(A/N: Sorry for the wait for this chapter. I had writer's block. As usual thanks to all the lovely fans who left reviews, follows, favorites etc…etc. And, of course, a special thanks to my beta-reader i-love-tea-and-coffee for all her hard work. This chapter belongs to Gunnar! Enjoy, everyone!)
Gunnar's hand shook as he placed the small, brown, leather-bound journal back into the drawer. The gold handle slipped from his grip and slammed back. He jumped, startled and glanced around the room expecting Father to appear at any moment. He stared at the mahogany desk with its gilded handles. It did not seem like he had managed to trip an alarm.
He backed away, groping for the crystal doorknob. Instead he tripped over Father's chair and onto the cream carpeting. He had to get out. His heart pounded. He could not get caught. If he were caught, he would be in more trouble than he could imagine. If he was caught, he could be killed. His disappearance would be covered up. It would be said that he fell victim to a deadly illness, or he was assassinated or even that he decided to take his own life… Something that would not be questioned by the public…
Nobody ever questioned Father. Even he had never questioned Father. It was something you were not supposed to do. Father was always right, and he had never seen anything wrong with that. He never had a reason to question Father's rules. Sure, when he was little sometimes he would get angry because Father would not always let him do what he wanted. But what child did not feel that way at least once in their life?
He had gone into Father's study out of curiosity, nothing more. He had wanted to see why it was forbidden. He had spent the first few minutes running his hand over the shield of Captain America. It fascinated him, with its red and white stripes, and the gleaming star in the middle. He ignored most of the other mementos. They lay in glass cases on velvet pillows preserved though they were on display in a museum. He could not feel them the same way he felt the shield.
Father was out, conducting a raid and would not be home until much later. Most of the servants were busy preparing for the feast that would take place later in the week, to celebrate the raid's success. He had never been on one. He had never been allowed. He had never been allowed to a lot of things
He and Phoebe were never allowed in the study. Even a servant could not be in there unless Father was too. He had always been a private man. Father hardly ever talked his past, not even about his family. Gunnar had always wanted to know about his birth father, Father's brother. But it was never bought up.
He had hoped that Father would have kept something to remind him of his brother. Anything. But not exactly what he was expecting to find. The journal. The damn journal. That damn stupid journal. He had found it in a drawer. It had surprised Gunnar. Father never seemed like the type to keep one.
Gunnar was still shaking when he reached his room. He opened his door and collapsed onto his bed. The silk sheets felt cool against his skin. He wrapped himself up in his blanket and buried his head in the pillows like he used to when he was little. He did not even bother to undress. He just lay there curled up inside his favorite blue and green blanket staring at the door. He just wanted it all to go away. He kept thinking that maybe if he went to sleep, when he woke up it would go away. It was a stupid wish, he knew, but maybe it would work.
The last thing he wanted was to go through his life knowing, that he had been lied to as a child. That he and his sister had been lied to. They had been lied to ever since Father took them in. How was he supposed to react? He felt sick, like he was going vomit. His stomach knotted, tighter, tighter, tighter and tighter still. He turned to the side of his bed and was sick. The vomit splattered to the floor and congealed into a puddle.
He stared at it for a while trying to remember the last time he had been sick at home. Had Father come in to his room? Or had it been one of the servants? A nursemaid? He was not sure. He shivered. How could he not recall who cared for him? Father had always been there when it came to advice about things like how to properly execute a spell, or the proper way to greet the Armenian dignitary or how to get a certain girl to join him in bed. Practical things. Things that made him seem like a perfect prin
Now he knew why. Father did not care about him or his well-being. Only what he could for him. It made Gunnar feel dirty. He was being used. Used. He was nothing more than a pawn or a tool.
And know he knew if he did not do what Father wanted, or disobeyed him he would be disposed of. Put in a cell in the dungeon, fed scraps and not allowed to see the light of day for the rest of his life.
And what would happen to Phoebe? She would never know the truth. She would live the rest of her life in ignorance. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better that she did not know who her birth father really was. It was definitely better that she did not know that Father had Samuel cripple her. That she was married to man who mangled her leg. That the man who would be the father of her children did not love her and might never love any child would bear. But she would never know. She would be happier if she did not know. Safer too. Ignorance was bliss.
It was better that she did not feel like he did. So dirty. Disgusting. Filthy. Like he had been violated, somehow. He had to get the feeling off. Gunnar went to his dresser and stared into the mirror. He looked terrible. He had bags under his eyes, his skin looked clammy, his hair was sticky and matted with sweat and he had a bit of dried vomit on his chin.
He needed to bathe. Gunnar stripped down to his undershorts and dumped the rest of his clothes on the floor. He did not bother taking his robe. The household staff had seen him in his boxers many times before. He did not care who would see him.
Once in the bath, Gunnar turned the water to the hottest setting he could stand and dunked his head in. He held it under until his lungs felt they were going to burst from lack of oxygen. He took several deep breaths and went under again. The tub was fairly deep, the lip of the of the tub nearly reached above his waist when he stood. The taps were made of silver, and stood in a line up near the wall, right under a window, like soldiers, elegant, just like Father liked everything. The entire tub was surrounded by white curtain, intended for privacy, but was rarely used. There was room for several people to join him.
Gunnar was happy to have it himself, for once. No giggly girls, dressed in white, drunk on wine, kissing him, tugging on him, stroking him, rubbing him down with washcloths, willing to do anything for him. Usually, afterwards they would trot behind him, following him to his bedroom like it was some secret. But everyone knew.
It was nice to have a quiet bath for once. He could think. He pulled a washcloth from the side of the tub, dunked it in the water and began to scrub himself. But no matter how hard he scrubbed himself or dunked his head underneath the water, he could not get the disgusting feeling off himself. He rubbed his skin with the washcloth until his fingers pruned, his skin turned red and raw and his whole body reeked of citron body-wash.
But, he still felt disgusting. Gunnar wanted it to go away. Just to disappear. He wanted to forget, only because he knew he could not live with it. Just forget. Forget about what he read in Father's journal. And have things go back to the way they were.
He went back to his room, ignoring the hurt looks of the servant girls as he walked past. His room had been cleaned to the point that his wood floor practically sparkled. His clothes had been picked up, and his bed remade. Clean and perfect. Just the way Father liked it. With everything in its proper place.
Had Father arrived home yet? Would he notice that someone had been in his room? Would he notice that his drawers had been opened? Would he see that his journal had been read? And if he did, would he know who was in there? Would Father he had gone in there or would he think it was an overly curious servant?
He had to be ready. He had to be ready for Father. To fight, if he needed to. He had decided he wouldn't go without a fight. Father was good at telling when people were lying. And he, himself, was a horrible liar.
He slipped on a pair of simple gray trousers, and his favorite crimson shirt. He stared in the mirror as he brushed out and dried his hair. He was starting to grow a beard, fuzzy patches of light blonde hair on his chin and cheeks. He refused to shave it. He wanted it to grow. He had always thought of beards as powerful. Father found them unhygienic. The last thing he did was take his crown from its resting place on his dresser and place it on his head.
It rested lopsided, tilting towards his left ear. It was a child's crown, three simple bands of gold, silver and bronze braided together. It looked ridiculous on him. And now, he might never get the chance to wear a proper crown, one that would not rest against his ears and leave the top of his head uncovered. He wanted a helmet-type crown, one he could wear into battle, almost like Father's but with an adornment other than horns.
"Prince Gunnar, your father is home. He wants you to join him for supper in the dining room immediately."
"Alright."
Gunnar hurried out to the dining room, Father was already sitting at the head of a table, on his high-back chair, his hands folded in front of him, waiting.
Gunnar sat his usual place and helped himself to dinner; steak, potatoes, gravy, vegetables, a leg of pheasant… trying to distract himself, "How was the raid, Father?"
"We captured some undesirables. None of them were members of the Rebellion. Though according to witnesses the leaders of the Rebellion were seen fleeing the scene, one of them was severely injured. Since they most likely lack resources to care for such a severe wound, he probably took her to people he knew he could trust."
He nodded. He still knew little about the actual Rebellion, except the leader was in charge of the Avengers when they were first organized.
"Do you know where they may be hiding?
"Yes."
Gunnar felt a sudden pang of fear for the leaders, and anyone who would get in Father's way. Were there not children who were members of the Rebellion? Children who were just around his and his sister's age? What would happen to them? In another life, they would have been friends, almost brothers.
"What…what…what would…happen to them?"
"The leader and his…girlfriend" Father said with disdain, "will be put on trial for crimes against the kingdom…and the others will face a punishment that befits their crime. Do not worry; your sister's injury will not be in vain."
"Yes, Father.
Gunnar picked at his food and sipped at his wine. He nibbled on a roll. His appetite was gone.
"Everything alright, my son? Do you wish to eat something else?"
"No, thank you."
"Then follow me. I have something to show you."
Father put his arm around his shoulder, and led him through the palace. Gunnar kept his eyes in front of him. He tried to inch away, but Father's grip was strong and every time he tried to push away, Father would hold him tighter until he was right next to him walking in tandem like Siamese twins.
"Where are we going, Father?"
"It is a surprise."
Father led him to a door at the end of the hallway. His study. Gunnar froze, "I thought I was forbidden from entering this room.
"You are old enough now, you will be sixteen in a few months' time. You are nearly a man. You are ready to see what is inside."
A lump formed in his throat, "Okay."
He stepped into the room, his foot sunk into the carpeting. The room had not changed since he had been in there, a mere few hours before. But it felt different.
"Take a seat."
He sat on Father's chair and glanced around the room. Why did it feel different, now? Probably because, this time, he knew what was inside. The shield, the head, the weapons, the arc reactor…the diary.
Father walked around the room, slowly, dragging his fingers across the glass of the display cases, "Gunnar, do you know why I keep these?"
"No, I do not."
"When you win a battle, you take a trophy. Something to remind you of that day. Usually, something important that was important to the other person. Something they valued." Father bent down and took something from the lower part of a display case. He showed it to Gunnar, "Do you know what is in here?"
"No."
Father pulled out what looked like a shirt; small, purple and slightly tattered, "This belonged to your sister. It is what she was wearing, when I found her. Like the other items, in this room, it is a trophy."
"Why keep it?"
Father went back to his desk, ignoring his question. He folded up the shirt and put it away in a drawer. He went behind his desk, pulling the curtains back. Light streamed in. Something in Father's hand glinted and he began advancing to him. Father had a cold, look in his eye and he was grinning.
"Hold still, Gunnar. This will not hurt."
He was brandishing a scepter. He had heard about that scepter. Father had received it, from a being, a being from another species, another dimension, a powerful being. It was a dangerous weapon. It allowed Father to control people, their minds, their
Gunnar jumped from his seat and tried desperately to allow himself transport, let himself fade and disappear into the next room It did not work. He panicked and tried to run for the door. Father appeared before him.
"I told you to hold still, Gunnar. Do not make this harder than it needs to be."
Gunnar heard the lock of door click. He was trapped now. There was no way to escape. Gunnar sat frozen in fear, unable to move. There was no escape.. Father was the best sorcerer, the world had ever known. He would be killed before he could even transport himself to another room.
Father knelt in front of him, so close Gunnar smell his breath. Icy, fresh, like a winter's day. He put the scepter down.
If he could reach it, he could fight off... Father grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward. He had a mad glint in his eyes. Something Gunnar had never seen before. He tried to look away but he could not.
Father started unbuttoning his shirt. It fell open. Gunnar shivered. Father just smiled, "That will make it easier to get to your heart."
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Did you really think that I would not find out? I know you were in here. You know the truth."
How did he find out? How did he know?
Gunnar panicked, "I do not …"
Father struck him. His crown tumbled off his head and rolled away. Gunnar could not see where it went. Father blocked his view, "Do not lie to me, my son. Do you understand?
He nodded, holding his cheek. Gunnar could already feel a welt beginning to form, "I understand."
"Good boy. Now, tell me the truth. What do you know?"
"You killed my father. You killed him! He was your brother….Why?! Tell me!"
"He went against my rule. I had to. He would not accept freedom into his heart…but you…you were a little child. So young. So innocent. It was beautiful. I took you in, out of the goodness of my heart. Same with your sister. I had realized long ago how useful children were. How easy they were to manipulate. Make them do your bidding. Raise them for the future you want… And there you were. A prince. How could I deny you your birth-right?"
Father ruffled his hair. Gunnar tried to squirm away but Father kept his hand on the top of his head.
"How…how…how could you?"
"You would not understand.
"Why?"
Father's eyes still gleamed, only now, the gleam was softer, "Because, you have not accepted true freedom into your heart. You do not know how it feels. But I think once you experience it, you will enjoy it very much. Now, hold still."
Father came closer to him, grabbed the scepter and before Gunnar could react, held it up to his chest
A cold feeling spread through his body, starting at his heart and then creeping through his veins, to his arms, his hands, his fingers, his legs, his feet, his toes…Everything felt numb. Even his thoughts. There none. He was free. Free of all his worries, all of his fears, were gone.
Gunnar knelt and kowtowed, letting his forehead touch the ground. He kissed Father's boots.
Father went to his desk and opened a drawer, Gunnar could not tell which one. He pulled out a helmet, a pretty thing made of silver. It had its own pair of horns that curved downwards to his chin.
"Rise, Gunnar."
He did.
Father re-buttoned his shirt for him and placed a black leather cape over his shoulders and helped him get his arms into the sleeves, "There. You look much better now. You are almost ready to go into battle. We just need to get you a chest-plate, perhaps a pair of gauntlets and then you may join me in defeating the Rebellion. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful."
(A/N: Let's take stock shall we? Phoebe is married and on her honeymoon in a foreign country with Samuel/Agent Cooper. Stevie and Bryan are presumably at Stark Tower. Gunnar is hypnotized. Agent Hill is badly injured and is hiding out with Director Fury at her parents' house. This can only mean one thing. Shit's going to go down. What kind? Stay tuned for the next chapter. I promise you won't have to wait too long! And if you would like, leave a review. They are always appreciated! Thanks a ton for reading!)
