XLVII

Excerpt from the poem "The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from the version published in 1842

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-haired page in crimson clad,
Goes by to towered Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.


XLVIII

The reckoning, Lukas thinks, and smothers a wild urge to smile. Anticipation tickles at the base of his spine. Perhaps he should be worried - perhaps Lukas Eld would be worried. But there is a gleeful little shadow underneath his mortal veneer, restless and whispering in his ear.

Spin a story, knot the thread. With warp and weft, we weave a web.

He can nearly hear a woman's voice, faint and musical, humming the tune as he repeats the familiar rhyme… a rhyme she taught him. There goes the needle, with steps retread. Don't look now, but you've been misled.

Biting his lip, Lukas pulls on a cloak of calm.

He wonders at the larger crowd that has been brought together. The Captain, and the Widow. Coulson. Director Fury. Another agent, clad in black, the skin of his biceps bare and a bow slung over his shoulder. Agent Roberts, and the pair of scientists. A briefing, Coulson had called it. Lukas knows better. Suspiciously late in the evening, for one, and the attendees have been chosen with care.

All fighters. Capable, armed and armored. Excepting the scientists, and those with knowledge are never without a weapon. Lukas considers them. If they meant this show to intimidate him… well, he'd have to see about turning the tables, lest S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agents grow complacent. Lukas would hate to have reassured them to the point of relaxing security standards for outside consultants.

Fear could be a useful motivator, after all. Sometimes it served as a judicious reminder of why exactly you should exert yourself to keep a powerful ally at your side, rather than at your enemy's. Lukas could use that. Especially considering Coulson had never really delivered on that diamond-encrusted Rolex.

Time to prod the bilgesnipe with the electrified spear, as they say.

"Well. This ought to be interesting." Lukas picks at his nails. "I suppose you want me to explain myself."

"That would be a nice change of pace." Fury presses his lips tight together.

"So, where shall I start?" Lukas makes a show of thinking, gazing up at the oppressively low tiled ceiling and poking his tongue into his cheek. He glances back at them. "Let's see… I consider myself a very private person."

Coulson sighs. "There's no such thing as privacy in this line of work."

His mind flickers through a dozen scenarios. Do they expect me to lie? Or to confess? To cry, or to flee?

Coulson knows that Eld is not as forthright as he probably should be. Coulson expects an explanation, and would think himself clever for sniffing out a lie. The man is not vain, but he is not without ego either. Coulson, like all men, tells himself a story, every day, about who he is and what he is good at. Lukas shall simply have to fit into the narrative, and the details will come into focus.

"I must say, I'm curious to hear your own suppositions."

The redheaded woman meets his gaze. Red now, no longer blonde, but the same Agent Romanova that Coulson had addressed back in the warehouse. "We know you've lied to us from the beginning. We know your name isn't Lukas Eld. We know you're not just a historian." She leans forward. "We know you're something more."

Lukas raises a brow. "If you consider an omission a lie…"

"Yep." The agent he'd seen with the bow speaks flatly.

"That's a very narrow perspective," Lukas observes. "How... charmingly provincial. And from a man bearing an equally adorable weapon."

The archer scowls at him, opening his mouth, and Lukas thinks he will snap out an irritated retort. The man surprises him, however.

"Will you tell us your real name?" The archer's words are targeted, straight to the heart of the one subject Lukas does not want to touch.

"The only name I answer to now is Lukas Eld," he says sharply. "It is no less real than any others I might have carried throughout my life."

Agent Romanova's gaze sharpens. Lukas holds it for a fraction of a second before looking away. Something there, his mind catalogues automatically. A pressure point.

"Alright. Fine." The archer runs a finger along the spine of his bow, something of an anxious habit, Lukas suspects. "How about telling us what you did in that warehouse, and how you did it?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not." Lukas smiles blandly. "I've got a reputation to uphold, you understand. I find the air of mystery I am trying to cultivate is most successful when my deeds are spoken of in awed whispers and hushed rumors."

The Captain tries to stifle a snort and doesn't quite succeed. The archer blinks, seeming nonplussed, thrown off his gambit.

"That isn't a request. It's a demand." Fury glowers at him, arms crossed over his chest.

Coulson tries to soften that. "If you want to continue working with us, we need more information about your capabilities. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't like working with wildcards."

"And what is it, precisely, that you want, Agent Coulson?" He can't help but needle him, just a little. "Or have you fallen so deeply into your role as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s stalwart general that you cannot tell the difference between your thoughts and their agenda?"

"I want you to stop trying to distract us." The agent pins him with a steady look. "I want you to stop holding back."

"Hmm. Noted." Lukas holds his expression carefully blank. "And what is it you offer?" He wants to be clear on this point. He wants to know what he stands to gain.

"A chance to stop hiding."

The words reverberate in his chest, quiver along the tendons, echo in the empty places. He is a creature of shadow, made for the half-light, perpetually shrouded. To be out in the open - to be seen - that is for those without shame. Unburdened by secrets. For those who do not fear to show their true faces. Weave a web. The rhyme fades to a murmur.

He thought he had made his peace with anonymity. The longing that sweeps through him now is nothing but a remnant of a different time, the last vestiges of a prince who hoped such a day would dawn when he would be known to all. That the light would be cast upon him and reveal his worth, like a gem uncovered from within the deepest crevice.

Lukas knows better. There is nothing to sift from the ashes of his soul. The lie all along, the one he'd believed - that there was a gem to be found.

But to be known, in some small way, even if it is by these unremarkable humans instead of those few he'd once dreamed would come to understand...

The impulse takes him, and he speaks. "I cannot tell you what I am." He forestalls any argument by continuing a bare moment later. "That would require years we do not have and a masochistic philosopher or two. But as for what I can do," Lukas says slowly. "I can show you."

He pauses. Meets Fury's gaze, and then Coulson.

The agents exchange glances. Captain Rogers blinks in surprise. "You mean - here? Now?"

He gives the man a half-smile, solely for the naked curiosity in his voice. "Why yes, of course." Lukas lifts one pale, long-fingered hand. Seidr flares in his mind, prickles down his nerves, washes over the skin of his palm. A lick of emerald flame curls from the base of his thumb, twines around the knuckles, leaps playfully from one fingertip to the next.

"You're - that's - fire!" Fitz nearly jumps from his seat.

"That's not what you did in the warehouse," Steve Rogers murmurs. He cocks his head, studying the flicker of heatless flame.

"On the contrary," Lukas tells him. "At its most essential, it is exactly the same."

The female scientist leans forward, eyes wide. "Do you mean - are you manipulating the visible spectrum? Is that how you disappeared before? Can you bend light around you? Reflect it?"

"I'm sure I don't know the precise mechanism," Lukas demurs. "I only know that I can do this. And more." He levels his stare directly at Coulson this time.

Fitz reaches out to touch, and Lukas snaps his fingers. The emerald glow vanishes. "Tell me," he cajoles, "Do I meet your high expectations?"

"A pretty lightshow." Coulson's expression is even. "I'd have to see you in action to be sure."

"And what would that entail?"

"You would continue your work with the Ring. But - the Ring isn't our only unique artifact that would benefit from the full extent of your capabilities."

Lukas hums, a sliver of warm amusement at the man's persistence surfacing from deep in his chest. "The full extent of my capabilities…" Lukas taps his fingers on his lower lip. "Will cost you significantly more." He grins without showing any teeth.

"You're asking for a raise right now?" The archer laughs. "Jesus, the guy's got balls, I'll give him that."

"You've heard what we can offer you." Fury's one-eyed glare is not the most intimidating Lukas has ever seen, but it is a quality effort. "But what are you offering? A trick of the light. A street magician can do that, and for a hell of a lot less cash."

Tricks. The human is goading him. And it is working. A flush of annoyance creeps up his neck. Some do battle, others just do tricks. A sentiment commonly spoken by the ignorant. Lukas has no patience for ignorance.

"I am well versed in tricks, as you say. But conjuring light is not so simple as you might believe. For what is light but energy? And energy seems to be a currency worth much in this realm," Lukas points out deftly. "Harnessed for many tasks. A force to power your vehicles, your cell phones. Your weapons. It can be used to travel, and communicate." A shallow breath, before the claws come unsheathed. "Even disintegrate something completely, if the power is concentrated enough, as I'm sure a few unlucky humans could attest."

He feels their attention, honed to a fine point. Lukas's voice grows soft. "It can be used to destroy something, utterly. A flash of blue light, and then nothing but dust."

To his surprise, it is Captain Rogers that blinks rapidly, his mouth twisting in harsh remembrance. It seems these Tesseract weapons have been around longer than he believed. Coulson shifts the slightest bit, the muscles of his neck flexing as if he wants to turn his head and look again at one of his subordinates.

"An altogether underwhelming way to exit this life, in my opinion. But if light is manipulatable, and light is energy… well. I think you would find my expertise on the subject very useful." Lukas cocks his head, waiting for their next play.

Fury only grunts. Lukas feels a frisson race up his spine, heady as the seidr that had surged from his fingertips. The lull is thick, heavy with a coming decision, with potential, the first spark that will light the conflagration.

The archer speaks, his tone low and sardonic. "What's the going rate for metahumans these days, anyway?"

"Wait - he's a metahuman?"

The voice buzzes loudly, from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It brings the room to a stuttering halt. None of the assembled humans have spoken.

Lukas jerks, looking around. "And who, pray tell, is that?" he demands.

Fury snarls. "Stark!"

"Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud? Jarvis, do we have audio input and output?"

Another voice, smooth and flat, replies. "Yes, sir."

"Dammit, J, did you do that on purpose? I was only kidding when I said I'd dump your memory backup into the trash compactor - "

"STARK!"

"You activated the audio link, sir. You were going to give Director Fury a message. I believe you were - distracted."

Fury glowers up at the ceiling. "Stark, I swear on all that is holy - "

Coulson closes his eyes. "How did you get through?"

The disembodied voice answers jauntily. "I designed your cyber security, remember? And what was I supposed to do? None of you were answering your cells!"

Agent Romanova tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. "Here we go," she mutters.

"Cat's out of the bag, I guess." The voice - Stark's - crackles and hisses, as if speaking from a great distance. "But it seems like you guys have bigger problems, so don't let me stop you. You were in the middle of a delicate negotiation, I believe. Carry on."

"What do you want?" Coulson says, every word clipped and brusque.

"Oh, nothing too important. Just, you know, a giant sinkhole opening up in the Bronx out of nowhere, nothing special, nope. Only doing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s job, once again. But if you'd, I dunno, like to come and help evacuate the civilians, I wouldn't say no."

Coulson leaps into action. "Romanova, Rogers, Barton, get to the helipad. Commandeer the quinjet if you have to. Go!"

The archer, the Captain, and the redheaded woman barely spare a moment to hear his instruction. The door gapes open, slamming back against the wall.

"Stark, get me coordinates. Now. Roberts, I'll forward them to you. Assemble a crisis management team and get them to the site ASAP." The curious term tries to burrow through the filter of Allspeak and fails, leaving only a sense of urgency. Lukas shakes his head. Not relevant.

Agent Coulson points a finger at the scientists. "Fitz, Simmons, pack up your equipment and hop on Roberts's transport."

"You think - " the boy swallows. "You think this is like the ship? Like the basement?"

The look on Coulson's face answers for him. Lukas's curiosity is roused, and as always, this new interest takes precedence over nearly everything else happening around him. "Now, would you say this incident requires the full extent of my capabilities?" he asks.

Fury and Coulson hold an entirely silent conversation. Lukas fancies he can see the unspoken words volley back and forth in a series of muscle twitches and eyelid flicks. Fury finally turns, planting his feet solidly apart, arms still crossed over his chest like iron bars, glaring. "Fine. Go."

Not exactly a hero's welcome, but then, he'd long ago learned that the Norns had barred that shining path from him. Lukas, feeling unexpectedly generous, galvanized as he is by these new developments, only nods and flits out the door after the scientists.

The transport is cramped and crowded. Fitz is a nervous, quivering ball at his left side, often shooting him furtive and curious glances. Lukas only breathes deeply once he exits the vehicle, after the engines have rumbled to a stop. And immediately chokes on that breath, when he eyes the scene before him.

Bumping Lukas's shoulder, Fitz rushes past, dragging several crates with him. He lugs a black bag over the scuffed sidewalk. Right up to the edge of the - the - Lukas can barely focus on it, nausea curling in his stomach.

It is distorted. That is the best way he can rationalize it in his own mind. The familiar boundaries of Yggdrasil, warped out of place, like a celestial child has taken up the fabric of the realm in one hand and twisted it harshly in his fist.

Lukas has always had a keen sense of the boundaries - the better to find his way around them. This, however, is a crude mockery of the delicateseidr needed to traverse those slippery tunnels that spontaneously form and dissipate within the ether.

The building that had the misfortune to be in this particular place when the distortion formed is now crumbling around the sucking black of the gap. The brittle stone walls are cracked, shattered, barely holding together. Humans rush back and forth, skirting the dark edge, digging through the rubble. Lukas can hear muffled screams and cries from within.

He can do nothing but watch. The full extent of my capabilities, Lukas thinks, the inside of his mouth awash with a bitter tang. Running into a collapsing building would be the height of foolishness. He will only get in the way of others better equipped for such a task, and with the training to complete it.

No, they will need his focus right here. The humans have no idea how much they need it. He closes his eyes and listens. There is no meditative peace to be found in this garden of concrete and steel, but Lukas tries.

A cold emptiness seeps out from the distortion. An echo of distance, of space. This is a portal, of sorts. Warped, misshapen, as like to drop one off in the vastness between the stars as a habitable realm, but still capable of transport. He can sense no fixed endpoint. What purpose could such a desultory portal serve? Other than destruction. And if that is its purpose, it is serving admirably.

He opens his eyes, unsure how much time has passed. The screams have stopped. Lukas tries to spin that as a positive. There are fewer personnel scrambling around, more staring upward, studying the building that is still, inexplicably, standing.

Fitz comes to his side, huffing out a breath. "Just mental, isn't it?"

"The ship. And the basement," Lukas realizes.

"Like this." The scientist nods, a rueful tilt to his head. "What do you think, then?"

Before Lukas's pause grows too long, Coulson interrupts. A man walks with him - a man encased in crimson metal, only his face bared to the glare of electric lights from the buildings around them. Stark, surely. The Man of Iron, Lukas has heard tell of him and his mechanized suit of armor with which he does battle. He is speaking, loudly and with incredible rapidity.

"You think I have nothing better to do than to listen in on S.H.I.E.L.D.? Does the giant multinational corporation with my name on it ring any bells?" Stark slaps a hand to his hip, metal clanging against metal, and makes a rude noise with his mouth. "I'm a busy guy. Most of your top secret meetings bore me to tears. Newsflash, Coulson - the only one interested in comparing the efficiency of Form A7C10 versus Form JB039 is you ."

Lukas thinks he hears Coulson mutter. "That form is integral to interdepartmental communication."

Fitz turns bright red, squeaks something like a greeting, and darts back to the van. Lukas surveys Stark, toe to tip, and tries not to let his lip curl in disdain. Spying on S.H.I.E.L.D., trying to ferret out their secrets, and Lukas's, as a consequence. He will not let that pass lightly.

Stark's eyes flit to him, one side of his mouth quirking up. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s really stepped up the agent dress code," he says, appraising Lukas's suit. "Going for the men in black vibe?"

Coulson digs the tips of his fingers into furrow between his brows. "Mr. Lukas Eld, outside consultant. Meet Tony Stark."

Lukas does not extend his hand. Only gives Stark a curt nod, crossing his arms over his chest. Stark's smile widens. "Riiiight." He draws the word out. "The special consultant." Winking at Lukas, he nudges Coulson with an elbow. "I gotcha. My lips are sealed."

Stark mimes locking them and tossing away a key. Somehow, the gesture does not inspire confidence in his ability to keep such sensitive information to himself. "You'd better," Coulson says. "Or I'll tell Pepper."

"No need to get so prickly, Agent Agent." Stark walks up to the distortion, dangerously close to portal's shadowed horizon. "So, you gonna tell me what the hell we're dealing with?"

Lukas and Coulson follow. Fitz must feel it is safe enough to approach, and so he does, dragging Simmons in his wake. All of them line up at the edge.

The dark wind of the ragged gap tears at his jacket. Lukas stares into it - the pure, depthless darkness of the abyss, and feels a shiver of remembered horror.

You are no longer falling. This is not the Void.

Stark steps to his side and gives him a knowing look. "Nasty, huh?"

"This is not right," he replies. Lukas had not sensed this distortion, and it puzzles him, bafflement fading into irritation.

"No shit," Stark says glibly. "What tipped you off? The fact that there's a gaping hole in the middle of what used to be an apartment complex?"

Lukas shakes his head. "This isn't a hole." Coulson and his scientists turn simultaneously to peer at him.

Stark kicks a clod of dirt over the edge. Those assembled watch it fall. "Looks like a hole to me."

"This is a… a distortion. A hole can only be so deep, by its very nature. Whereas a portal… there is no end. Only a destination." Lukas can see his explanation has not illuminated much for the humans. He tries to think of a way to phrase it for a species that cannot sense the boundaries as he does.

"Portals in and of themselves are not unnatural. The boundaries of realms shift and change, like autumn fades to winter and winter then to spring. And gates can be opened. Not terribly difficult, for one well-versed in the transfer of energy."

"Wait… so someone opened this? Like a door?"

"No."

Stark huffs. "So is it a portal or not?"

"This was not opened. This was… torn. The very fabric of realm torn asunder. Like I said, distorted." Lukas says gravely. "The amount of power this would require is staggering."

"Where's the power source?" Stark asks.

Lukas bites at a corner of his lips. He thinks he knows, and he doesn't think S.H.I.E.L.D. wants him telling. Flicking a glance at Coulson, he sees the man's minute grimace. Yes, their thoughts must be aligned.

"I do not know," Lukas says, the words tasting sour. "It is possible that…"

Something tugs at his mind, a flicker, quick and bright as a falling star. He turns back to the gap. An errant flare of energy, from the workings of this chaotic realm, perhaps. A spark of ambient seidr, interacting with the portal. Or…

He digs deeper. Reaches out with his mind, peering through the shadows. Lukas brushes something, more solid than the abyss around it. There is the ghost of a response, trailing across the surface of his seidr, light as the caress of butterfly wings. He yanks himself back, unsure what could be peering back at him on the other end.

Lukas doesn't even realize he's trailed off vaguely until Stark prompts him. "Uh, are you gonna leave us hanging there, pal?" He whispers to Fitz, who flushes a deep scarlet yet again. "Is he, ya know, all there?" Waggling his fingers around his temple, Stark looks the fool.

Lukas sends him a glare poisonous enough to wilt an apple blossom in the height of summer. Disappointingly, it seems to have little effect. "This needs further study." He relaxes his jaw, trying not to grit his teeth.

"Sure, okay." Stark flips a few metal-gloved fingers at him and wanders off. Lukas's teeth do grind together this time.

He cuts a sharp look at Agent Coulson. "Anthony Stark."

"Yeah, that's Tony Stark. Self-aggrandizing billionaire asshole." He sounds as weary as a parent chasing after a young child who has gotten hold of his brother's dagger again. Well - if Lukas had to guess what such a tone would sound like. Complete speculation, of course.

"And you told him what I could do," Lukas observes.

"I - We - " He watches Coulson's throat bob as the man swallows. The agent mutters something that sounds like dear lord almighty. "He won't tell anyone. He plays up the loose cannon thing, but at the end of the day I think he knows what's at stake."

"It's no wonder you have contracted my services, if he's your only other outside consultant." Lukas sniffs. "One of us has to set a high standard for competence and dignity, and surely it won't be Anthony Stark."

Coulson laughs outright. "You might be right, but Stark's not the one asking for a raise. We don't even pay him. He just likes to stick his nose into S.H.I.E.L.D. business, so we made it official."

He doesn't know precisely how to respond to that, but he knows it wouldn't be an apology. Coffee costs money on this realm, after all.

Coulson turns to him, comes a step closer. "Lukas."

Leaning his head back, he weighs the agent with his gaze. Coulson has never addressed him as anything more than Mr. Eld. The skin is pulled tight around the planes of his face, lines of strain creasing his brow. The pale eyes are intent when he speaks. "Can you help us?"

There is no hidden meaning in the words, no subtle game. Nothing to parse out and ponder over. Just a question. Lukas presses his fingers into his palms, nearly a fist. To say yes will be a pledge of sorts. Another thread tying him down, to this realm, holding him tighter to this mortal skin.

He silences that misplaced echo of a mother's song. You are Lukas Eld. "Yes," he tells Coulson.

The man nods, his shoulders curving forward, his spine softening. "What do you need?"

Lukas takes a shallow breath. "To see the Tesseract."

Those penetrating eyes rake through him. "Why?"

"It is the source of this distortion's power." Coulson doesn't argue this point, just as Lukas knew he wouldn't. "If I - examine it, I can find out if there are any other daughter portals opening."

"So we could know right away if this happens again?"

"Yes," Lukas says.

"It's a start." Coulson blows out a breath of air. "I'll get your clearance updated." He glances to his scientists. "Simmons and Fitz will take you out to the site. It's not a quick jaunt, either."

"I understand."

Coulson rests a hand on Lukas's shoulder, a brief second of contact before he releases him. "Full extent," he reminds Lukas. "I look forward to seeing what you've got."