In Love With The Darkness
Midgard City, Central Europe
After Loki's defeat of the Avengers, and the surrender of the UN, he had quickly reordered the world to his preference. After the war, the human population had been severely depleted, and Loki had all the remaining humans brought inland, to a sprawling city that spanned several former European countries, there to keep better control over them.
Countries on the periphery of Loki's new kingdom were sparsely populated, and those included the former USA, South America, Australia, Africa, the Far East and even the United Kingdom. They had elected councils, illusions of democracy, that ruled over those regions and reported directly to Loki, and in turn, took direction from him. Of all the countries under his dominion, Loki had shown greatest favour to the Scandinavian countries, allowing people there not to live exactly as they had before his rule, but mostly unmolested. He had a home in what was once Norway, in the mountains, remote and isolated, as well as heavily guarded.
Eira had never seen Midgard City, although she had heard tales of it. Sure enough, as the transport rushed towards the shining metropolis, she felt her pulse rise with a heady mix of fear and excitement.
If only she were visiting under more peaceful circumstances.
As she sat by the window, her hair cleaned and brushed, her figure slightly better filled out after four weeks of double rations, her healers robe and jumpsuit replaced by civilian clothing, she wondered how something so evil, so malevolent, could create something so beautiful. Despite the sprawl that met her eye in every direction, green seemed to explode everywhere. There were open spaces and wooded parks everywhere, and Eira could see a kind of order to it all, as if the greenery was providing borders and boundaries to the different areas of the city.
The architect, obviously long dead by now, had been a genius.
The transport seamlessly glided over the city, towards a landing port near the political, social and business hub of the city, not far from the precincts of the royal court. Eira could just see it in the distance.
The sight of it made her heart race and her stomach drop in unease.
The selection was tomorrow. Tomorrow, one way or another, she would very likely be dead.
She hadn't said goodbye to Peregrine before she left, with just Hall and few others to see her off, with the two men sent to keep her safe and escort her. And to 'extract' her, supposedly, if she survived.
She was under few illusions she would survive. She was never an optimist.
Eira took a deep breath, and sought the strength to see her through the day tomorrow.
The city was not as Eira had imagined it. She had expected a slum, suffering, people starving in the streets. Instead she saw order and security. No one wanted for anything; there were no beggars in the streets.
It had to be a clever façade. It had to be, because Loki was a tyrant, and she had seen firsthand his cruelty, his ruthlessness. She had lived in fear of it since she was a child.
They took up residence in a boarding house not far from the royal courts. The street outside was littered with the guardsmen and women of the King, striding past in their dark uniforms and cloaks of rank, steely eyes bent straight ahead, too high to meet the eyes of lesser beings.
Her two colleagues were posing as some merchant businessmen to get her into the courts tomorrow. She would join the procession during a vulnerable section, before it passed through the tunnels beneath the courts. It would be the most crowded, so it would make it easy for her to slip into the column of women unnoticed.
Eira felt too sick to her stomach to eat, but she forced down the meal. It was finer than anything she had ever eaten, and she appreciated the taste better, but it was fouled by the knowledge it was her last meal. Her escorts said little to her, and she went to bed early, staring up at the ceiling of her room, her clothes for the morning already laid out on a chair.
At last, unable to sleep, she rose from the bed and sat beside the window, looking out on the great city until the sky turned pink with the dawn. She looked towards the courts, and inhaled sharply.
"Our big day," she murmured, thinking of the King and her gruesome task. "Are you ready for it?"
For all her bravado, Eira did not feel ready.
Her intention was to allure. To attract, therefore she would not wear virginal white. She might have no idea of fashion, but she had an idea of how to dress herself. Her dress consisted of a rigid black bodice, that accentuated her slim waist and gave her the illusion of curves. Gloves of the same fabric as her bodice covered her arms but left her shoulders and collarbone free. A stolen black jet choker was clasped about her neck.
The skirts of the dress were a peachy beige, overlaid with intricate black lace like a spider's web. They clung to her hips, before flaring from her knees. Despite its appearance, the material was flexible enough that it would not impede her running, if she had to.
Eira brushed her hair, now a shining honey gold, and styled it in a complicated plait she had once seen Jaina do. Her hair trailed down her back like a rope of gold. Apart from a circlet of silver, that denoted her as a member of the selection, she wore no other jewellery. Taking a deep breath, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she nodded.
She was ready.
"Miss Haden," one of the men stopped her just before they were to leave, Eira now obscured by a black cloak. He offered her a sheath and harness, which she took, and removing one of her gloves, slid it on before replacing the garment. The knife was coated with a chemical compound, a poison. One cut, and not even the King's superior physiology would be enough to save him, or so boasted the resistance scientists.
They passed quickly through the streets. Soundlessly, one of her companion disappeared, to provide a diversion along the route, while Eira and her other escort hurried to the infiltration point. She was too full of tension to feel anything but desire to see it over with.
Crowds lined the streets, guards preventing them getting too close as the women selected to appear before the King emerged from their various residences, all cloaked in black, all beautiful, all meek and submissive, as Loki's power over them ensured. Eira would need to imitate them perfectly to avoid suspicion.
They reached the tunnels entrance, and waited. Suddenly there came a commotion, further down the line, and Eira was shoved forwards as the mutant guards rushed to stop it. She caught herself, stood straight but head bent, and walked into the court with the rest of the broodmares.
She was aware only of the passage of soft-shod feet as they passed through the stone tunnels, cold, lit only by emerald flames that leant an eerie glow to the old stonework. The way was lined by more guards, their icy eyes watching the prospective brides intently, waiting for the telltale shift of the eyes, or twitch of the hand, that would betray an assassin, or someone not under the King's control.
Eira remained completely still, yet her heart felt like it was hammering in her chest, as they came to a halt. She heard a strange chirping noise, and with a mental shudder, realised there were the infamous Chitauri guarding them as they came to a large, wide stone chamber. From the shadows of her hood, she risked a glance upwards.
The chamber was large, rising far above their heads like an old Christian cathedral. Mutants and Chitauri lined the walls, the latter holding their ominously glowing pikestaffs.
Eira had healed far too many wounds inflicted by those weapons not to know their lethality.
Directly in front of her, where she was stood in the second row, dead centre, was a large balcony, a green banner with the King's crest hung behind it. She dropped her eyes back down, her body longing to tremble as fear and anticipation rose, and her hands shifted beneath the shelter of the cloak. Soon, soon.
"Remove your cloaks, and kneel for your King," a voice barked harshly, and Eira dropped to the floor with the others, mentally gritting her teeth in a snarl. She heard footsteps, and then a voice rang out across the chamber.
"Welcome, my ladies," the King's voice was smooth, silken, seductive. His tongue caressed each word before it left his mouth, and something stirred inside of Eira, something…unknown, and yet familiar. A warmth pooled inside her stomach, and she had to restrain a gasp. "This is a joyous day. Today, I will select one of you for the honour of becoming my Queen."
Egotistical bastard. Eira hid her reaction, but risked a glance upwards.
What she saw changed everything.
Dark hair, shoulder-length and straight, framing a pale, cruelly sensual face, inlaid with two dark emerald eyes that burned as they roved over the assembled ladies. His strong, expressive hands were outstretched as if in benediction, and they seemed oh so familiar.
Every facet of his features, every line and curve of that handsome face…she knew him.
Her breathing accelerated, and his eyes suddenly flitted to hers, pinning her where she stood, she knew her cover was blown. She was discovered.
But she could not move, and it seemed neither could he, as shock and rage and grief filled those green, green eyes.
And his lips formed one word. "Eir."
The two boys hid behind the tree in the gardens, watching the golden-haired little girl happily playing with her ball. Both were clad in royal tunics, but they were both as different as night and day.
The dark-haired child reached out a hand, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly the girl shrieked as her hair caught fire, and the two boys set about laughing.
Suddenly the flames were extinguished, and the girl spun around, eying them angrily.
"Just who do you think you are!" she shouted, marching towards them, her ball forgotten. "Setting a lady's hair aflame! I will tell your Mother!"
The boys just laughed, and the dark-haired boy did it again, the flames leaving no damage on the golden waves but they made her jump and try to bat them out.
Suddenly she knocked into him, pushing him to the ground, and he lost control of the spell. He cried out as his hand was burned and her hair began to turn to ash.
He hastily undid the spell, and even returned her curls to their former glorious state, but she just glared at him once more before pushing him over and running from the gardens.
He watched her go even as his brother laughed and clapped at his brother's tricks, an odd tightness in his chest as he eyed the golden locks, like spun sunlight, that he had so nearly destroyed.
Later, she was sat alone in her secret place, watching the sun set when she felt his presence. She did not turn to look at him, and her face was cold.
He sighed. "I am sorry," he murmured.
"That was a mean trick to play," she replied coolly, yet she at least looked at him.
"I am sorry," he repeated, sincerely. The girl turned to look at him, hazel eyes meeting his defiantly.
"Prince or not, you should be," she snapped, before her eyes fell to his hand, which still sported the burn from his trick. "You are hurt."
She grabbed his hand, and he felt a cooling sensation as the burn faded then disappeared altogether. He smiled, and laughed as he looked up. "You can heal. You have magic," he sat down beside her. "Will you teach me?"
"Maybe," she muttered, turning back to look at the sunset, but a small smile now flirted with her mouth. "My name is Eir."
"Loki," he replied, before the pair watched the sun set over Asgard, in companionable silence.
Eira wasn't even aware that she had doubled over, a deep pain inside of her as heat rushed to her every extremity, because she couldn't take her eyes off of those emerald orbs that ruthlessly held onto hers, with a longing and a hunger that had replaced the rage.
The word left her mouth without conscious thought. "Loki…"
Why had she done that? Panic rising in her breast, she turned to run, even knowing what would happen, knowing she was too late.
She was stopped dead as a Chitauri took aim and hit her in her stomach with its weapon. The pain felt only numbing as she sank to the floor, the women around her still meekly standing with their heads down, and an enraged shout filled the air.
"No!"
She slowly sank to the ground as her legs failed her, until strong arms caught her up, cradling her gently as her head lolled back. Pain-filled hazel eyes met the eyes of the King, and Eira thought she should be feeling some kind of panic right now.
"Eir," he breathed again, too low to hear.
"My King?" a voice asked, and with a growl he seized the throat of the Chitauri that had wounded her and ended its life with a brutal snap of its spinal cord. She was in too much pain to care.
Her eyes closed, and she hoped to whatever deity truly existed that she might die. Otherwise…
The King would have the last free magic-user in his grasp. Her mind could not grasp what had happened, that strange vision, the pain deep within her core, her loss of control.
She couldn't grasp it, and her mind was too pained to try. She slumped against the King, as he laid her on the floor, his hand splaying over the wound in her stomach.
"Rest, my dearest," he told her gently, and had she been fully conscious she could not have credited the tyrant as the gentle man comforting her and healing her wounds. "You are safe now. You are with me now, at last."
A cooling sensation washed over the burning, and she shuddered with relief. Her eyes opened for one moment, meeting the King's as he caressed her face, wonder and disbelief in his eyes.
The darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, and though her mind told her to fight, to escape, even to carry out her mission then and there, she was too weak and her body too ready to succumb, as he passed his hand over her eyes, magical force drawing them down.
"Rest," he told her one last time, and she gave in, sinking gratefully into a dreamless sleep.