XXV
The woman was abominably patient. Her forbearance infuriated him. In the mornings, she entered his room with all the trappings of a meal to break his fast, the contents at once familiar and just the slightest bit wrong, enough to remind him once again where he was. The texture of the bread was too light, the color too pale, the crust too soft. The juice was sourer than it should be, and the warm herbal mixture she prepared was too spicy. The worst of it was the hot brown drink, bitter and strong.
He could not fool himself for a moment that he remained on Asgard.
She always set the meal on the wooden stand next to his bed and parted the curtains the slightest bit, to allow the dawn to creep over the floorboards. He still could not stand the full light of day.
And she asked him questions, quiet and gentle. "How're you feelin' this morning, sweetheart? Are you hungry? Are you hurting?"
"What's your name?"
The first time she'd asked his name, he'd simply turned over and stared at the wall until she left. But she'd kept returning, kept feeding him and caring for him, kept asking her questions.
"What's your name? Do you remember anything?" She'd clucked her tongue when he didn't respond, and said softer, "What happened to you, dear?"
He had lied and told her he didn't remember anything. Asgard and his old life – his false family – it had all the reality of a dream. He shut those thoughts away, purposefully, forcefully, yet they came round to plague him again once the woman went to sleep.
After a particularly restless night, having woken with a cry in his throat and tears on his cheeks, he had wanted the woman to linger while he ate his meal, hoping the novelty of her presence would be enough to drive off the ghosts. He'd asked her name and she had smiled at him.
"I'm Roseanne, sweetheart. My name is Roseanne. Do you remember your name?"
"I don't have a name," he said hoarsely, his throat cracked and dry. "I came from nowhere and am nothing."
The woman – Roseanne – shook her head. "Now don't say that. You're someone, I can see that plain as day."
He hadn't responded. The next morn, she bustled into the room again, this time carrying something tucked under her arm in addition to his meal. A spark of curiosity caught him off guard.
"What is that?" he asked.
She arranged his tray with his plates and cups, then handed him three books. He glanced at the covers before directing a puzzled frown at her. "Are you… having a child?" He immediately discarded the thought. The woman was too old, though he could admit he did not know much about the intricacies of mortal reproduction.
She laughed. "No, silly. The baby name books are for you." Roseanne perched on the foot of his bed. "I thought we could go through them together. Pick out a name for you. I can't keep callin' you sweetheart."
He clenched his hands tightly, wrinkling the books' covers. Could he simply choose a new name? Discard his old title, his old life like a snake shedding a skin?
The notion struck him dumb. He was on Midgard. He'd ascertained that much in the weeks since his landing. No one knew him. He could choose any name from one of these books and Roseanne would not know the difference.
He could free himself from Loki forever.
The spines of the books were stiff and he wondered if she purchased them specifically for him. He let that thought lie to consider later, an ember of warmth burrowing itself deep.
The page he opened to listed a collection of Midgardian names beginning with the letter E. Roseanne pointed one out. "How about Edward?"
He let the shape of the name roll around on his tongue. "No."
Together, they perused the pages. He stumbled upon one and considered it. Close enough that he would respond automatically to the sound, distinct enough to not be confused for the name of a dead man.
Roseanne murmured approvingly. "It suits you." She studied his face. "Yes, it definitely does. Lukas."
"Lukas," he whispered. "My name is Lukas."
XXVI
He is known.
After the effort he put into his mortal artifice, he never truly thought it could happen. He never believed a simple, narrow-minded human could uncover the secret of his nature. His arrogance has once again overshadowed his intellect.
Does Raina know his true name? Does it matter? The Ring reveals much deeper truths. Its magic strips away elaborate glamours and careful deceptions to reveal the very core of a being. He does not even know precisely what she saw.
Jötunn? Æsir? Sorcerer? Or – something else.
Perhaps he should leave this place, before Raina lets slip any detail to S.H.I.E.L.D. or her employer. He could shift his face; mold his features into one of his few meticulously crafted skins. Leave the country and assume yet another identity far from every trace of Lukas Eld.
Or perhaps the realm. He could cross between and disappear on any number of worlds, places that have never even heard of humans or jötunn.
Or into the Void. Tear open a hole in the fabric of Yggdrasil and throw yourself back into its black depths. You will know no pain or strife, only rest eternal.
The errant impulse shudders through him. He redirects his thoughts.
There is a stubborn part of him that rejects the idea of leaving. He has laid claim to this life, constructed it from nothing, from the ashes of a dead prince whose name he hasn't spoken aloud in two years. A name he refuses to even think.
What would Roseanne say, if he never returned? If he left with nary a farewell, casually denying every effort she has made to care for him? She had been so patient, so relentlessly concerned, despite his contrary nature and sharp tongue and the wreck the Void had left of his mind. Her assistance deserves some measure of gratitude, of deference to her wishes. And she would not wish him to leave without a word, no matter that she would be better for his absence.
He resolves to stay until circumstances absolutely force him to leave. Further plans can wait. He needs to take action now, to recover the Ring from Raina. Such an artifact should not be in her possession, it is a risk he cannot take. And he does not have the leisure to wait for the curse to take its inevitable slow revenge.
No. If Raina escapes with the Ring, and the knowledge of his cursed nature… that will be the blow to sever the neck. S.H.I.E.L.D. will never accept him, he'll be ostracized for the misfortune of his birth. Or hunted, at worst.
No. He refuses. His name is Lukas Eld, and he will not be cowed by a mortal such as Raina and the Ring she has no hope of comprehending.
Lukas stands from the ebony chair. He twists the handle of the door, breaking the meager lock easily with his strength. Raina's men turn at the disturbance, gun barrels rising.
His fingers close on smooth metal and he sights his target among the men arrayed against him, still surprised and off-balance at his sudden appearance. The first goes down with a silver dagger in his throat and a choked-off cry.
Another dagger, twin to the first, sprouts from the next man's shoulder. Not the fleshy part of the neck, but it will do. Lukas has grown lax while on Midgard, given the distinct lack of cause for tossing knives around, though he's felt the urge a time or two. His aim has suffered – but not enough to matter for these unfortunate soldiers.
The punctured man screams and his arm drops, weapon clattering to the ground, the severed muscles not strong enough to hold it. Despite his loss, he charges at Lukas. He grabs the man in a parody of a hug, letting the bullets from his fellows thud into his thick, black cloth armor as well as the soft flesh underneath. One lucky bullet strikes Lukas in the temple, then plinks to the ground, a flattened metal disc.
Well. That bullet is a valuable proof of concept. He had rather hoped for that outcome, but had never tested the resilience of his Æsir skin against modern human weapons.
Lukas glances at it, then at the gunman. The soldier gapes at his target, and blanches when Lukas smiles. Tossing the body he has hold of, he sends it careening into the gathered group, tumbling them all to the floor. Lukas ends the last three quickly, methodically, slashes to their unprotected throats.
He does not draw on the well of his seidr. It is not that he lusts for the fury and blood of battle – and hasn't that always been a failing of his, in the eyes of the Æsir. But neither does he shy away. And it has been years since he felt his body stir with such fierce heat.
When he stands over their unmoving forms, it occurs to him that this might be a tad difficult to explain to his compatriots. Humans are zealous enough in their killing, but restrict it to their warriors, with customs most convoluted and foreign. This would not endear him to S.H.I.E.L.D. They would not praise his prowess or his skill with the blade.
If anything, it would engender fear and lead to greater mistrust.
Lukas thinks for a moment – then incinerates the bodies with a flick of his fingers. A useful working, though not adaptable to any living organism. He should know. He'd tried a time or two.
Better to say he was unguarded, however unlikely, and escaped, than that he decimated a force five-strong, armed and armored.
Now, to find Raina and liberate her prize.
Lukas closes his eyes. And listens. Asgardian seidr rings vibrant and high, like the notes of a bell. Sweet and beautiful but unsubtle and impossible to ignore. Easy to sense, and thus hard to disguise. The Ring's magic is not Æsir; it is older than that, and unfamiliar. It is very faint, curling around the edges of his mind, creeping over his skin. The sensation feels warm as a hearth fire, hums clear and pure as the truth, but just as shrill and painful when he narrows in on it.
He follows its path, a fish to a distant lure. Lukas is so intently focused he nearly runs headlong into the two agents.
Quick reflexes allow him to whip back around the corner and draw a veil of shadow across himself. The fluorescent lights that lined the earlier corridors are dark and silent here, which is a relief, as this working does not hold up under direct illumination. He must have wandered away from the occupied portion of the building.
Agent Roberts's voice carries down the long, narrow hall. "We've gone too far. This part of the base doesn't even look active."
A bright white light skitters through the darkness. Another woman answers. "These tunnels must extend beyond the perimeter of the warehouse. There's no sign of an end anytime soon, and we've gone too far to still be within the walls."
"Exactly. I don't think Raina would have him down here. We should go back to that last junction upstairs and take the left."
He recognizes Agent May this time, purely through her sardonic tone. "Or maybe they escaped together."
Lukas holds his breath and doesn't know why. Roberts takes a long moment to respond. "I don't think so."
That's all she says. He exhales, and his chest feels oddly light.
"Wait – repeat that." Roberts sounds suddenly tense. May hadn't spoken. She must be in contact with others. "A what? Jesus – does he need backup? No – okay. Okay. Mmhm." She sighs. "I know he's a supersoldier, I was only –"
May cuts in. "Okay. Roger. Will report when we find Eld." There's a shuffling sound. "Let's get a move on. We have no idea how much more ground we have to cover and not much time. I'd kill for some blueprints right now."
Their boots clatter along the cement as they sprint back in the direction they came from. The agent's urgency spurs Lukas on and he detaches from his corner and hurries away.
S.H.I.E.L.D. has somehow learnt of the situation. Lukas feels mildly uncomfortable. His plan to alert Coulson and his band to Dr. Flagretti's location had been pushed aside in favor of his own panicked musings. He shoves the thought away. They are here now – and how exactly they discovered his location is yet another mystery for a later time. The two agents are searching for him. Lukas needs to recover the Ring and orchestrate his own rescue without appearing to do anything. It should be an interesting endeavor, if nothing else.
He finds the prize he seeks and its bearer in an unadorned cement passage, deep under the warehouse. Raina must be fleeing, giving up this particular operation as a casualty of war now that S.H.I.E.L.D. has infiltrated. No doubt she has other locations to fall back to.
The Ring is her priority and must therefore be in her possession.
She narrows her dark eyes at him. The unflattering white glare of the thin rectangular lights washes her skin out. Raina no longer appears soft and flattering; a sneer twists her lips and her eyes are alight with malice. It is a strange kind of honesty.
"You must not have been as intelligent as I gave you credit for," Raina says coldly. "Did you let something slip to your S.H.I.E.L.D. masters? Did they sniff you out as a double agent?"
"I told them from the start," Lukas lies. "I played you for a fool."
She laughs. "Oh, no. I don't believe that. I've seen the truth of you, Lukas." Raina stalks closer, her heels clicking along the floor. "You think you're a grand architect. A puppetmaster. You think you're in control. When really, you're just as much a slave to your own impulses as the rest of us are. You couldn't have told them the truth even if you wanted to. It's not in your nature. Everything about you is a lie – just like your name is."
The woman speaks with authority and Lukas feels something shrivel up in his chest. He pushes away her poison truths and wraps denial about himself like a cloak. "You know nothing of me. I am Lukas Eld."
The ghost of a brand twinges the skin of his chest again. Liar, liar.
Her smile is crooked and spiteful. "I expected you would attempt to double-cross me eventually. Didn't you wonder about the public meeting, the calls to your personal phone? I have pictures and documentation of our agreement. I was going to use them against you if you began to entertain any treacherous thoughts… but I suppose the effort was wasted. You were found out too early to be of use to me. But it's some small consolation you won't be of use to S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore either."
He doesn't respond, but Raina must see something in his expression, a flicker of doubt or confusion. Her smile grows. "You don't really think they're going to trust you after this? You think they're going to let you play their little spy games? Think of you as an asset, as a friend? You're deluding yourself. You have no one, now. You've burned all your bridges."
The words dig at him like a needle pushed under the skin. Wildly, he thinks, Bridge-Breaker. An apt kenning. I seem to have some talent for that.
"They know the truth of you, and they didn't even need my Ring," Raina continues smugly.
Despite the doubts swirling in his mind, Lukas fails to suppress a smile at her assertion. Raina bristles. The mortals barely have a frame of reference to comprehend the truth of him, Ring or not.
He latches onto this novel train of thought. S.H.I.E.L.D. is functionally ignorant of his past beyond vague suspicions. Even this woman, with her vaunted Ring, does not know where he has been or how long he has lived. She has made no mention, no hint of knowing any definitive information. She knows he is not as he appears. She might have seen his inner turmoil or his lowly origins.
But the only name she knows for certain is Lukas, and that gives him hope that not all is lost.
"I know what it is to live with mistrust and hatred, my dear Raina," he drawls, edging forward just as she had. "I have supped on such emotions longer than you could imagine. They were as mother's milk to me as a babe, and they are my sustenance even now. I have learned the taste of them well. You cannot fear what you know."
Lukas leans close, barely a handspan from her face. The petite woman has to crane her head up to meet his eyes. "I am not simply a liar. I am the best liar you will ever know. I won't just gain S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pardon and forgiveness. I will have S.H.I.E.L.D. begging me for my expertise on bended knee."
He can hear the hum of the Ring, tucked away in the inner pocket of her jacket. Stronger, now that he is back in its presence. He wonders that he had not noticed it before, when he was first escorted to Raina. Perhaps too subtle for him to notice in his preoccupation with S.H.I.E.L.D.
"Consider that while you run and hide, hunted like a rat in a kitchen, fleeing to your most pathetic nests and hovels," Lukas taunts. Raina goes rigid with anger.
He smirks at her. "I don't need a Ring to see the truth of you."
Raina opens her mouth to retort, but Lukas snaps his hand forward and grips her arm, twisting it up and around. She yelps in surprise, and her jacket flaps open. His hand is in the hidden pocket and snatching up the innocuous black case containing the Ring before she can react. Lukas twists her arm up farther when she begins to struggle, eliciting a shriek of pain. The woman is no fighter. She has men for that, though they are nowhere to be seen. Her employer's men, most likely, if they are not here covering her escape. She does not lay claim to their loyalty.
Releasing her, he shoves her hard, and she stumbles a few steps down the hall. Lukas slips the Ring's case into his own pocket. He goes to turn, when Raina flips around, raising a gun.
Lukas stops and considers. He does not want to display any magic, give this woman anymore reason to be suspicious or interested in him than she already is. But as proven earlier, unless those bullets are pure uru, or engraven with runes and embedded with various workings, they will not penetrate his skin.
"Return my Ring," Raina demands. "Give it back and then come with me. Even if you are a traitor, I'm sure we could learn a few things from you. Under anesthesia, of course," she adds sweetly.
He raises his hands to show he is unarmed and steps forward. "Take the Ring out of your pocket and throw it over here," Raina says sharply. He does neither and instead steps forward again. "Stop where you are," she commands with an edge of tension.
Lukas keeps inching forward. Raina cocks the gun. "Stop or I'll shoot," she promises.
He tuts mockingly at her. "I can see from your stance and your grip you are not well-practiced with such an instrument. I don't think you'll hit your mark," Lukas says.
Raina scoffs. "It's point blank range. You really are a fool."
On his next step, the gun fires. The bullets plink, one by one, to the stone floor.
The woman gapes at him. He gives her a half-smile and snatches the gun from her grip. "I'll just take this. It wouldn't do to have you embarrass yourself again."
She flees. Lukas considers going after her and detaining her for S.H.I.E.L.D. to take into custody, but he would rather not field any queries on how he accomplished such a feat. And he most certainly doesn't want Raina asking inconvenient questions in earshot of Agent Coulson or Agent Roberts.
He could kill her. But now that she has been relieved of the Ring, she is no true threat to him. Let her flee, and spread tales of his power. Her words will likely not reach any of the wrong ears.
In another life, if he was another man, he might have killed her anyway, simply for expediency. But Lukas Eld is gracious in victory. He has people that would expect this of him.
Lukas considers the Ring in his coat pocket. There are a multitude of paths open to him. A crossroads of sorts. A noble path, or a cunning one. There's one path marked with trimmings of gold and power. Another that descends into the Void. And there's something that could be a path, though it is overgrown with weeds, choked with doubt and uncertainty – a fearful, mysterious trail that leads to parts unknown.
Which path would Lukas Eld choose?
