you, I think we should go now," she said firmly.
"If you wish," Geir said his voice much quieter and lacking the command it had possessed only moments before. "Halli will see to you. You will require food and supplies." He was no longer even looking at them, he rested his elbow on the arm of his throne and then dropped his head down into his hand. "Give them whatever they need," he told Halli. He waved his free hand at them in a lax gesture of dismissal.
Halli urged them both on toward the door, but Fitz used his arm to rake all their belongings into a hammock he'd made of one of their lab coats. Jemma helped him and they soon had it all in a neat little bundle as Halli led them out. She took one last look over her shoulder at Geir, he seemed full of sorrow now with his head still resting in his hand. She wondered what he'd really been after.
Halli took them to the room where they'd changed and told them to wait. Jemma saw that their dirty clothes had been cleaned, folded and placed neatly on the bed. Fitz dropped the lab coat full of their belongings down next to them. Once his arms were free, she rushed into them. He accepted her somewhat reluctantly at first but they were soon clinging together and she had a fistful of the back of his tunic clutched fiercely in her hand which she couldn't quite make herself let go of.
"T–thank you," she stuttered out near his ear as she fought down the urge to start sobbing uncontrollably. Her lips were quivering, but she managed to keep her tears at bay.
He pushed her back suddenly, startlingly. Gripping her upper arms, he shook her once, hard enough to make her gasp and clutch at his elbows. The look on his face was pure anguish. "You said no sacrificing myself! But that goes both ways, Jemma! Don't ever do that again!"
She nodded, seeing it was the only answer she could give by the tormented look on his face. She knew that she couldn't promise that and hoped he wouldn't ask her to. She told herself it was a white lie.
He reeled her back in, hugging her tightly with his face pressed against her neck as he gasped in a few shaky breaths that might've been sobs. "Did you mean it? You'd've chucked me if I didn't promise to leave you?" Somehow she could tell by his tone that he was afraid of the answer. Jemma had never threatened him, never given him an ultimatum in her life. He'd believed her.
"No, Fitz, of course not," she said, squeezing him tighter. "We couldn't very well both become trapped here though. Who would rescue me then?" she joked, but Fitz didn't laugh, nor did he answer.
After their tears had been successfully stifled and their limbs began to loosen around each other, she finally asked, "What did Halli say in your ear?" It bothered her that the elf had threatened him. She was curious what coercion had been severe enough to silence Fitz so quickly and she shuddered at the thought.
He shook his head slightly and, against the side of her neck, he almost sullenly said, "Nothing." But when he pulled back, he didn't meet her eyes and she knew it was something.
Halli returned shortly, barreling into the room without even bothering to knock. Fitz let her go quite suddenly—almost guiltily—as if he'd been caught at something.
Halli laid their supplies on the bed. There were two flexible fabric-like containers filled with water, bedrolls, a couple of packs filled with food, a large knife, two lightweight pots with some utensils, rope and a little pouch with some smaller items that Jemma couldn't take in quickly. He also gave them a rolled map that gleamed in the light and a warm cloak for each of them. Jemma tied hers on as Fitz nodded studiously while Halli showed him Geir's land on the map and where they could go to find something like a public road. While Fitz learned the map, Jemma took all the toiletries they might reasonably need from the loo and stuffed them into her new pack.
"No one will trouble you while you are on Geir's land. I would give you a horse but I fear you could not mount it," Halli said, giving them a faint smile.
Jemma just stared at the elf coldly and waited with her arms crossed over her chest. After packing away the rest of their belongings, Fitz actually held his hand out to shake Halli's. Jemma sighed as the two seemed to have some silent conversation over their clasped hands with a series of nods and blinks.
Halli then led them down to the courtyard and finally bid them goodbye. Walking quickly, and without discussion, they headed toward the road the elf had shown them on the map. Fitz clutched the shimmery paper to his chest and turned back to wave solemnly to the dark-haired elf.
They hurried out into the cool evening under a blue-black sky full of strange constellations and two bright yellow moons to light their way.