In Love With The Darkness
Eira groggily awoke, her body cradled by something soft and yielding, cocooned in warmth. It made her want to turn over and burrow into whatever was covering her body. Every muscle felt sore, weak, like she'd been running for miles until she just dropped.
She was far too comfortable, and warm, as she had never been in her life before, to stir, even though something lingered at the edge of her mind, something important…
"How long will she sleep?" a voice asked, somewhere near her, somewhere close. She thought she felt fingers in her hair, against her cheek, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "It has been three days. The healing should not have exhausted her this much…"
That voice sounded familiar, but the warm haze over Eira's mind wouldn't let her identify it.
"I know not, my King," a different voice spoke this time, and she didn't recognise it. "The wound is healed, but the exhaustion I think must come from another cause that we don't know of."
"What of the DNA profiling I ordered?" the first voice asked coolly.
"She is not human, as far I can tell, my King. Her DNA does not match ours; while about 85% is identical, there is a further 15% that is entirely new. I have never seen anything like it," the second voice replied dutifully, but with a thread of excitement that even while sunk in her glorious, hazy lethargy, Eira recognised. Then it turned wary, as if nervous. "It matches, to some extent, the few samples of Asgardian DNA we have, from SHIELD."
"Nor will you again, physician," the first voice chuckled. "She is unique. As to the similarity to the Aesir, I am not surprised. Very well, you may go," the first voice dismissed the second, sounding almost impatient, and a phantom feeling of exasperated fondness washed over Eira. Those fingers returned, before cool lips pressed against her forehead. "Awaken soon, dearest. We have much to discuss…"
Those lips and hands disappeared, and Eira sank back into that warm haze gratefully.
The next time Eira felt consciousness beckon, she was not so weak. She still felt tired, but as she opened her eyes, she felt that warm lethargy dissipate. She blinked, as her vision focussed, and as it sharpened back to its usual clarity, no amount of Peregrine's advice and training over the years could stop her from tensing.
The ceiling above her head was a delicately, exquisitely painted mural of the evening sky, midnight velvet dotted with glinting stars. The constellations weren't the ones Eira had looked up at every night of her life since she could remember, but they were…familiar.
She couldn't say why, they just felt it.
From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed white linen and silk beside her head, and wrapped around her torso. She tried to keep her breathing deep and regular, and carefully listened.
There was no one else in the room.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Eira carefully pushed herself up, glancing around the room. Her jaw dropped. If she had thought her room in Midgard City had been the most luxurious she had ever seen in her life, then she had been sorely mistaken.
The room she was in now was palatial, like something out of a book. She was laid in a large, soft bed, pillared by two intricately carved wooden posts, carved in the likeness of tree trunks twined with ivy. From her vantage position, she could see the rest of the room, painted in light golds and dark greens. The effect was almost hypnotic. Every piece of furniture, every table, every statuette, painting, rug, even down to the small, low-slung sofa she could see before the marble fireplace, all were exquisitely made.
She had a very bad feeling about this.
Cautiously, Eira slipped from the bed, testing her weight on her feet. As she slid her legs out of the coverlet, she felt something cool and light glide down her bare legs, and looked down to see her body clothed in gently clinging lavender silk. If she shifted, or looked closely, she could see swirling, intricate patterns in white against the fabric.
It was also quite sheer, enough to make Eira blush. Glancing around, she spied a sheath of mint green embroidered with gold. She slipped it around her, and wondered at its cool softness. She had never been so richly dressed, as she brushed the trailing locks of her hair out from under the collar.
As she tied the laces of the robe, she tried to remember all that had happened after she had joined the procession of women in the capital. It was blurry, indistinct.
She reached the main audience chamber, she remembered that. She remembered the King's entrance, his words, and then…
Images flashed across her mind, of a dark-haired child, and golden hair marred by red flames, and two hands lying side by side before a sunset…
She started when she heard the sound of footsteps coming towards her room, and frantically looked around for something, anything to defend herself with.
The door opened, and it was too late. To Eira's surprise, it was just a little servant girl, barely twenty, dressed in a simple white dress, clean and new-looking, her dark hair tied back from her face. She curtseyed sweetly, and to Eira's surprise, she didn't look quite so meek and controlled as those she had seen in the capital.
"The King awaits you, my Queen,"
Eira stared at her, eyes wide. Queen…?
She glanced once more at the room around her, at the robes she wore, and gasped as more images flashed across her mind's eye.
"All hail Eir, Queen of Asgard," he called. Eir started, as the men bowed again.
That familiar pain blossomed inside of her again, and it took everything she had not to bend over with the sharpness of it. It faded, and she realised she must have at least grimaced, because the servant girl was watching her worriedly.
She remembered. She'd had…that vision, that hallucination, whatever one could call it, and then she had been discovered. One of the Chitauri had shot her, and then…
Eira absentmindedly felt her stomach, and felt the smooth surface under her robe and dress. Unmarred, perfect.
The King had healed her.
"My Queen, are you well? Should I fetch a healer?" the servant asked again, concern leaching into her voice, stepping forward.
"No, I'm alright," Eira raised a hand, stopping the girl's advance. "Where is the King?"
"On the terrace, my lady," the girl smiled now; seemingly relieved her mistress was well. "I will show you the way."
Eira knew what she should do. The girl was small, and although Eira was only just awake and healed, and still tired, she could overpower her. She had been raised on the run, living in fear. She knew how to overcome physical fatigue in order to function. She should overpower her, find some method of escape and contact the resistance.
But she couldn't. She didn't know where she was, how long she had been ill, or if her two escorts were even still alive. She wouldn't last two minutes on the run if she was imprisoned somewhere remote, and if the King came after her…
No, she would play along, for now. Besides, she was curious about the vision she'd experienced when her eyes had met his, and she hoped he might give her answers. Yes, that was what she would do. Rest, heal, regain her strength and get some answers.
Wordlessly, she followed the little servant girl from the ornate room.
The corridors of her prison were cold marble, pale as alabaster, and deserted, as they walked as quickly as Eira could manage down the long hallways. Her heart twisted in mingled dread and anticipation, as the girl stopped before a large wooden doorway, dark mahogany and chased in intricate designs that seemed pregnant with meaning, as Eira stared at them, but she didn't know why or what they could mean.
"Through there, my Queen," the little girl nodded to the door, before curtseying and turning to walk away.
"Wait!" Eira called after her. "What is your name?"
"Anna, my Queen," the girl, Anna, curtseyed with a sweet smile, and walked away. Taking a deep breath, Eira turned to the doorway, and walked determinedly outside.
The view that met her was breathtaking. She stood on a marble terrace, the walls behind her covered in trailing ivy so the cool marble was obscured. She stepped out from beneath the arch, her eyes tracing the graceful domes and spires of the palace stretching out behind her, onto the mountainside.
From the terrace, an emerald lawn stretched down, to the edges of a glistening lake that stretched for what seemed like miles, fenced in by majestic mountains, one of which reared its proud head to the sky not two miles away, by Eira's reckoning. Nearby, beneath birdsong and the murmuring of the lake, she could hear the distant roar of a waterfall.
It was warm, a soft breeze caressing her face, teasing at the locks of hair falling over her shoulders. It had been so long since she had felt the sunlight without fearing for her life, that Eira closed her eyes and let herself bask in it for one precious second.
She felt his gaze like a heated brand on her skin. Silently, she opened her eyes and turned to face the man who had enslaved her planet and her race, who had killed millions in his lust for power and domination.
The man who had saved her life.
He stood before her, hands behind his back, dark hair brushing his shoulders, his pale skin gleaming in the sunlight, his strong, lean body clothed in dark leather, his emerald eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made her wonder if she should be fearing for her life.
Those eyes…so dark they almost seemed black to her, from where she stood, but as he moved, she saw the flash in them, like a pine forest at dusk, or in the inky hours before sunrise. They were like twin whirlpools, sucking her in, tempting her to…what?
Eira tore herself away, turning her back to him, willing herself not to react. If he thought her a submissive wretch, he would be mistaken.
"So, you are the mysterious healer I have heard much of. The one whose touch alone can bring injured warriors back from the brink of death," he began, his voice a husky, seductive murmur, yet even when he was not acting a tyrant, a hint of the command which always seeped from him remained in his voice. "And the resistance sent you to me."
"So glad we could be of service," Eira muttered sarcastically. For some reason, she felt no fear. "I warn you now, my King, I will never submit to you. So your efforts on my behalf are wasted."
A chuckle, liquid, sinful. "I doubt that," he stepped forward, his surcoat brushing against her back. "I am relieved to see you back on your feet. You were either exceedingly brave or exceedingly foolish attempting what you did. Tell me, did you know it was a suicide mission when your leaders told you to kill me?"
Eira tensed, but did not turn around.
"And yet to hesitate when your goal was within reach…" he continued as her silence drew on. "Tell me, why did you stop? Why did you give yourself away?"
Eira's eyes closed as she felt him move behind her, so close, so warm against her back, his mouth at her ear.
"When you looked up at me," he breathed, and she felt his hands gently ghost over her arms, not quite touching but near it. Her every cell was afire, and her head was screaming at her to move. "I thought you a dream, or a wraith, rising from the past to haunt me. Eir…"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she murmured fiercely. "And my name is Eira!"
"You felt something when you looked up at me, did you not?" he replied, doggedly, and Eira reminded herself to keep her cool. She would be of no use to anyone if he lost his temper and killed her. "That is the only reason you reacted, the only reason you would let yourself react. What did you see?"
"I saw nothing," Eira replied coldly, yet even as she spoke the words, the vision rose up in her mind again, and this time, unmarred by pain, she felt a wave of contentment wash over her. Of belonging…
"Eira, I am the God of Lies in mortal mythology," he breathed in her ear, as he nuzzled her honey gold curls. "You cannot deceive me."
"I-I don't…." Eira tried again, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth.
"Hush, now, my Queen," he breathed, and Eira felt it like a tangible caress against her skin. She felt her body weaken, and then his arms came around her, holding her tightly against him.
She was being held by the tyrant holding her world in a grip of iron, a murderer, a monster. The man she had been sent to kill.
And she was sinking into his embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world. It felt the most natural thing in the world.
She closed her eyes.
She stood there, how long she didn't know, watching and waiting for something she didn't know, her breath short in her chest, her mind whirling. Familiar arms slid around her, but she could not take comfort in their embrace now.
"I will help you, dearest. I will help you remember," he whispered in her ear. "For centuries, I have waited, and now I have you once more, my Queen."
Eira's will snapped back into being, as her eyes opened, at that possessive but tender breath against her ear, and she was horrified to realise she had sunk back against him, her head resting against his shoulder, his chin against her hair.
With a snarl, she whipped out of his hold, backing away as he turned to her, his eyes wide and seemingly hurt, but with an edge of darkness that Eira did not want to acknowledge sent shivers down her spine.
"You will never have me, that I can promise you," she snapped forcefully. "I want nothing of you, except to see you dead and this world freed of your tyranny."
The King's eyes darkened with anger, before a truly wicked smile appeared, and he stepped close.
"Do not bet upon it, my lady," he hissed, stepping closer. Eira stood her ground defiantly. "We will return to the capital in one month, where I will present you to the court and to the people as my Queen. I suggest you resign yourself to that reality."
"I won't give in," she replied firmly. He chuckled, and that dark laugh sounded like sin itself. To her surprise, however, he did not say anymore, or move closer, just turned and began slowly walking away.
"Perhaps you are curious where we are," he called back to her, as she cautiously followed after him. Eira didn't want to admit she was curious. He turned and pointed to the lake, silvery blue, shining in the sunlight. "That is Lake Lovatnet. We are but a few miles from what was the village of Loen."
Eira unconsciously moved closer, losing herself in the view, beautiful, before her eyes travelled to the elegant fingers pointing out the landmarks to her. "That is Mount Skåla, near the waterfalls you can hear, which are called Ramnefjellsfossen. My home when not in the city."
"Of course, because being a dictator gets too exhausting sometimes," Eira rolled her eyes sarcastically. The King chuckled.
"Things are not as black and white as they seem," he replied. "You will learn that soon enough."
Eira turned to face him, angered by his callousness, and he laughed at her. As their eyes met, his face grew hard, and his eyes blazed with an intense hunger that both frightened and enthralled her.
"You belong to me now," he told her, stepping closer, herding her back against the marble railing. "From the moment you stepped foot in that audience chamber, you belonged to me. So fight all you wish, my dearest, and all the more will I relish your surrender."
"And the more I will relish the look on your face when you realise how delusional you are," she hissed, even as his hands came around her waist and held her tightly against him.
"My, what a spirited mouth," he replied, one corner of his lips quirking upwards. Eira was frustrated by how familiar that motion seemed, like she had seen it a thousand times before. "It will soon be put to better use."
Anger overcame any confusion in Eira's mind, and she raised her hand unthinkingly at his presumption. He caught her wrist, tightly but not cruelly, just enough that she could feel his strength and what he could do, if he so wished it.
And who had control.
"You tremble, sweetheart," he murmured, capturing her eye and as he bent his head to her hand. He kissed her unresisting palm, and sensation tore through Eira's body.
She had felt such a sensation before, she knew it, her body knew it, but she had never lain with or encouraged affection from any man in her life. What was happening to her?
"Perhaps you should rest some more before dinner," he finished, his emerald eyes laughing wickedly as he pressed a kiss to her inner wrist, chuckling softly as her pulse thundered against his tongue.
His grip loosened, and Eira made her escape. She was no coward, but she feared what her torn body and mind might do if she allowed him to continue. His words were like poison, infecting her every cell until she burned. Familiarity and an inexplicable yearning filled her, and everything within her screamed for her to turn back.
But she did not.
Had she done, she might have seen the anguish in the King's eyes, and the hand that had held her wrist closing into a shaking fist.