Fenrir's Binding: The Queen And The Barbarian
By evolution-500
Genres: Romance/Angst
Feedback: Always welcome
WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised.
Disclaimer: Killer Instinct" is a property belonging to Rareware and Microsoft while "The Boys" is a property by Garth Ennis and Dynamite Comics. I do not own these characters.
Prologue: Descent
"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."
- Ernest Hemingway, "A Farewell to Arms"
Queen Maeve stared out through the window of her plane at the dark midnight clouds as she sat alone in first class, watching the lightning ripple through the darkness as they rumbled with trembling fury, as if in judgment of her.
"Your martinis and bottle, your Highness."
Turning to face the flight attendant, a young woman with long blonde hair done up in a bun who seemed to be in her early twenties and a hawkish nose, Maeve forced herself to smile.
"Thank you," she said as she took the glasses and bottle, placing them down on the table in front of her.
"I have to say, it is an honor meeting you!" The attendant gushed. "You probably get this all the time, but I am such a huge fan!"
"Is that right?" Maeve said disinterestedly, taking a sip from her glass. Here we go again.
"You bet! You are so amazing, an inspiration to women everywhere!" The girl said ecstatically before suddenly standing in an exaggerated akimbo style, puffing her chest out, "'Girls Get It Done', right?"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." Maeve said dryly in boredom, taking another gulp of her drink. With any luck the martini will knock her senseless and make Miss Annoying's ramblings seem less irritating.
"I've read your biography over a hundred times! It's such a good read! What is it like being the Empress of the Netherworld, if you don't mind my asking?"
Maeve gave her a glance. "Listen, uh..."
"Carol."
"Carol," Maeve repeated. "Don't you have somewhere else to go?"
"Oh no," Carol waved, clearly too airheaded to not have gotten the hint. "I'm going to be having my break soon."
"Lucky you."
Turning away, Maeve continued to drink as the girl rambled on nonstop.
"If you don't mind my saying so, your Highness, both you and Homelander look soooooo good together!"
Looking back at her, Maeve forced herself to smile, trying to resist the urge to throw up and/or beat the girl to death. Part of her really wanted to punch a hole through her head.
Badly.
'Control yourself, Maeve,' she inwardly told herself. Keep calm.
Just a few more hours, and then she'll be in Sweden in time for the premiere of her latest film. She just needed to keep calm.
"Thanks."
Carol glanced around, as if making sure nobody was listening in. Once she seemed certain that nobody could hear them, she leaned in to Maeve.
"Just between us girls," the annoying bitch continued, "is Homelander...well...you know..."
She wagged her eyebrows suggestively.
Maeve only offered a smile. "He's something else."
The fangirl cackled gleefully as she held her colored cheeks. "Ohhhh! I'm blushing!"
Good. Now eat shit and die.
"If you don't mind my saying so, your Majesty, you are so lucky! You have no idea how many of my girlfriends talk about him - he is sooooo hot! So dreamy!"
"Uh huh. Uh huh." Maeve nodded in a detached manner, imagining herself popping the annoying bitch's head like a pea.
Carol looked at her excitedly. "Out of curiosity, your Highness, is Homelander, you know, the one?"
Maeve shrugged.
"He's the one, alright," she replied.
One bastard.
As the flight attendant bounced up and down like a child on a bouncy castle, another flight attendant, an older man in his fifties, approached the two of them.
"Carol! Where have you been?!" He reprimanded, causing "Carol" to flinch.
"I-I'm sorry, sir!"
"I don't care if you are - get back to work!" he snapped.
Maeve watched as Carol disappeared, hurrying away with a flushed face.
Turning to face her, the flight attendant gave her an apologetic nod.
"I'm sorry about that, your Highness," he bowed slightly. "She hasn't been bothering you, has she?"
"No, no!" Maeve lied. "Not at all!"
Couldn't have come any sooner.
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed outside the plane, startling the two of them.
He frowned. "That storm is cutting it close."
"Is it something to worry about?" Maeve asked, concern creeping into her voice.
The flight attendant waved.
"No no, it will be fine." he assured as he looked back to her. "Will you be needing anything?"
"No thank you."
"Oh. Okay then." The flight attendant offered a smile, his eyes clearly ogling her body, leering at her breasts. "I hope you have a good flight, your Majesty."
Maeve rolled her eyes as he turned away and left.
Creep.
Looking back to the window, Maeve stared at her own reflection.
Greeting her were deep, tired, blueish-grey eyes in an oblong face, her pale skin contrasted by the wavy, dark auburn hair, the dimple lines on her cheeks pronounced, her nose long and thin.
Her strapless, cuirass-styled leather corset with a skirt highlighted her lean and sensual form and exposed her long legs, the former a burgundy-colored thing with silver lines that swirled around the breasts in mimicry of ram horns, her bare shoulders exposed.
The skirt, held up by straps with a buckle in the center that contained a star emblem, was deliberately made short to sexually entice the eye of many a fan, male or female, a calculated decision thanks to the heads of marketing and focus groups.
Long, black knee-high leather boots with silver guards concealed her legs, while silver braces with red gems were cuffed around both wrists.
A silver shoulder piece with a star on it was held in place by two straps around the torso, while a tiara complimented the ensemble.
Adjusting the silver eagle headpiece that she wore on her forehead, Maeve stared long and hard at her reflection, not recognizing who stared back at her.
"God, look at you," she whispered to her reflection.
She looked like a fucking prostitute in this thing. Like some pervert's wet dream come true.
Then again, given how much of herself she had given away and everything that she had done for the sake of getting here, Maeve couldn't really say that she was surprised. Hell, Homelander, piece of shit that he was, had already compromised her by passing all those sex tapes and nude photos that she had made with him around to different departments in Corporate, so they all viewed her as a whore anyway.
Was she really so old, though?
Granted, she was in her thirties, but still, she was aging. She was no spring chicken anymore.
Was she really so tired-looking?
Once upon a time, Maggie Shaw was a young girl who had big dreams, with big hopes and an abundance of energy.
She had dreamed of becoming a celebrity.
Coming from a poor, single-parent family, with a father who spent a lot of his money gambling and on booze, even when she had been in need of braces, Maggie had long dreamed of being the most beautiful girl in America.
She used to dream of making it big, of becoming the richest and most famous woman in the world.
She used to dream of finding Prince Charming and getting married one day, perhaps starting a family.
But even more, she used to dream of making a difference in this world, of being a hero.
Looking at herself now, however, Maeve couldn't believe what she had become.
She was famous, yes.
As a member of The Seven, the most powerful and famous superhero group in the world, Maeve was the second-most powerful fighter who wielded considerable influence. She was definitely beautiful and rich, just as she had always wanted.
Was she a hero, though?
Was she making a difference?
Staring back from the dark glass of the window were the eyes of a broken woman, a woman sick and tired of putting on the fake smiles for the cameras, for the paparazzi's. She was tired of pretending to be happy. She was tired of lying to herself all the time.
She was tired of everything.
What sort of difference was she making, if any?
Had she made a difference? For the world? For anyone?
There used to be a time where Maeve cared about saving the world, but...did it really need saving in the first place?
When she was younger, a perky twenty year-old idealist with an ass to bounce a nickel off of, Maeve used to believe that she would be able to change the world for the better, that with her gifts anything was possible.
After all, she was blessed with these gifts, right? She had been chosen by God to do right in the world!
At least, according to her father and all the people she had ever met.
She used to fight and stand for something. She used to believe.
All Maeve felt now, though, was...empty. Empty and disillusioned.
Her "gifts", she had discovered later, rather than being from God as she had been lead to believe, were all thanks to injections doctors had given her as a baby.
Compound V. Vought International's best kept secret, until it was leaked to the media, creating a scandal for the company. The drug that gave every supe their amazing abilities.
Even more, supes by and large were faaaaaar from being actual "heroes" like in movies and comic books, The Seven especially. Almost every person that had been injected with Compound V - at least, those she had met personally - was vile and disgusting, the vast majority of them worse than a lot of the "criminals" they put away.
The things some of them would do...
Maeve shuddered.
She heard all sorts of sick things. There were all sorts of rumors surrounding supes like Teenage Kix, Team Titanic, Oh Father, Jack from Jupiter, etc, a lot of them completely fucked up.
'Speaking of Jack, I wonder what he's up to now,' she pondered to herself.
Was he still having orgies with transsexual she-boys and injecting himself with drugs laced with some woman's vaginal fluids?
'Who cares,' Maeve mentally shrugged.
Jaundiced freak. She was glad that The Seven got rid of him.
The G-Men were also weird, even downright...creepy.
Maeve had met the man in charge of that group, John Godolkin, ages ago, but the one time she had shaken hands with him made her want to wash it off with soap and a thick wire brush. She didn't know what the deal with that guy was, nor did she know what went on with his group - all she knew was that she absolutely wanted nothing to do with them whatsoever.
The only one that seemed remotely decent in that group was Silver Kincaid, but Maeve couldn't help sensing a great sadness about her.
The worst, in her opinion, had to be Homelander.
Maeve sighed.
How could a man so absolutely dashing be an absolute monster?!
To think that she had been in love with him!
The things he did to her...
Looking back to her glass, Maeve downed her drink.
Bastard!
As she wiped her lips, Maeve let her mind drift to the various regrets she had in her life, to the few people that she had ever been close with.
"Elena," she said softly as she stared out the window, her eyes softening at the thought of her former lover. "I'm sorry."
If only Elena hadn't found that cellphone recording of the plane incident...
While Maeve wasn't proud at all what had happened, the fact was that she needed an anchor, desperately. She needed someone to comfort her when she had nobody to turn to. Every time she went to sleep, she was haunted by the sight of the scared passengers on that plane, the tearful pleas of that mother and daughter, their screams...
Closing her eyes, Maeve shivered.
God, the screams! The awful, soul-tearing screams!
Taking another gulp of her glass, she swallowed it all, then plucked the olive off from the tiny pick with her lips, gulping it down whole before moving onto the next cup.
Just a few more glasses to dull the pain.
Looking out to the black midnight sky, Maeve broodily reflected on her position.
Weren't there any actual heroes out there? Weren't there actual good people?
As far as Maeve were aware, the only ones with abilities that seemed to fit the bill was the new kid Starlight as well as the team Super Duper, but the latter were such a joke. More like the special Olympics equivalent, if she were being honest with herself.
And yet, Maeve had to admit that part of her was somewhat encouraged and impressed by their dedication and willingness to do good in the world...even if it was woefully naïve and their abilities were extremely lacking. One day, they're going to find out the hard way what the real world was all about - pain and disappointment.
She sighed deeply.
Whether people ended up being saved, whether people ended up getting killed, it seemed as if nothing ever changed.
Homelander and Vought were rude wakeup calls that forced Maeve to grow up and reject her ideals, to face up to the harsh, cold truth.
Sure, she can be a "hero"...but only if she played by the rules. Step out of line with either the corporation or Homelander himself...well, it was nice knowing ya.
Taking a sip from her second martini, Maeve kept staring at her reflection, shaking her head.
Where have all those years gone?
Sure, she was beautiful, strong, rich and famous, but the price she paid to get it?
How much of her was even left?
Gulping down the rest of her drink, Maeve rested her head against her chair, staring up at the ceiling.
Part of her desperately wanted something more.
Part of her wanted to prove to herself that she was a hero, that there was something worth fighting for.
She wanted to believe...in...something. Anything.
'That's nice,' said the cynical realist in her as it came to burst her bubble. 'Maybe if you click your heels three times everything will be right as rain! Maybe Vought will turn over a new leaf along with Homelander! Maybe Elena will come skipping to your doorstep and scream 'I want to marry you!' PFFFT!'
Reaching into her purse, Maeve took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, stuffing a stick into her mouth as she lit it up with the latter.
"Uh, excuse me, your Highness?"
Maeve rolled her eyes. Oh great, the bitch was back.
Exhaling, she stared ahead, ignoring the flight attendant.
"Yes?" she said as she continued smoking her cigarette.
"I'm sorry, but smoking isn't allowed onboard."
Looking over in Carol's direction, Maeve gave her an unimpressed look, then puffed out a thick cloud of nicotine smoke at her in contempt before turning away.
"Your Majesty-"
"Carol," Maeve cut her off, "I'm not in the mood right now. I want to be left alone."
"But your Highness-"
"Carol, take the hint," Maeve said with an edge to her voice. "Fuck off."
The flight attendant's jaw dropped in shock at what she just heard. Scrunching up her eyes, mouth and fists, she angrily stormed off, leaving Maeve alone.
Finally.
Puffing on her cigarette, Maeve continued to smoke for a few minutes, then stubbed out her cigarette into one of the martini glasses.
She stared into the empty glasses, feeling miserable and alone.
If only Elena hadn't left.
Granted, what she saw on that video was horrifying, but that was NOT what Maeve was!
...Wasn't she?
Then again, perhaps she was.
After all, what kind of hero was she?
Would a hero let a corrupt company like Vought do the things that they do?
Would a hero willingly turn a blind eye to the horrible things that either Homelander or Black Noir had done?
Would a hero...knowingly let a plane full of people die?
Maeve massaged her head as the images of those people cried out to her, tormenting her.
What could she have done?
She had no flight powers of her own, but still, there had to have been something that she could have done!
Reaching up to her auburn hair, Maeve's eyes teared up as she placed a hand over her mouth, her mind trying to think of the possible ways she could have saved all those people.
Maybe if she had acted fast enough and snapped the terrorist's neck before he had fired his pistol into the pilot's head. Maybe if she had done a better job convincing Homelander-
Wiping her eyes, a frown formed on her lips as she exhaled.
Who was she kidding?
Despite looking like a Greek god, with striking blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and facial features that would have swept any woman off her feet, Homelander was, as far as Maeve was concerned, the Devil incarnate. Despite the American flag that he has for a cape and the star-spangled outfit, Homelander was not even close to being a hero, let alone a good person. The truth was, despite all his pretensions and bravado, he didn't give a fuck about anyone except himself.
He wouldn't have cared.
He hadn't cared about the weeping woman and child that were begging for their lives - he was too worried about the damage to his reputation rather than sticking his neck out for anyone other than himself. It wouldn't have mattered even if Maeve had offered him the greatest blowjob of all time or if she had offered to fuck him right then and there in front of all those people. The fact was, Homelander was a narcissistic, shallow prick that only cared about getting praise and being viewed as a hero rather than being one.
Leaning back into her seat, a soft sigh escaped from Maeve's lips.
She was glad that Homelander wasn't with her right now, that she was travelling by herself to Sweden. The fact that he had a premiere and autograph-signing to attend to in Tokyo for his latest movie, 'Homelander Busts a Nut' or whatever, made her thankful for finally being alone, with nobody around to bother her.
Opening up the bottle, Maeve poured herself another glass as she thought about what she was going to do after her own movie premiere. She'll still need to do a tour of Europe for the various other premiere of her movie in the following days, but what about after the premiere in Sweden? How should she celebrate her fleeting moments of freedom? What should she do?
Fight crime?
Go save the world?
Walk an old woman across the street?
Decisions, decisions.
'Let's see...' she trailed off mentally, '...how about...get myself several bottles of the best chardonnay in the country...a nice hotel room with a hot tub...then...have a three-way with the most stacked bodybuilders that I could find?'
Preferably ones sporting the biggest, ahem, equipment?
A lewd smirk formed on one side of her face at the thought.
That oughta do it.
She knew what she wanted, and she definitely knew how to party.
Once she finished pouring another glass, Maeve looked back to her reflection and raised a glass to it.
"Here's to looking at you."
With that, she downed her drink.
It was a shit plan, admittedly. A downright selfish one, if Maeve were truly being honest with herself, but for once in her life, she just wanted to find something...real.
Something worthwhile in her life, to remind her that she was still alive.
Part of Maeve felt hollow - no matter how much she smoked, no matter how much she drank, no matter how many partners she took to her bed, Maeve never felt satisfied with anything. Then again, perhaps she didn't need to feel anything. Perhaps that was the whole point, that she didn't want to feel anything. Perhaps she just simply wanted all the pain and emptiness to go away.
If only she could do...something.
Despite the publicity of her being a feminist and being a superhero, able to tear through steel as if it were nothing, never before had Maeve ever felt so...powerless.
So...alone.
Looking into the night sky as the clouds rumbled and rippled with flashes of lightning, she poured herself another drink, impatience building within her.
God, nine hours to Stockholm?! Seriously?! Stan Edgar couldn't get a faster flight for her?
How long had she been on this damn plane for?!
She already watched a couple shitty movies starring Will Ferrell and the Deep - twice, much to her displeasure and annoyance - so what the hell was she going to do in the meantime?
Maeve huffed indignantly.
Whatever.
She'll just drink and fuck until she's numb to everything.
That'll do the job.
As she raised up her glass, Maeve felt the plane jerk, causing her to drop her glass as a a bright, yellow and orange light flared up through the window.
Turning her head, her eyes widened in alarm as she caught site of the flames that gnawed on the burning wing where the fuel tank was, the fire lighting up the dark midnight clouds.
Maeve heard the speaker go off, the pilot telling everyone to remain calm and to make sure that all of their seat belts were on.
"Everyone remain calm, we're going to be performing an emergency landi-"
Maeve felt herself pinned to her seat as she felt the plane jolt and shake, tilting down at an angle.
She felt the plane dive, watching as one or two personnel that hadn't been buckled into their seats grab on for dear life anything they tried getting their hands on. One man was clinging onto the long hair of a screaming woman before it gave way under his grip, his body smashing into the walls, floor and ceiling.
She saw a flight attendant get smashed in the face by a service trolley, knocking teeth out, causing blood and spittle to fly everywhere.
"SAVE ME! PLEASE, MAEVE, SAVE ME!"
Looking ahead in the direction where she heard the voice, she saw Carol a few aisles down, her tear-stained face looking pleadingly at her as she floated freely up the air.
"MAEVE, SAVE US!" She screamed. "PLEASE GOD, SAVE US!"
Maeve looked to the rest of the cabin in the midst of all the confusion, her mind trying to process what was happening, trying to process a possible solution.
Dear God, it's happening again!
Looking desperately around, Maeve mentally prayed to every deity that she could think of for a way to save these people, for someone, anyone, to come and save them.
"Homelander please!" she whispered, scared out of her mind. "If you are out there somewhere, please! If you save these people I'll do anything you want for the rest of my-"
Before she could pitifully complete her desperate prayer, Maeve found herself helplessly pinned to her seat as the plane dove down and spun, sending everything and everyone into chaos.
So, this was how everything would end for her, was it?
Closing her eyes in acceptance, Maeve prayed that death would be quick.
The last thing she saw and heard were the screaming passengers before everything went black.