Abashed the Devil Stood

Only when they were ushered through the gloomy subterranean halls leading to the holding cells did Tony overcome his silent brooding.

"How did he know we were here?" he hissed.

"I don't know," Steve replied seriously, "but Fiona could feel... something back there in the hall. Right before the messenger showed up."

Thor looked dubious.

"My brother is known for such magics, but his powers are being contained. Could he have found a way through the wards?"

They glanced over at her for confirmation but her eyes were fixed resolutely ahead. When they came upon the cell, she sucked in a deep breath and they looked ahead to see the cause of her distress, only to lock eyes with the imprisoned Loki.

Everyone froze. The tension was palpable as Fiona broke her gaze to look back at her friends. She was startled at the immediate change in their demeanor. Somehow, both Steve and Tony seemed to grow slightly taller and were exuding a definite sense of swagger and menace. Thor, on the other hand, seemed to shrink into himself, looking anxious and miserable in a way that Fiona understood all too well.

"Come on, guys. Let's get this over with," she said loudly.

They were still on edge as they neared the cell, and Loki's eyes followed their path along the windows until they were out of sight of the glass. Heimdall stopped them at the dais in front of the cell entrance.

"My Lords," he said in that low, echoing voice, "My apologies, but the Prince has requested that the girl enter unaccompanied."

Steve let out a snarl that actually made Fiona take a step back. "Like hell she's going in there alone," he growled.

Tony took a menacing step forward, but Thor clapped a meaty hand down over his shoulder. Tony looked back at him and grimaced.

"You wanna go round two, big guy?" he threatened.

Fiona stepped between them and Heimdall, placing a hand firmly on both Tony and Steve's chests and pushing them back.

"Stop it!" she hissed. "This is not the time for this! I appreciate the protective sentiment, as overbearing and misguided as it is, but we need results. I'm going in there!"

"Fiona, no," Steve protested. "This guy is dangerous!"

"You haven't seen what he can do," Tony interrupted. "He's a killer, and he will hurt you just to piss us off!"

"I agree, Lady Fiona," Thor said solemnly. "My brother is... unstable. To enter alone would be folly."

Fiona sighed heavily. "Look, that cell is stuffed full of runes. And he's chained down. He couldn't hurt me if he tried."

"How'd he know we were here then?" Tony retorted. "I'm telling you, this guy is bad news!"

"Look!" she snapped. "If he wanted to kill me he would have done it when I came down here to meet with him earlier!"

Tony's glare could have soured milk, and Steve's eyes bugged out.

She cursed herself. She hadn't meant to let that slip, but there was no going back now.

"Fi," Steve said slowly, trying to hold himself in check, "You have no idea... That was -"

"Stupid!" Tony said, at the same time that Fiona shouted, "Necessary!"

They stopped and glared at each other, until Heimdall stepped forward.

"Lords, Lady. If I may? The barriers are only solid from the inside. Should the lady encounter any harm, anyone observing from the glass could easily enter with no resistance."

"I still don't like it," Tony harrumphed. "This has 'trap' written all over it."

"You don't have to like it, Tony," Fiona said wearily. "But this might be the only shot we have to get this guy to agree to our terms."

"What if he snaps? What are we supposed to do then?"

"You bust in and beat his ass into a pulp," Fiona retorted. "But it won't happen. Just chill out and wait by the windows."

Tony took one long, final look at her stubborn expression and weighed his options. Then, he turned abruptly on his heel and sulked off, muttering mutinously about menstrual cycles and head trauma. Thor sullenly followed him.

When she was sure he wasn't going to rush back to stop her, she nodded to Heimdall, who palmed the opening sequence for the door.

As the familiar light gushed through the entrance Fiona exhaled deeply, shaking out her nervous limbs as she stepped forward. Steve's light touch at her shoulder stopped her.

"Good luck," he whispered. "We're right behind you."

She gave him a small smile and stepped boldly into the bright light before her nerves failed her.

The door sealed behind her once again and she blinked hard to clear her vision. The lights felt less blinding than before, probably because she was revisiting them for the second time that day, and her sight returned much sooner than she expected. She could see the dim outlines of her friends outside of the glass and gave them a thumbs up for reassurance.

She focused on the god chained to the bench in front of her, but he wasn't facing her. Strange, she thought. She could have sworn that he had been watching her eagerly through the open doorway before Steve had caught her attention.

She cleared her throat, but Loki faced resolutely away.

"Prince Loki," she addressed him, but he didn't acknowledge her.

He seemed intent on ignoring her existence, and she felt a brief flash of irritation. She crossed the room to stand directly in front of him, the windows at her back a comforting reminder of her friends' presence. She leaned back, letting her palm brush the glass lightly to let them know she was fine. Loki seemed to notice the small gesture and smirked, but said nothing and refused to look directly up at her.

She frowned, waiting for him to break the silence, but it seemed he wanted her to make the first move.

"Did you really call me here just to ignore me?" she said acidly. His grin widened. "Because that happened to be a really nice party."

"My apologies," he replied smoothly. He looked particularly smug as he reclined slightly in his chair, his manacles clinking with every movement. "How was I to know?"

"Don't play coy," she snapped. "You sent that psychic probe into the dining hall." The grin fell from his face, and Fiona felt a small twinge of triumph. "Yes. Magic. I told you I could do it."

He waved a hand dismissively. "My mother could have told you."

Interesting, she noted. Odin was not his father in his mind, but he still referred to the queen as 'mother'?

"The queen's gift is precognition," Fiona replied testily. "Not psychic detection. Now, why am I here?"

"So impatient." The smug smile was back in place. "What's the hurry?"

She could tell from his aggravating arrogance that he'd already worked out the fact that she had a closing deadline. And he was toying with her. She bristled.

"You know perfectly well what the hurry is," she snapped. "Why. Am. I. Here?"

He quirked an eyebrow.

"For someone conducting negotiations, you're hardly being diplomatic."

"For someone being offered so much, you're hardly being grateful," she countered, and he smirked.

"Ah yes. Now I remember," he said, his grin widening to show a glittering expanse of teeth. "I have been offered quite the hero's ransom." Fiona tensed at his suspiciously syrupy voice, and he gauged her reaction eagerly as he continued. "For something as simple as a teacher, you journeyed across the realms to negotiate with a murderer? And at every turn, the All-Father and the Elders have ignored the flagrant violations of sacred law that marked your very presence in Asgard and prostrated themselves to your every whim... Curious, don't you think?"

Fiona's lips tightened into a grim frown, and Loki's wicked smile widened almost to capacity at her pale complexion.

"What I want to know, foolish girl, is why?"

She seemed to waver for a moment.

"That... I can't tell you." He opened his mouth, probably to say something snide and churlish. "Not yet," she said hurriedly, effectively cutting off his next words. "Like I said before, your... the King said you should come to the decision on your own. Without influence."

His face was a cold mask, but Fiona could tell that he was burning with curiosity.

"And the nature of your request would influence my decision?"

"Yes," she said, her voice unflinching.

He regarded her for a minute in thoughtful silence, savoring this new information as one would palette a fine wine. This made the situation even more interesting to say the least.

For whatever reason, this girl's proposition would grant him more freedom than he thought possible for so small a task, and yet the purpose of their deal would not be disclosed until after he agreed to her terms. Normally, he would suspect a trap, but after months of imprisonment and even torture... And the chit seemed so damned earnest in her delivery. He smiled secretly to himself. That was exactly the kind of trait he could easily manipulate to his advantage.

He would agree to her terms; he had known it almost immediately after she'd brought the matter to him. But still he needed to wring every last scrap of information he could from her, needed to gauge every potential opening or weakness, and it seemed he had come to an impasse. He needed to know why and he knew he wouldn't find out until he had acquiesced to her proposal.

But he could still have a bit of fun.

"I need to think on the matter," he said coldly, waving her idly off. "Begone. You will be summoned when I have need of you."

"No."

He flicked his irritated gaze back to hers once again to see her standing resolutely in front of him, shoulders squared and chin raised in a glare of open defiance. He snarled, but she stood as firm as ever.

"There are countless lives at stake here, including yours and mine," she snapped. "I'm not going to let you string me along while you toy with those odds. You choose now, or not at all."

"Impudent wretch!" he growled, his perfectly sculpted cheeks colored with rage. "I am a Prince of Asgard, human ape! You are blessed to even be allowed to speak before me!" He rose to his feet, straining against the manacles at his wrists.

Fiona held an open palm to the window at her back, a clear signal to her friends to stay put. Otherwise, she seemed less than impressed with Loki's display.

"Ex-Prince," she corrected him, fully aware that she was on thin ice. "And quite frankly, I don't give a damn about your title. If we don't reach an agreement tonight, it won't really matter."

He eyed her coldly. This girl, this chit had the nerve to address him this way. This level of impertinence was punishable by death, and yet here she stood, as brazen and haughty as if she were entitled to his attentions at all. He glared at her with practiced menace, but she returned it with one of her own. This brat needed to learn humility. He smirked with a sudden idea.

"Well, then," he said, his voice thick with renewed guile, "It seems I have no choice but to accept your offer."

He reveled in the momentary surprise that registered on her face, but her expression snapped back to the suspicious glare that she had maintained throughout most of the conversation.

There was a long pause as she considered his words carefully.

"Why?"

"'Why?'" he repeated in a simpering voice.

"Is there an echo in here?" she snapped. "Yes. Why? You've been perfectly content to jerk me around this entire time, and suddenly you're willing to cooperate?"

"I've been willing to cooperate the entire time," he countered cooly. "You simply haven't been the most tactful of negotiators."

She flushed, but ignored the obvious barb. "Well, that's good," she said instead. "We'll work out the details in the morning." And she started toward the door.

"I do, however," he called, stopping her dead in her tracks, "have one condition."

Her eyes fluttered closed in annoyance as she sighed heavily.

"Of course you do," she said wearily, turning to face him once again.

"It is an exceedingly simple request," he assured her, his smile full of cunning malice.

"And that is?"

His grin widened, showing his glittering canines in full. "Kneel."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes hardened into steely slits.

"Kneel before me, and I will gladly acquiesce to your terms."

She glared at him coldly, at the glittering grin plastered to his face. Of course it would be something like this, she thought. Something humiliating and scornful. He was probably needling the onlooking Avenger team more than her personally, but she didn't much care for being a pawn either.

"And if I refuse?"

"I withdraw my concession and we all face the alternatives you've been so dreading," he replied smoothly. "And, no, I will accept no counter offer. You will kneel before me. It is conditional upon my consent."

The room went silent for a long moment, the tension hanging thick in the room as he gleefully watched her struggle with her temper. She was bristling under his knowing gaze, hackles defiantly raised at the thought of prostrating herself before him. He reveled in the power he had over her in this moment, knowing that any action of defiance on her part would only allow him to mete out more humiliating terms. He was quite looking forward to the prospect, actually. He was already anticipating her rebuttal, already languishing at the expectation of a long argument, wherein he could use his gift of words, his silver tongue, to strip down both her dignity and resolve until, at last, weary and shamed, she would crumble before him, pliant, submissive, completely at his mercy.

She opened her mouth, and his grin widened at the expectation of his plans fulfilled. But she sighed deeply, and did the unexpected.

She swept the lush fabric of her dress's train out from behind her and sank gracefully to her knees, letting her hands rest on the floor in front of her as she stared at the ground.

"Please."

There was more emotion in that single word than he had heard in the entirety of their conversation. Loki could only blink numbly down at her.

Who was this girl? He thought. Through her harsh words and proud rebuttals he knew exactly how hard it must have been to submit, and yet she knelt. He had spoken on the streets of Midgard of his own most glorious purpose, and he began to spare the barest consideration that this girl, for all the mortal frailty of her race, had been burdened with a purpose far greater than he could even fathom...

He shook the thought from his mind.

Instead, he focused on studying her for some sign of weakness. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a cascade of dark brown ringlets, and her thick lashes concealed the deep, chocolate eyes that he had seen narrowed in such an accusatory glare. When she was not scowling, her lips were full and plump and rosy. By all accounts, she was attractive and graceful, and yet he saw none of the traditional Midgardian adornments of marriage nor engagement. No doubt a result of her odious disposition, he assured himself. Still, he thought, openly raking his eyes over swell of her ample breasts, not entirely unpleasant to look upon. He smirked.

"I think I rather like you in this position," he said, letting the unspoken suggestion hang in the air.

Her eyes snapped up in an icy glare, and her lips opened for a retort...

"I did not teach my son to know such crudity," a voice interrupted.

Fiona looked to to the door and immediately shrank into herself when she saw the Queen standing regally at the entrance to Loki's cell. She felt embarrassed to be seen in such a humiliating position, but Frigga was at her side in a few graceful strides and helped the girl to her feet as she mumbled quiet words of thanks.

"Mother," Loki said, once again affecting that bored, casual tone, "What brings you to my humble lodging?"

"I sensed that some measure of accord had been reached," she said, easily ignoring his insolent remarks. He looked away sulkily, and the Queen turned to Fiona instead. "Is this true, dear Lady? Have you reached an agreement?"

Fiona nodded slowly. "Yes, Your Grace." The honorific felt awkward on her tongue.

"Then a binding is in order," the Queen said, but in a voice that wasn't entirely her own.

She waved a hand over Loki's chains, and they fell to the floor with a clatter as he rose to his feet. Fiona backed away involuntarily.

"Do not fear, child," the queen said reassuringly - in mostly her own voice, though the other was still there.

Fiona took a reluctant step forward, and her hands began fiddling with the fabric of her gown. But the queen's attention was on Loki as she spoke.

"You will exchange the customary tokens," she said in that ethereal voice, but Fiona could still hear the stern mother addressing her son under all that power and magic. "Something small and yours. You know the way of it, my son."

Loki grimaced and fished for something just under the collar of his worn tunic. He placed a small, mangled pendant within his mother's reach, but refused to meet her eye. To Fiona's curiosity, Frigga seemed somewhat perturbed at the battered state of the object, looking to her son for some kind of explanation. But he only stared petulantly at the glass, no doubt aiming his nasty looks at the Avengers looking on.

When the queen turned back to meet her gaze, Fiona swallowed hard. She knew the item that she should choose: the silver ring on her left hand - her grandmother's ring. She bit her lip and fretfully twisted the familiar circle around her finger, thinking how much she hated the idea of her Nan's heirloom in the possession of a murderer. Never mind that the metal had absorbed some of her magic, and she definitely didn't want Loki dipping his fingers into that.

But the ring was all she had to offer and she highly doubted he could find a way to access most of the power inside it...

She held in the deep, resigned sigh that threatened to fall from her lips and placed the ring in the queen's outstretched palm, watching regretfully as Frigga's delicate fingers closed around it. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of pity in the queen's eyes, but Frigga turned her solemn stare forward and the moment was gone.

The queen brought her hands together, clasping the items against each other as she began to chant in a low throaty murmur. Fiona's eyes widened as the goddess's hands began to glow with an otherworldly light, and when Fiona looked up to her face she could see the same alien glow in the queen's eyes.

Still chanting, she extended her hands outward, her left just within Fiona's reach. She saw Loki extending his own hand palm upward and she did the same. The queen let the pendant dangle over Fiona's outstretched fingers for only a moment before it lay in her palm, the details of its cool, smooth surface quickly obscured as the queen's fingers closed over her own in a surprisingly firm grasp.

She pulled her stare away from the pendant to see Loki in a similar position, but the smug smirk on his face told her that he knew how much she hated seeing the ring in his hands. She was suddenly seething.

"The terms have been made. The tokens have been exchanged," Frigga intoned. "Let there be a joining of hands to complete the binding."

Fiona blanched. She hadn't known this was part of the deal. First she given her only family heirloom to the biggest creep in the Nine Realms, and now they had to hold hands? From the way the Prince's jaw was set, he wasn't much enjoying the prospect either.

But much to her surprise, he was the first to grudgingly thrust his hand toward her as if to say 'Get it over with already!'

She pulled in a quick breath and set her hand gently in his.

A blinding flash filled the room...

And Loki could suddenly see it.

He was at the edge of an impossibly high cliff overlooking a seemingly bottomless chasm. The seam of the canyon stretched far beyond the horizon in either direction, and he could see... something pulsing and writhing far, far below.

It only took him a moment to realize that he was seeing magic in its basest form, and it took him another to realize that it was her magic.

No, he thought. That was impossible! This much power could easily burn through the mind of even a trained god, much less a clumsy mortal! But there was no doubt that it belonged to the girl, and he could already feel the power calling to him...

He suddenly realized that he was much too close to the edge, that the lure of that much magic had drawn his own toward it with a magnetic force. He made a hurried attempt to back away, but his body refused to respond and his mind began to slip as tendrils of magic eased him forward, pulling him into the abyss. He felt a vague sense of panic as his consciousness drifted toward the cliff's edge, but he knew with increasing dread that nothing could stop his descent now...

He was jerked backward with an almighty lurch, so powerful that he stumbled back with the force of reentering his physical body. He realized his back was flattened against the stone chair and his breathing had gone ragged, but Fiona's hand was still in his. She was watching him intently, and he realized she had been the one who had rescued him from the edge.

He wrenched his fingers from hers, and she looked away guiltily under his wide-eyed stare.

"What are you?" he demanded, his voice shaking.

Her eyes stayed on the floor and she held his pendant tightly between her trembling, white-knuckled fingers.

"I don't know."

It was only much later - after his mother had ushered the girl from the room and wearily bid him good night, after a sleepless night in his cell, letting their conversation tumble around and around in his head just as the ring tumbled artfully between his practiced fingers - that he realized why her final words had plagued him: he didn't know what he was either.