In the Night

It was almost past midnight and Tuarwen was still up and waiting. The Prince had gone to bed an hour ago, completely oblivious to what was going on.

"It must be nice," thought Tuarwen. "Not having a single worry in the world."

Tuarwen didn't know what that life was like, she was always thinking of something, worrying for the future. Even when she was still in the orphanage. She was a fool to think her troubles would end that one time. For one time she thought she might find a home and a family, but no, that could never happen. She would never have a home, never have a family, and never have something to call her own.

Tuarwen heard soft footfalls in the distance. She hadn't heard any in hours, who would be up at this hour? Tuarwen knew exactly who would be up and moving, she slid down the wall from her perch. She untied her cloak, crumpled it into a bundle, and threw it onto the chair. She positioned herself in the corner near the Prince's bed, blending in with the shadows. She gently pulled out her long daggers, she couldn't avoid making a slight noise as the steel brushed against the scabbard. She glanced over to the bed, she could hear the deep, even breathing of the Prince.

"Good, he's still asleep. Lets keep it that way," she thought, because it's much easier to guard someone if they don't know you're guarding them. Unfortunately, Tuarwen did not know he was a light sleeper. She heard something click into the lock, she instinctively clutched the daggers harder.

The door opened a crack, letting a dim light fall into the room. A black hooded figure stepped into the room, he closed the door softly behind him and threw back his hood. Tuarwen just barely kept her cry back. A Dark Elf. She could see the pointed ears and gold eyes in the murky light. Her King was the one trying to kill the Prince, but why send their best assassin to Asgard then? Of course, they probably had no idea she was going to be assigned to guard him. There were too many questions that needed to be answered. A fleeting thought entered her mind, what if they sent her to Asgard and attempted to get her to help the assassins? Tuarwen wasn't sure if she would do that, but there was no time to make up her mind at the moment. The sound of a dagger being unsheathed brought her back to the task at hand. She had intended to slit his throat and avoid a general combat, but she was too busy with her quick thoughts to notice the dagger had been poised for the Prince's heart. There was no time to finish this quickly and soundlessly. Tuarwen knew her lack of attention would come back as a punishment.

The Assassin raised the dagger high in the air. He was about to plunge down when Tuarwen slammed into the side of him. He fell to the ground. She held her dagger against his throat, but he was fast and able. He rolled into her and knocked her to the ground. They both rose to their feet at the same time. Tuarwen didn't waste her time, she had dropped both her attack daggers on the floor, so she pulled out a throwing dagger and hurdled it at the assassin. He deflected it easily and it landed next to the door. He ran straight for her, she was forced to use one of her throwing dagger to block his stronger attacks. Her strength was not enough compared to his and she soon had several small cuts and gashes on her arms and chest. With each attack, she was forced to back up, until she was backed against a cabinet. She grabbed his outstretched arm and jumped slightly into the air, she used her feet to push off the cabinet. She whirled around him, pulling his arm with her. She twisted it and kneed him in the back, forcing him to fall to his knees. She pulled his other arm around with lightning speed before he could react. With one hand she held both his twisted arms and with the other she held a barbed dagger against his throat. The barbs buried themselves into skin, Tuarwen could already feel blood coating her hands from his skin. She leaned over to speak into his ear. Her hair had fallen from her head and tangled in her braid, until it finally fell apart completely and brushed against the head of the man in front of her.

"Are you ready to die? Because that's what happens when you fail," he tensed ever so slightly. Death was part of her job, she didn't stop to think if it was what Asgard would accept.

"And what authority do you have?" he questioned, her dagger bit into his skin harder. He winced, keeping back a cry of pain.

"I'm an assassin," replied Tuarwen, satisfied at the way he froze. "I don't need authority." Her voice was dangerously indifferent. She was about to push the dagger through his throat when she heard an authoritative voice.

"Wait," the voice was low and smooth. Daring her to speak back. Tuarwen turned her head to see the Prince standing and watching her intently.

"Authority is not given to you to end the life of an assassin," Tuarwen sent a glare his way, he responded by raising both eyebrows at her. She didn't back down her glare even when he turned his gaze away from her and back to the assassin in front of her.

"Why have you done this?" his voice was laced with fake concern. Tuarwen knew that no Dark Elf assassin would fall for such a fake act. And she was right.

"Don't make false acts with me, Prince," he spat, Tuarwen kneed him in the back harder, she didn't really care if he disrespected Loki, but she might as well make it look like they were on the same side.

"You have nothing to fear if you corporate with us," his voice had a slight edge to it. He circled the assassin like a predator. The assassin said nothing. Tuarwen guessed Loki would probably do something soon if he didn't get an answer, he didn't strike her as being someone who was overly patient. Tuarwen nearly jumped when the door was hurled onto the ground and several guards rushed into the room. They surveyed the sight before them, daggers lying on the ground, blood littering the floor in small drops, and a small woman, arms soaked in blood, pinning a Dark Elf down.

"Get the Allfather," one of the guards ordered. One rushed out the door, while two others took the assassin by the arms and chained his hands.

"What happened?" asked one of them, who appeared to be the leader. He glanced back and forth between Tuarwen and Loki, the former was busy picking up her discarded daggers. Loki glanced at Tuarwen.

"That is what I would like to know, captain. I awoke to the very sight you saw," both looked to Tuarwen, directing the conversation to her.

"He was attempting the assassination of your Prince," she was stating the obvious and she knew it. She really wasn't interested in explaining at the moment, she wanted to get her daggers cleaned and strapped back on her body, in case someone decided to attack again.

"Then, who are you and how did you get in here?" asked the Captain. She glanced at the Prince his eyebrows were raised, he was silently questioning her motive. Who knew, maybe she was an associate of the assassin and they had a fall-out.

"I was here when the attempt took place, you can ask the King about me, he will answer your questions," she glanced back at the Prince."Smart girl,"said his smirk. She glared at him. It was really quite simple, they wouldn't listen to her because neither of them had seen her before and they had no idea who she was, so she just referred them to the highest ranking official in Asgard. If he didn't know who she was, no one would. If he did, no one could doubt her. Wild footsteps were heard in the hallway, along with several breathless voices. The guard was back and the King and Queen were with him. Frigga did not hesitate to run to her son and embrace him tightly. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. The King took in the scene before him, he looked from the prisoner, to his son, to Tuarwen. She gave a stiff nod back to him. Tuarwen felt gentle hands cup her face, she turned to see the Queen, moving her hands from her face to her arm.

"Thank you," she said softly, depths of emotions behind her face and voice.

"I was merely doing my job," replied Tuarwen in a small voice while glaring at the Prince who had a scheming smile on his face

"I thank you anyway," replied Frigga. She turned back to to her son. She decided to take the moment to tell her son about the situation he was landed into, seeing that he was acquainted with the girl now. She would risk the anger of the small woman.

"This girl is your guard, Loki. She's from Svartalfheim," Loki raised an eyebrow to the last part. A Dark Elf, in Asgard? How had she survived this long? She dared him with her eyes, daring him to say a word.

"Svartalfheim?" asked the prisoner, turned her eyes to him, studying the silver hair, golden eyes, and pointed ears. "Ah, yes. Tuarwen, the worthless child who's Father hated and couldn't stand the sight of. Its been years since I've seen you. How did you come to Asgard? Did you defect?"

Tuarwen crossed over to him, no one stopped her. She stood directly in front of him, he was smiling a little too broadly, almost sickeningly so to the Asgardians. Manipulation was not something they dealt with every day. So they were surprised that Tuarwen didn't react to the things the assassin said about her. Tuarwen had learned to let insults like that fall away, she didn't notice them because she heard them almost every day back in Svartalfheim. It was the part about defecting that made her angry. Mostly because she didn't want to be there in the first place.

"Your blatant King sent me and if you ever get back, tell him I said that," Tuarwen turned away, prepared to leave the conversation at that, but the prisoner had other ideas.

"You know, I never did like your honesty," Tuarwen whirled back around and studied his self-satisfied face with blazing eyes. They threatened him to say one more word. "Maybe it's because your honesty is the only thing left you didn't learn," he ended with a smile. Tuarwen's control snapped, she drew a dagger and would have slit his throat there, no one would have been able to stop her fast movements, she would have the act finished by the time they realized what was going on. One thing she realized fairly quickly was Asgardians were slow. She lunged towards him at alarming speed, satisfied by the way his eyes grew bigger and filled with fear. She was not allowed to have her revenge though. She underestimated the Dark Prince, he was in front of her and holding her back before she had covered even half of the distance. She was disgusted by the way he held her, his body tense and his arms barely touching her, he was repulsed by her presence and touch. Her anger cooled and she shoved him away from her, she took one last look at the trembling prisoner,( Her near murder of him seemed to quell his courage.) and turned to collect her cloak.

"Take him to the prisons and as for you, Tuarwen. I thank you for saving my son," Loki tensed and Tuarwen raised an eyebrow."But?"It asked. "But, I remind you that in Asgard we do not seek revenge for someone's words. Is that understood?" She nodded to confirm, but not without leveling him with her stare, he understood that looking at her for too long would not be a good thing. Her very gaze could cause fear in even the most courageous hearts. The guards left with the prisoner and the King and Queen left shortly after they did. Tuarwen slipped out of the room before the Prince could protest, he was dying to speak with her, Tuarwen knew that, probably to insult her and ask about her past. He hardly knew who she was, but he would ask her to reveal her best kept secrets. Tuarwen resigned herself for a long night.

She crept back into the room, hoping maybe Loki had given up on wanting to talk to her and had gone to bed. She closed the door and turned around, there he was sitting in the chair reading. He looked up to meet her gaze. His eyes fell to the bucket and cloth she held in her hands.

"A servant will clean up the mess, don't worry about it," he said, his eyes dropping back to the book he was reading. Tuarwen didn't seem to hear him as she dropped to her knees and began to scrub the blood off the floor. The frail scabs on her arms opened up with each movement she made. Her sleeves were covered in blood. Loki looked up from his book to see her on the floor ignoring his statement, he smiled and shook his head, he was about to return to his book when he noticed something wet on her sleeve, both her sleeves as he brought his eyes to investigate. The light was dim, but he could see both her sleeves and upper chest were soaked. She couldn't have gotten water over such a large area. He watched as she placed her hand on floor. He noticed something dark dripping and pooling around her hand. Blood. He closed his book and walked over to her. She didn't look up, if she noticed him walking towards her, she was ignoring him. He was standing in front of her looking at her drenched arms, how many cuts did she have? He dropped to one knee and rather forcefully took hold of her wrist. His sudden movement caught her off guard and she didn't have time to move away before he was examining her well formed wrist. She stared at him, his actions and reasons foreign to her. He turned it over, fingering all the rips in her sleeves. He counted at least half a dozen on her right arm and one rather long and deep gash across her chest. He took a deep breath, how could she keep from crying out in pain? Surely it was unbearable. Dark Elf weapons were meant to cause pain, immobilizing their opponents by the smallest of cuts. The barbed edges of their daggers would rip the skin instead of slice it. He still had scars from times he had fought them. They did not go way easily, immediate care was required to keep them from being permanent. He could feel her gaze on his head, questioning him. He looked up to meet it."Why?"It asked."Why does it matter?" He shrugged slightly, untying the strings that kept her sleeve attached to her wrist. She tried to pull her arm away.

"I'm only doing this to make sure you're healthy if I need you. You need to be in good condition to guard me," he said numbly.

Of course, that was not the only reason he was doing it, but he wasn't going to tell her that he pitied the life she had led and that he felt he owed it to her after he had just sat back and watched her take on the assassin. He also knew what Dark Elven children went through and it sounded like she had a worse childhood than usual. She stopped moving and let him gently pull her sleeve up her arm, even with his caution, he still pulled clotted blood with the fabric. Tuarwen couldn't stand it anymore, it was too painful going slow. She swatted his hands away and took hold of the edge of the fabric, gritting her teeth, she pulled upward as fast as she could. It felt unbearable, but it was over soon enough. She pulled the sleeve over her shoulder and let Loki take her arm again. He held it softly, like it would crumble in his grasp. Tuarwen didn't know how to react, she'd never been treated so gently by anyone before, she reminded herself that he was only doing it to keep her healthy. He wiped the blood from her arm, it stung, but Tuarwen made no mention of it. His slender fingers touched each wound and lingered until they were gone. All the wounds slowly and painlessly disappeared, not leaving a trace, or a single scar. He moved on to her other arm, grasping her shoulder softly. A deep gash ran from the front of her right shoulder to across her upper chest. She had lost the most blood from that wound, Loki slid his fingers over her shoulder, smoothing the skin as it knit itself back together. His eyes slipped through the ripped fabric of her shirt and he watched as the wound slowly faded. He smiled, satisfied with his work, his hand still placed on her shoulder. He was going to remove it, when he felt something uneven on her skin. The light was dim, so he had to move his face within inches of her skin to see the crisscrossed shapes of uneven skin. Scars, hundreds of scars, up and down, sideways, diagonal. Some crossed over old ones. How many years must it have taken to gain so many scars? She pulled away from his grasp. He turned his eyes up to her with raw mortification. "Where? How?" They asked as he found his voice all but gone. She stared at him, or rather almost through him. Something disarmed him, something about her eyes. They seemed so empty, like there wasn't a person inside of the body, no mind, or will. Nothing, completely empty and alone. Alone, her father had not loved her, so she must have been raised in an orphanage. Somehow her path had led her to elite training. Training for assassins, did she ever have anyone at her side? Anyone to love? He knew what it was like to be pulled from your only source of love and comfort. That was why he risked the cost for bringing back his mother. She was the only one he truly loved unconditionally and trusted completely. It was never part of the plan for her to get killed. He never intended coming back to Asgard once he escaped, but here he was, home and he was happy. He may never fit in, but he was a prince again and he was near his mother.

Loki wondered if it was possible to remove so many scars, the healers could take away one or two, but they had never had to remove so many before. He decided he would talk to the Healers tomorrow. Seeing that she wasn't going to answer his question, he got up off the ground and looked around. This was the second time an attempt on his life was made in this room, but the first time that he had been saved by a mysterious woman, how did she know it would happen tonight? He thought about asking her, but it was late and he didn't feel like putting up with her answers. He glanced back at her, she was still staring at the floor, head bowed. He walked away.

"You should get some rest. It has been a long night," he said from somewhere out of sight. Tuarwen remained seated, thinking of her past and pondering the Prince's act of kindness. He only did it to keep her healthy, but no one had ever done even that much for her. The candles were extinguished and she was left in darkness. She waited for her eyes to adjusted to the darkness before she slipped off into her perch above the room. The canopy from his bed kept her from seeing the Prince, but she could hear his steady breathing, it was uneven. He was still awake. Tuarwen had no intention of getting any rest that night, she would stay awake and wait to see if anymore assassins came into the room and tried to kill Asgard's beloved Prince.

"Beloved indeed," she thought, she knew his story, he would have been in prison if he hadn't bargained for his mother's life and brought her back to Asgard. He was the one who fought Malkith with the other prince, whose lover was possessed by the Aether. Her King refused to get involved with the entire situation, but the Dark Elves were blamed for Malkith's foolhardiness. No one stopped to wonder why so many followed him, Dark Elves craved power, they had been taught from a young age to accept authority, especially authority that had power. Tuarwen was different she had no respect for people who flaunted their power. Malkith, her king, her father. Her father was no different from any other person from Svartalfheim, except he was more cunning. He made a show of obeying his king, but he was just biding his time until he was powerful enough to rebel. The memory of him stung, like a thousand dagger wounds, or a thousand strikes from a whip. How she remembered the dreams she once had, they all depended on one man, a man without a heart, a man without mercy. She hoped she would never have to see him again. She would rather die than appear before him and see the mockery and unsuppressed joy at her brokenness. As fate would have it though, she would probably be going back sometime. Something was wrong in Svartalfheim and she knew it. You don't just send your best assassin to Asgard, then turn around and attempt the assassination of Asgard's prince. Tuarwen was beginning to wonder if a Dark Elf assassin was hired by someone else. Someone power hungry. Assassins were only used by monarchs, they were almost a sign of power themselves, they were nothing more than a pawn for the monarchs to use. Nothing more, if one fell there was always another to take his place. It was an unbroken circle, it never changed. Nothing did, just because she was in a different world didn't mean anything. She was nothing more than a sign of Svartalfheim's subjection. A political pawn and a guard. Asgard would never be her home. How little did she know!