A/N: Don't own don't sue

Lyrics at the beginning are from 'If I Knew' by Bruno Mars

If I Knew

Chapter Fourteen

I was a city boy
Right into danger's where I'd always run, a boy who had his fun
But I wouldn't've done
All the things that I have done
If I knew one day you'd come

Sleep was proving impossible. Her mind would not stop racing and her heart had been beating erratically since she'd fled the cells. Her lips were tingling, her arms aching where bruises had begun to flower from his grip. She rolled over in her silken sheets, shoving the material away from her irritably. Dawn was creeping in, faint white light tiptoeing across the marble floors of her quarters. In the faint light, she brushed a fingertip over the dark smudges on her pale skin.

Sighing, she pushed herself up and out of bed. The chilly early-morning air caused her exposed skin to prickle as she leaned out of the window. She had tossed and turned all night, unable to banish the branding touch of his mouth on hers from her mind, her entire body pulsing with need. The court wouldn't stir for hours yet and the Queen had retreated from the feast the night before with a migraine so would not rise early today.

Eira slipped into a golden-peach gown and hurriedly braided her hair back from her face. She knew Lord Moncliere was departing today, retreating to his lands to see to the marriage arrangements. She hurried through the palace, passing servants going about their early-morning business and casting her curious glances. She was breathing heavily by the time she reached the royal docks, sweat beading on her forehead and the back of her neck. She brushed it away, annoyed to be seen flushed and sweating by the men bustling around the boats.

"Lord Moncliere."

He whirled in surprise at the sound of her voice, staring in amazement as she swept onto the dock with her dress swirling around her slender legs and her hair shimmering in the sunrise.

"Lady Eira."

He swept into a bow, eyeing her curiously as she approached him.

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?" She smiled to take the sting out of her words. "I'm sure you wish to be on your way."

He nodded warily but did not respond.

"Things have ended… strangely between us." She bit her lip, a faint flush heating her cheeks. "I just wanted to…" She shook her head with a frown, searching for the right words. "Your betrothed."

Lord Moncliere cocked his head, his face darkening slightly.

"Are you angry, about your future bride?"

He goggled at her in amazement, clearly blindsided by the turn the conversation had taken.

"My Lady?"

She sighed, brushing her hair from her face.

"I can speak to the Queen on your behalf. If you-"

"Lady Eira." He cut her off, shaking his head kindly. "I am grateful for the offer, but I have known Lady Elenore for a long time. She is kind and clever and gentle. I would have no complaints by her side, I'm sure."

Eira nodded sheepishly, looking past him towards the magnificent ship behind him.

"I apologise if I was rude, My Lord." She sucked in a deep breath, hardly believing the words that were about to emerge. "I did not want to think that you were leaving to be unhappy. I do not like the thought."

He smiled kindly, taking a small step towards her. She tilted her head to look up at him.

"I would have liked to be married to you, Lady Eira." He reached tentatively towards her and she allowed him to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Although I do not think we would have made each other happy, in the end."

She shook her head ruefully, taking his hand in hers.

"No… I don't believe we would have." She grinned saucily at him, looking at him from beneath her lashes. "But it would have been fun in the beginning."

He tossed his head back and laughed, squeezing her little hand in his affectionately.

"Yes, My Lady, it certainly would have been."

Eira smiled at him, glad that the secrets in her life had not forced this kind man to a lifetime of misery with an unpleasant wife. She tipped onto her toes and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek.

"Goodbye, Lord Moncliere."

He gave her a small secret smile, letting her fingers slip from his grasp as she retreated.

Eira had retreated to her quarters, claiming a headache, and had tried to snatch a few hours of rest after parting with her father and step-mother. She was half-lost in a fitful dream when an explosion shook her bed. She bolted upright, her heart pounding as she scanned her room for the source. Everything in her room was still shaking from the impact, her mirror trembling and a vase of flowers dancing dangerously close to the edge of her dresser. There were screams in the hallways, the sound of running feet and clashing metal. She could hear the guns at the perimeter of the palace firing.

Where was the Queen?

She leaped from the bed, tugging on her shoes and racing from the room. The corridors were in chaos, guards thundering down the passages towards the center of the palace. Eira struggled to get her bearings, trying to remember where the Queen was likely to be at this hour. A hand grabbed her elbow and she shrieked in surprise.

"Get inside." A guard growled in her ear, shoving her towards a hysterical handmaid nearby.

"The Queen-"

"Get inside and stay there." He snarled, shoving the both of them down the hallway.

Eira tripped on her skirts, stumbling forwards into a pile of debris from a blast the wall had taken. Pain exploded behind her eyes and she clutched her face, her fingers stained with blood.

"NOW!" The guard hollered over his shoulder as another blast rocked the hallway.

The handmaid latched onto her waist, yanking her frantically away from the sounds of screaming and battle. Eira struggled to escape but the tiny woman had a remarkably strong grip in her fear and she held on, hauling her away.

"What about the Queen?" Eira panted, breathless from struggling.

The handmaid gave her a dark look, dragging her around the gilded corner and out of the path of another set of guards pounding past them.

"What use would you be? The Queen is stronger than all of us put together."

Another explosion rocked the hallway, chunks of the ceiling crashing down around them. Eira leaped back as a chunk the size of a horse thundered down to the ground an inch away from her. The handmaid's nails dug deep into the skin of her wrist, dragging her around the debris as shouts echoed from behind them.

Rounding the corner they almost slammed into a group of terrified looking servants clustered together in the hallway. One of them was struggling to unlock a door and she let them pull her into the dimly lit room with them, watching the huge door swinging closed behind them.

It was hours later when they emerged, blinking dumbly against the golden lights of the hallway. The handmaid took her head and Eira let her, fear at the hideous silence pervading the palace pooling in her chest. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. What was this world without Queen Frigga in it?

She felt guilty and ashamed. That she had not noticed that the Queen was wrapped up in something dangerous with Prince Thor. That she had been so selfishly intoxicated with her Prince instead of helping Frigga when she needed it. That she had cowered in a dark room while her friend was murdered fighting for her life.

Eira could feel her grief like a burning hot coal beneath her lungs. She had been numb as they were told of the Queen's fate, numb as she helped them care for her body and dress her for her funeral, numb as she sat in the Queen's darkened chambers and waited for the procession to start. When the horns sounded, calling the city's people to mourn it's Queen, she rose to her feet.

She knew every soul in the entire city would be at the funeral for the Queen. All but one. She couldn't let him be alone on this day. The palace was grieving and if anyone noticed her slipping away, they didn't comment. The huge mirrored doors were ajar, one of them had been hit by something during the battle and the enchanted glass was cracked in a huge spiderweb. There were no guards given that most of them and the prisoners were dead. The gates were closed but didn't appear to be locked and only a single guard watched them. It was her friend. He had bruises on one side of his face and a nasty gash on his hairline just peeking under his helmet.

"I'm sorry Lady Eira." He shook his head. "I can't let you through."

Eira couldn't bring herself to flirt or cajole him into helping her. Instead she looked at him with an honest face for the first time in all the months she'd been visiting Loki.

"Please. He can't be alone. Not tonight."

She realised she didn't even know the soldier's name. She had used him numerous times but had never bothered to ask him who he was. He shrugged helplessly, then he stepped aside and let her through. She wanted to thank him, but she didn't think he'd understand so she lifted her skirts and descended the stairs.

The dungeons were still a mess, clearing them had not been a priority. Eira picked her way through the debris towards Loki's cell. The sparse furniture was spread around the cell in pieces, the books had been ripped open and scattered around the room, the glass decanter was shattered across the floor. Loki was on the floor, leaning against the wall with his hair wild around his head and his feet bleeding from the glass. It just about broke her heart. It hadn't even occurred to her before now that she wouldn't be able to get through the barrier without Frigga's magic. She wasn't sure what would happen. She climbed the steps with a pounding heart but, just like always, the barrier parted for her and she stepped into the cell.

He looked at her without seeing her, so many burning emotions raging behind his eyes that she couldn't discern just one. She lifted her skirts so she could step over some fallen fruit and knelt before him.

"Prince?"

He tensed sharply and the glass on the cell floor began to rattle ominously. She ignored it. If he wanted to hurt her he could, nothing was worse than what was happening right now. Her best friend gone, murdered, her Prince a shadow of himself in his grief, death all over the city. And she was helpless, furious and helpless.

"Loki?"

She had never used his name before and it seemed to startle him out of his torpor. He looked across at her. Her face was ashen apart from the nasty gash across her cheek that had swollen painfully. Her mouth was trembling and her eyes were huge and liquid. He still didn't speak to her, but now it felt as if he were really seeing her so she moved carefully around the debris and sat beside him.

"Have you come to say you're sorry?" Loki asked suddenly, his voice hoarse as if he'd been screaming. "To offer your condolences?"

"Don't." She snapped. "Don't attack. I'm not here to pity you."

"Then why are you here?" He asked harshly.

"I miss her." To her despair her voice wobbled and she looked away quickly.

He didn't respond to her comment but he didn't continue to be cruel either. They sat in silence for a long time, watching the barrier flickering without really seeing it, lost in thought.

"I couldn't bear to think of you alone." Loki finally turned to look her. Her eyes were red and there were glittering tear tracks on her pale cheeks. "That's why I'm here." She brushed fresh tears from her cheeks angrily. "I didn't want to stand with those people who never knew the real Frigga. Who saw her as an untouchable vessel sitting on a throne. She wasn't just a Queen to me." She couldn't look at him, she stared at the marks on the cell wall above his head. "She was my friend."

Loki, the master of words, couldn't think of a single thing to say that would adequately convey how her words touched him. She had seen his mother as a real person, she had loved her just as he had. And even in her grief she had thought of him, something not even his brother had done. He reached out, stroking a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She lifted her chin and looked at him uncertainly. A tear rolled down his cheek and she brushed it away with her thumb. The moment crystallized, as delicate and fragile as a string made of glass. She leaned against him, tucking her damp tear-stained face against his bare neck. After a moment, his arm went around her waist and he pulled her closer. She shifted her position slightly on the cell floor so her weight wasn't resting on her legs anymore and she curled against him, her arms around his waist.

They must have sat together for hours, silent but drawing some comfort from each other. When Loki suddenly tensed, she tightened her grip on him, unwilling to return to reality so soon. She lifted her head from his chest and rested her chin on his shoulder, closing her eyes against the wild curtain of his hair.

"Who is it?"

"My brother." Loki murmured, his body rigid against hers.

She drew back enough to look around at the cell, everything seemed hazy for a moment and in the blink of an eye normality was restored. An illusion of Loki stood by the barrier, waiting for Thor. She stroked his hair back from the shell of the real Loki's ear.

"Listen to him." She whispered as Prince Thor approached the cell, his heavy thumping footsteps distinctive even to her.

Loki didn't respond, he drew his arm from her waist just in case as Prince Thor calmly dismissed his illusion. Loki hesitated for a moment and then dissolved the illusion as if he didn't have the energy to keep it up. She turned her head to look at Prince Thor warily, not at all certain of his reaction if he found her there curled up against his brother. Prince Thor completely ignored her, speaking as if she wasn't there. She glanced down to see that her dress seemed hazy and slightly fuzzy around the edges. She was hidden by another illusion; he had protected her. She listened quietly to what the broken brothers had to say, her heart sinking.

Once his brother had left the cell, Loki continued to stare out at the barrier. Everything had changed in just a few short hours. He was going to leave, and she wondered if she'd ever see him again. She blinked in surprise as she realised her face was wet again.

"He's waiting for you."

He tilted his head towards her. She looked away from him. Her face was pale, khol smeared around her eyes from her tears and her hair ruffled where she had leaned against him. He could see his reflection in the cell wall, wild eyed and crazy. He looked dangerous, yet she had stayed with him. He took her shoulders in his hands and turned her to face him. Her eyes were dark and endless, her lashes star-fished from tears. He stroked her jaw with his thumbs.

"Never show your weakness, nightingale." His voice was rough from screaming, slightly harsher than he had intended.

If she noticed she didn't comment on it. She stared at him intently, almost as if she were trying to convey something through her eyes alone. He felt a bizarre urge to kiss her and he recoiled from the thought. He couldn't be thinking that so soon, it was disrespectful to his mother. He felt a dark arrow of poisonous hate in his chest at the thought of his mother. He'd never see her again. She lifted her hands, holding his wrists lightly and caressing the back of his hands with her thumbs.

"Don't be foolish, Prince." She tipped up onto her toes, until her nose was a breath away from his. "You are all of my weaknesses."

His eyes slid closed, a tear gliding over his cheekbone. He had expected more time. He would have escaped eventually, of course, but he had fully expected to make her earn her one thousand and one questions beforehand.

"He's waiting."

A flicker of the old Loki crossed his face.

"Let him."

She smiled briefly, her eyes intent on his.

"Nightingale." Her long lashes fluttered. She was beautiful in her grief. "Your name."

She blinked at him, her mind racing over their encounters. She had never given him her name, and he had never asked for it. Somehow, this seemed more intimate than his mouth on hers.

"Eira." She murmured, watching his lips form the syllables in an intimate caress.

"Goodbye… Eira."

Then he was gone.