In Love With The Darkness
Eira was not certain if she was relieved or worried when Loki came into her chambers that morning. Sat on a window seat, looking out at the stormy clouds, she felt his gaze on her, but refused to meet it.
She had been unable to sleep last night, after she had regained her room, panting with exertion and pain. The aftershocks of using her magic, and then seeing that vision, washed over her, again and again.
The desolation, the anguish in Loki's eyes when she had faced him. The love and the passion that had burned in his eyes in her vision. The need in his kiss, his hands…
She had buried her head in her hands, giving into her pain, her confusion for a moment, before ripping her dress from her in a flurry of violent need to feel the air on her skin, to be free of the choking silk and leather, of a life she did not understand nor remember, yet it reached out to claim her again.
She was Eira, healer and rebel. Not Eir, not his wife, not his Queen, not…
Or so she had told herself, in the shadows of her darkened rooms. It was not working, and it had terrified her. She had stumbled to her bed, and collapsed onto it, shrouding her body, clad only in a thin shift, in its silken covers, but even then she was cold, shaking, as her mind and body thrummed. Her awakened magic burned beneath her skin, and every time Eira had closed her eyes, she saw it all again. The terrace, the moonlight, Loki's eyes…
She had felt so cold, and tears escaped from the tightly shut prison of her eyelids, lingering on her cheek.
Then warm arms had slid over her waist, and held her so tightly. Her breath had caught in her throat, and she did not move, eyes frantically scanning the darkness, as heat chased away the cold in her limbs, and gentle breath huffed against her neck. The arms around her had not loosened, yet Eira was not uncomfortable. To her chagrin, she had never been more comfortable in her life.
She had leant her head back, and felt it come into contact with Loki's shoulder, bare, stripped of his tunics and undershirt. Tentatively, she had placed a hand on his bicep, strong and as unyielding as marble beneath her fingers, and then clutched it tightly, embracing him back.
She would tell herself off in the morning. But right then…she had needed comfort. His arms steadied her whirling world, and anchored her to sanity as her mind and her body finally relaxed, her magic subdued, so she finally slipped into slumber.
When she had awoken, he was gone.
She didn't know what to think, or to feel, anymore. Everything was a mess, and she was lost.
And most frightening of all, was that she felt no disgust over allowing him so close, of taking his comfort.
A new, even sharper, awareness of him had been seared into her senses, and she didn't need to look at him to feel his heat, or sense his gaze on her.
And she was still too confused to do anything else about it.
"I must leave you," he began, coolly distant. "There are urgent matters in the Capital which require my attention. I shall return tomorrow."
She didn't move, kept her eyes on the storm clouds outside, and felt his sigh. He drew near, and her eyes closed involuntarily.
His hand appeared in the periphery of her vision, and she finally deigned to meet his agate gaze, as he held out a leather-bound tome to her. She glanced at it, then at him, questioningly.
"What is this?" she asked, taking it gingerly. It had no title, but it felt weighty and comforting in her hand as she held it.
"A book on some basic theories of magic, from Asgard. You might find it instructive, and helpful," he explained. "Study, in my absence. I would not have you waste away from sheer boredom and inaction."
She cursed his perceptiveness. Eira had never been one for such a lazy way of life, rising in the morning only to dress and eat, then to walk in the gardens, or by the lake, until the evening meal. It was peaceful, tranquil, yes, but utterly stifling in its routine.
She took the book, not wanting to seem too submissive, and placed it beside her on the seat. Turning away, she looked back out at the lake, and sensed his exasperation.
"Perhaps we may discuss it tomorrow night, during dinner," he continued, before stepping close. Eira froze as she felt his lips against her hair, an act that felt all too intimate after their close, albeit platonic, night together. "I will leave you now."
The words fell from her lips before she could stop them, lured by his tender gentleness, despite her mind's constant reminders of the tyrant he was. "Thank you."
She turned her head to look at him for the first time, his body draped in dark leather and emerald green, tall, strong and powerful. His dark hair shone like a raven's wing in the weak morning sunlight.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, and there was no guile, no triumph in his eyes. He seemed as much at a loss, after last night's revelations and events, as she. He just inclined his head and left.
After he left, Eira considered the disturbing notion that she was saying thank you, not for the book, but for his embrace the night before.
As she picked up the book, and began to read, she thrust it aside and concentrated on the cramped, spidery script in front of her eyes.
The next morning, she walked the gardens, swathed in a cloak, and looked out over the lake. There had been a storm the night before, but now everything was calm and peaceful, washed in a soft, grey light that allured Eira outdoors.
She had read the book Loki had given her, and to say it unsettled her even more was an understatement.
The moment she began reading, it was as if something clicked in her brain. It made instant sense, something which shouldn't be possible for an Earth-educated young woman, not when it was theories from another world where the laws of physics were completely rewritten.
But they hadn't baffled her. They had felt familiar, and easy, the longer she'd read. She had finished it only hours before, and her mind whirled with all she'd learned, or rediscovered.
Eira was beginning to accept the possibility that some of what Loki had told her, and she'd seen, was true. That she was someone from another time, another world. It was the only possible solution, in Eira's mind, for the things she had seen and felt since going to the Capital, and becoming embroiled in this mess of a war even deeper than she had been before.
As she paused before the lake, watching the water gently lap the shoreline, she sighed and let herself become entranced by the hypnotic rhythm. When did life have to get so complicated?
Why had this happened to her? This strange, mystifying destiny, fate, whatever it was?
How was it even possible, this torn feeling, of both loss and loathing, longing and anger? On the one hand, she hated him. On the other…
Her eyes followed the still surface of the lake, and, spurred by a sudden desire to immerse herself in the quiet and the calm of the water, she undid her cloak, letting it fall to the ground in a heap of crimson. Her gown went next, leaving her in her shift and shoes. She toed them off, before gingerly trudging down to the pebbled beach.
The water was so cold, it took her breath away. Her entire body thrilled to the shock, and then she drew her foot away, her skin already prickling. She remembered a theory she had read about, in the book, and hesitated.
But unlike before, in her life prior to all this, she could feel her magic, pulsing under her skin. No longer did it rise up the way it used to, now she called and it came.
She called that magic, and it came to her call, shrouding her body in a bubble of heat, like she was standing in a bath.
She stepped into the water, and it no longer chilled her, but felt like a warm wave against her skin. As the shift grew wetter and wetter, it clung to her body, until she was submerged completely.
Underneath the water, it was quiet and peaceful. Light filtered through in shafts, but it was completely dark beneath the waterline.
Eira had learned to swim in the Hudson, when she was a child. It had been her single joy, in a life of fear and confusion, and she had always loved the water. Her hair floated around her like a web of spun gold, and she stayed under until her lungs felt fit to burst.
She surfaced, gasping for air, smiling freely as she laughed and threw herself onto her back. She sliced through the water as gracefully as a fish, before inhaling and diving back beneath the water.
This was freedom. This was life.
And she'd never felt more of either.
When she surfaced for the last time, she wasn't surprised to see him standing there, on the shore, hands behind his back, legs apart, watching her with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
She set out for the shore, until she reached the shallows and put her feet down. Careful of any sharp boulders, she walked out of the lake, fiercely aware that her shift clung to her like a second skin, and the white fabric was almost translucent.
That explained the burning lust in his eyes.
"Fancied a swim, did we?" he asked, with a wicked grin. She rolled her eyes as she reached him.
"Don't worry, I wasn't planning on drowning myself," she replied sarcastically.
"I'm glad to hear it," he quipped. "For one thing, I would have missed this rather delightful sight before me…"
"You're in a good mood," Eira sighed, fighting back a wave of heat as his gaze swept over her. "How many innocent people did you kill today?"
"So cynical," he rolled his own eyes this time. Eira walked past him, towards the palace, and he fell into step beside her. "As it was, it was a trade dispute."
Eira frowned. Trade dispute?
"I see your magic is already improving," he continued. "A heat spell. Impressive."
Eira ignored him, frowning harder as she thought. Trade dispute? But…how? Loki's power made all his subjects little more than mindless ghosts, bound to his will alone. How did they have enough free will to even have a trade dispute?
Eira was suddenly pulled from her thoughts when she felt a sharp pain slice through her foot. She cried out and stumbled, only to be caught by Loki, his arms holding her against him tightly.
"What is it, love?" he breathed, concern softening his dark eyes. Panting through the pain, Eira glanced down to see her blood on a sharp rock, nestled among the smooth pebbles of the beach.
"My foot. I think I cut it," she gasped. Without another word, Loki swept her into his arms, striding across to one of the boulders and sitting her on it. Immediately, he knelt down, going to her injured foot. It throbbed at the ankle, and she grit her teeth. "And my ankle. Probably when I fell."
"I'd concur," he muttered, eying the long, narrow incision in her sole, before he glanced up at her. "Hold still, and I can fix this."
Eira's breath suspended in her lungs when she felt his hand wrap around her calf, sliding down, leaving a trail of soothing heat in his wake, until it wrapped around her ankle. With a gasp, she felt the pain ease, then disappear entirely, before he pressed hard on the sole of her foot, and the cut closed, leaving behind a bloody line, but no other sign.
She shivered in the cold wind. When she had cut her foot, her concentration had ebbed, and the spell had disintegrated, leaving her wet and cold in the harsh Norwegian air.
"And that is why you don't walk barefoot on pebbled beaches," Loki breathed, distracting her. She glared at him, and he chuckled, raising his hands as if in surrender. He stood, and held out his hand to her, helping her up.
"I wasn't aware you could heal others," she murmured, easing onto her feet. To her surprise, her pain was completely gone.
"I had the best teacher," he told her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine, but not from the cold. Not this time. He frowned. "You are cold. Here."
He stripped off his surcoat, slinging it around her shoulders, grasping the lapels and pulling them together tightly. Eira drowned in the musky warmth, and was dragged forward a step by his strength. She looked up at him, eyes wide, as she glimpsed the play of emotions over his starkly handsome face.
Longing. Disbelief. Pain. Loss. Regret. Desire.
He swallowed, and he unconsciously pulled her closer, and she went willingly, enthralled by the smouldering glare of his eyes, her mind silenced, her body burning as it came in proximity to his, stretched against his length.
"There is something I wish to show you," he murmured. "As well as discuss with you." his voice was husky, dripping with desire. "Go and dress warmly."
She met his eye, felt his gaze drop from her eyes to her lips and back again. Her lips parted, and he closed his eyes, his hands tightening on his coat, before he gently put her from him. "Go."
"Very well," she murmured, sensing his surprise at her acquiescence. He eyed her suspiciously, but she just smirked and walked away, hips unconsciously swaying.
Her mind freed from its torturous cycle of dire warnings and self-loathing, she smiled secretly to herself, feeling a warmth blossoming deep within her, as she rubbed her cheek against the lapel of his coat, inhaling his scent deeply.
She was not sure what had happened, but something had definitely shifted between them.