Fenrir's Binding: The Queen And The Barbarian

By evolution-500

Genres: Romance/Angst

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: Killer Instinct" is a property belonging to Rareware and Microsoft while "The Boys" is a property by Garth Ennis and Dynamite Comics. I do not own these characters.

* * * * *

Chapter Three: Wounds

"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Once they were back inside, Maeve was guided to the bed.

"There you go," the man said as he cautiously lowered her down. Once she was seated, the man frowned at the sight of her bleeding sides. "I'll need to clean and dress the wounds. You are lucky to still be alive."

Turning around, he set aside his large sword as he searched the shelves and brought over some bandages along with some potted plants, a bowl and some utensils.

"Is that...garlic?" Maeve asked as she winced at the smell.

"Dah," the man replied as he grounded it up into the bowl, making an ointment. "It stings, but it can help with infection."

He then started to mix with a knob-like instrument. "I'm going to need you to lower your dress so I can put the ointment on."

Maeve blushed as she complied, placing an arm over her breasts to conceal herself as she looked away in embarrassment, focusing on a nearby wall.

"No funny business, alright? I don't want you copping a feel of my tits!" She said heatedly.

The man said nothing, yet she sensed him rolling his eyes dismissively as he went about his work, wiping the cuts with a wet rag cloth.

As he wiped away the blood from her sides, Maeve was suddenly struck with realization.

"So," Maeve spoke slowly and uncertainly, drawing his attention, "that-that...thing...it was...real?"

She sensed the man frowning. "As real as you or I...unfortunately," came the ominous response.

"And I...I...hit it?"

"Dah. That you have."

Maeve looked down at her fist in wonder.

It was real...

As her thoughts lingered on her encounter, Maeve suddenly thought of the old man and those faceless winged creatures, then shuddered.

"You know, last night I dreamt that I had been rescued- well...captured-"

"By a faceless winged being," the man said without looking up from his work, causing her to look at him with wide eyes, her skin paling. "Dah. One of Lord Nodens' night-gaunts found you in the ocean."

Maeve was deathly still as a knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

"'Night-gaunts'?" she repeated.

"Dah. That's what they are called. They are his faithful..." The man lifted his head up, his brow furrowed as he frowned. "...I'm not even sure what they are myself. Part of me wants to say 'servants', but another part of me is inclined to believe they are his 'pets', but the truth is that those creatures are just as unknowable as their master. Their nature are as obscure as he is."

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "What do you remember?"

Maeve sat still as she recalled the awful events of last night.

"My plane crashed in the middle of a storm."

"You as well?"

She lifted her eyes. "Have there been others?"

"Many times people would end up on this isle," the man answered cryptically.

"Where are ARGH!" Before Maeve could say another word, she jerked up with a yell, screaming as she felt her wounds burn. "ARGH! Fuck!"

She clenched her teeth, nearly screaming at the top of her lungs as she wiggled around. "ARGH! Fuck! FUCK! FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER! THAT BURNS! OH GOD FUCKING DAMNIT THAT BURNS!"

"Dah, I know. It's the garlic. It will hurt now, but believe me, this will help your injury." As she continued wriggling around, her eyes tearing up, the man then gave an annoyed growl, putting both hands on her shoulder.

"Sit still!" He said in a firm and commanding voice.

Maeve turned her head, ready to give him a piece of her mind, then froze, catching her breath as her eyes bore straight into his, struck by the cold blue hues of his irises. She stared, mesmerized by the color. As the man stared back, the harshness of his face lessened as he stared, equally struck. For a moment, the two of them sat still, neither of them moving a muscle.

Time came to a standstill, the two figures locked on each other's features.

Finally, the man broke his gaze away from her, clearing his throat uncomfortably, breaking the spell as Maeve finally remembered to breathe. Looking back down, he continued his work, applying the balm to one side, then the other.

"...Were there..." Maeve swallowed nervously, somewhat afraid of the answer, "were there any survivors? From the plane crash?"

The man stopped for just a brief second, then closed his eyes, his broad shoulders sagging.

"I'm afraid you were the only survivor," he said regretfully. "You were lucky to have been found. Then again, given that you have ended up here of all places...perhaps not."

Maeve lowered her eyes, her heart filled with guilt.

"I see," she said quietly in sadness and disappointment.

The room was quiet as the man resumed smearing the burning substance on her, the woman shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

"I owe you an apology, skrýtinn," he spoke up, causing Maeve to stir.

"Huh?"

"It was wrong of me to have mocked you on your abilities. You are a strong fighter," the man commented, nodding in approval. "I have never seen anyone have the strength to take on Old Grey Tooth by themselves, let alone strike him singlehandedly across the face. I thought myself the only one capable of doing so. We are similar in that regard."

He chuckled lightly. "I do, however, question your ability to make good decisions, though."

As his chuckle grew, Maeve rolled her eyes, the woman exhaling.

"The way you just strolled right up to him and started petting him, as if he were a dog! And the expression on his face!" He said before laughing wholeheartedly.

She sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny." As his laughter fell, the man started picking up some strips of bandages. "Where are we exactly? What is this place?"

He started to wrap them around her torso, his eyes and face unreadable.

"It is difficult to say with certainty," the man said slowly. "What I do know is that you'll never be able to find it on any map. This place has had many names throughout the ages. Antillia, Jomsborg, Satanazes, the Island of Devils, Himinbjörg, Frisland, Hy-Brasil...a common name I heard given to this place is 'Isle of Demons', but in terms of its true name?" He shook his head. "I don't think anyone knows, nor will they ever know for certain. That knowledge, as far as I'm aware, has been lost to time, though truth be told, given the nature of this island and its inhabitants, 'Isle of Demons' would seem a fitting enough name in my opinion."

The man quietly resumed wrapping the bandages around her torso. From the dark expression he had on his face, Maeve could see many untold stories of sadness, pain, anguish and horror written on his features, a man who had endured so much and who had seen things nobody should, and yet who kept on going in spite of everything.

Kind of like me.

"What about you?" Maeve spoke again. "What's your name?"

Pausing momentarily, the man pulled one corner of his mouth into a dark wry smile as he gave a low amused chuckle, as if he were telling a private joke.

"Like this island, I too have had many names throughout the years," he spoke grimly, shaking his head slowly. "I cannot remember them all, let alone my original name - that too has been lost to time along with much of my memory - but I go by the name Tunth-ska, or 'Tusk.'"

She blinked at the name.

"'Tusk'?" Maeve repeated, unsure if she heard correctly.

"Dah," he replied. "It was a name the Sea Marauders had called me in their own language, because my sword Warg-Gram reminded them of an oversized walrus tooth."

Maeve quietly digested this bit of information, her brows knitting together as she tried to process her situation.

Sea Marauders? What did he mean? Mercenaries? Pirates?

Raising her eyes questioningly back to him, she tilted her head curiously, studying the enigmatic man.

"How long have you been on this island for?" she asked quietly.

Tusk's mouth was a harsh firm line, his eyes forming a squint as he seemed to contemplate the question.

Exhaling tiredly through his nostrils, Tusk shook his head, giving a slight shrug.

"Too long," he admitted in a tired voice. "Far too long for my own liking."

Maeve sensed his reluctance to talk about his experiences, but didn't try to pry any further.

"You said that there have been other survivors before me?" she questioned.

He nodded. "Dah, that there have. Many times people have ended up on these shores throughout the years. Some were able to leave this place. Others, however, were...not so fortunate. This island is..." He frowned, "...not like anything out there in the natural world. You will see things during your time here that will completely defy explanation. A person will...need great fortitude in overcoming the various challenges this place has to offer."

As Tusk uttered those words, a chill ran through Maeve's spine as she suddenly recalled the bodies outside.

She suddenly paused.

The bodies...

"Those-Those bodies out there," Maeve spoke slowly, "...those-those are all...real as well?"

Tusk gave a single, grave and quiet nod.

"And you...you killed those people," she said, uncertainty and fear creeping into her voice.

He breathed through his nostrils. "Many have tried attacking and killing me. All of them had believed that this island was just another piece of property to claim for their kingdoms, that I was just another filthy barbarian to be conquered." Maeve saw his eyes darken, his jaw tighten. "They were wrong."

Maeve sat still on the bed, trying to hide her fear.

"Was it-was it self-defense?" she asked.

Looking away, Tusk continued with his task.

"Dah," he answered, causing Maeve to untense. "Unlike Lord Nodens, I do not make sport out of killing people. Not unless I'm provoked."

'That's assuring,' she dryly remarked in her head.

"How is that they all look so fresh?"

Tusk shrugged.

"The cold had partially preserved them, but I think it has more to do with the peculiarities about this island. This island, needless to say, is a very dangerous place to live. Many that find their way here usually tend to die just from the bitter cold out there, if not from starvation. The ones that manage to survive for longer periods would sometimes end up mad. Some, in their fear, despair and desperation, would take their own lives, if only so they can finally be free of this place. I envy them," he muttered the last part under his breath.

Looking at his eyes, Maeve saw what looked unmistakably like a lifetime's worth of sorrow and pain in his eyes. He looked...tired. Worn down.

Rubbing his eyes, Tusk shook his head, uttering a groan.

"Are you okay?" Maeve asked.

"Dah. Just a little tired, that's all. This island is as brutal and as remorseless as it comes. It offers neither much luxury nor sleep." Before she was about to inquire more, Tusk drew away his hand and gave her a curious look. "So tell me, skrýtinn, what country do you hail from?"

Blinking at the question, Maeve smiled slightly. "I'm a New Yorker. Good Ole US of A."

"American?"

"Yeah."

"Hm. I've met a few of your countrymen years ago. Noisy and rambunctious lot you are."

She laughed. "Yeah, that's us, alright."

"And you said something about serving with a group called 'The Seven?'"

She winced at his touch. "Yeah."

"Who are they?"

Maeve sighed. "The Seven are the most famous and powerful heroes in the world," she explained.

"Heroes, you say?" he said, perking up with interest.

"Yeah." She hesitated. "They...used to consist of myself, Homelander, Black Noir, Starlight, the Deep, A-Train and Translucent."

Tusk blinked in bemusement, giving an amused look.

"Strange names," he commented.

She scoffed, nodding. "Yeah, I know," Maeve conceded.

His hands continued with their wrapping. "Did you suffer a loss? I noticed that you used the phrase 'used to.'"

Maeve nodded. "Translucent had died sometime ago. We're looking to replace him."

"Hm." Tusk hummed at the information, then gave a thoughtful nod. "My condolences for the loss of your brother in arms."

She shrugged. "Thanks, but...well...I didn't, ah, really much care for the guy, to be honest."

Tusk paused, looking up at her in surprise.

Maeve frowned. "I know it's not right to speak badly for the dead, but...aw who am I kidding - fuck him. I hated that little shit - he was a goddamned pervert and a creep."

He quirked a brow. "Colorful language."

"Don't tell me you're sensitive to that, are you?" she said in annoyance.

"Ha!" Tusk barked. "Not at all! You'd make a Viking proud the way you cuss!" His eyes studied her curiously. "Did that man give you trouble?"

"No shit!" she retorted. "How would you feel if some naked invisible asshole was hanging around close to where you are, watching you as you're taking a piss or shit every time you need to use a toilet?"

Tusk blinked in surprise, causing her to shake her head. "I'm sorry. I just..." She sighed. "I don't like The Seven very much."

He gave her a curious look. "You don't?"

"No. Not really."

"Aren't The Seven the greatest heroes in the world, as you say?"

"Well...kind of."

"...I don't understand."

Maeve exhaled. "To everyone else, we are this...larger-than-life group of people with extraordinary abilities who strive to protect the innocent and the law, these...faultless demigods who want to help stop crime and save the world."

"That sounds commendable," he nodded, his blue eyes peering into her own, narrowing in suspicion. "And yet, you make it sound as if your "Seven" are...less than impressive. Perhaps even less than noble or honorable..."

She frowned. "You aren't wrong. It is...true that we all have amazing abilities compared to your standard person. And on occasion, we do get to stop crime...but...only if we're approved by the company we work for. Almost everyone on the team is an awful person, including me. I'm...a fake..."

Maeve felt really uncomfortable underneath the man's cold unblinking stare, his eyes harsh, almost accusatory.

Turning his eyes away, Tusk continued with wrapping the bandages, not uttering a word.

She cleared her throat, feeling discomforted by the silence.

"...I...I wasn't always a fake," Maeve spoke, drawing his attention. "...There was a time when I really did care about saving people, and I still do want to save and protect people, but..." She put a hand to her mouth, shaking her head, "I'm...so...tired of the lies. I'm so tired of losing lives, of failing. No matter what I do, nothing ever changes. I used to believe that I was making a difference out there. I used to want to save the world, used to believe that the world is worth saving, but..." She scoffed, shrugging, "...I don't even know if the world needs to be saved, let alone know if the world wants to be saved. Hundreds of people could die, but in the end it wouldn't matter. The things that Homelander...Black Noir...the Deep...Translucent..."

Maggie lowered her eyes. "I've-I've seen them do...horrible things. The things Homelander has...has done to me..." She swallowed. "I'm scared of him. When my plane went down, I was...I was so sure that it was Homelander who had caused it."

He lifted his chin, tilting his head to the side. "Why would he do that?"

Maggie scoffed. "Why wouldn't he? He's the Homelander - he can do whatever he wants! He can fly! He can shoot beams of light out of his eyes that can cut through anything, people included! He's the strongest man in the world, impervious to every weapon imaginable! He can see, hear, and sense everything, no matter how small or distant. He can see through everything except for zinc. The closest thing in the world to a god, by all accounts. To him, everyone and everything is just a toy for him to play with. All he craves is attention - he wants people to worship him. And if somebody does something he doesn't like, well..."

She shook her head. "It was because of him that I...I was so afraid of getting into another relationship with anyone, for fear that he would...tear them apart with his own hands."

"He's done that?"

She nodded.

"Yes. And worse. A whole lot worse. The things he's done...the things he made me do..."

Maggie swallowed as she sniffled, trying to keep herself under control. "I had...tried blackmailing him so that he would leave me and my girlfriend Elena alone...but..."

She trailed off, watching as Tusk's eyes slowly lose their harshness, watching as they lessened their intensity and slowly changed to a more sympathetic and understanding look. She didn't know why she felt the need to justify herself, let alone to a complete stranger of all things. Perhaps because she was defensive? Perhaps because she felt so utterly alone and wanted someone, anyone, to hear her side since Elena wanted nothing more to do with her anymore? Because she wanted someone to hear her voice? Her screams? To be given a chance to voice her own frustrations as a "hero"? Someone to comfort her? Someone to care about her when nobody else would?

Whatever the reason, Maggie Shaw felt exposed in a way that made her feel extremely uncomfortable and vulnerable, something that she had never allowed anyone to see. Not even Homelander at his worst.

"Listen...um..." Maeve said as she brushed a bang behind her ear, averting her eyes from Tusk as she quickly tried to change topics, "...do you- do you know if there's any way off this rock? A ship or boat that I can use around here? Is there something, anything, that can allow me to get in contact with anyone?"

Tusk pursed his lips.

"There are plenty around here," he replied, "although many are in poor condition. Many have tried their radios, but nobody had ever managed to get in contact with anyone. Even more, I wouldn't recommend going out onto the waters. Not now, anyway."

"Why not?"

"It's the Season of the Serpent, when all the inhabitants of the island come out to hunt and mate, in no certain order. There are plenty of other dangerous creatures on this island aside from Old Grey Tooth," he said enigmatically, causing her to stiffen in alert.

"There are others?"

"Dah," Tusk nodded. "A lot of them much more dangerous, some of them even worse."

Maeve felt a churn in her stomach.

"How much worse?" she asked hesitantly in spite of herself.

Tusk kept quiet for a while, then closed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of awful memories or to keep himself from recalling.

"...Let's just say that death would be considered a mercy, especially for a woman."

Maeve felt the cabin become dark and somber. Lowering her eyes, she frowned.

"Well, that's encouraging," she deadpanned.

Tusk shook his head regretfully.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings. But," he spoke up, drawing her attention, "by my calculations, there should be a one-day window in the next week or two that should allow you to escape this place."

"A one-day window? One to two weeks? Is this some kind of joke? And what am I supposed to do in the mean time? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs?"

Tusk gave an annoyed sigh. "Look, you are welcome to leave at any time, skrýtinn. But if you do, know this - I will not be held liable for whatever happens to you once you walk out that door. There are plenty of dangers here, many of which would drive a person mad. You do not want to encounter them alone, skrýtinn. Trust me, I know. If not, then the door is just right over there."

Maeve considered his words, then gave a conceding nod of understanding, too tired to argue.

Settling back down, the two remained quiet for a long while, with Maeve focused on the ornate snake tattoo that flowed along the man's muscular chest.

"So tell me, Tusk," she spoke, "how did you end up here?"

He grunted. "It's a long story."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere any time soon, so go ahead."

Tusk stared to the bandages, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Finally, he finished.

"Is that too tight?" he asked.

Maeve shifted about, testing the bandages.

"No, I think that's fine."

"Good," he nodded. "I'll check your injuries later and replace the bandages as need be. For now, get some rest, skrýtinn. You've had quite the experience these last few hours, and I don't need you to overexert yourself. I'll get a meal ready for the both of us. Perhaps later I'll tell you my story."

Turning around, he approached a basin and started to wash his hands in water while Maeve adjusted her outfit.

"...Maggie," she spoke, making him pause.

He glanced over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

"...My real name is Maggie," she spoke again. "Maggie Shaw."

Turning to look at him, she watched as Tusk thoughtfully tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowed.

"Maggie..." he tested the name. Lifting his eyes to meet hers, he offered her a pleasant smile and a polite nod. "It is nice to meet you, Maggie."

She smiled back. "Likewise, Tusk."

As Tusk turned away from her, Maggie pondered her situation as she stared at the snake tattoo wrapped around his torso.

Maeve, what did you just get yourself into?

* * * * *

Maeve stared down at her plate as the two of them sat quietly at the table.

Tearing off a strip of fish with his hand, Tusk chewed as he observed Maeve's demeanor.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" he asked, pointing to her plate.

Maeve lifted a knife, then paused.

"Um...do you have any forks?" she asked.

He shook his head silently.

Exhaling, Maeve grabbed the fish, then pulled it apart in her fingers, picking a piece up for inspection.

"What kind of fish is this out of curiosity?" she queried.

He shrugged. "Not sure. It's not poisonous, if that's what worries you. It is safe to eat, just so long as it's properly cooked. I've made certain that it is, so by all means, eat."

Hesitating, Maeve exchanged looks between him and the fish in her hands. Taking in a deep breath, she braced herself for the worst, then promptly took a bite. Chewing slowly, Maeve raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"It's-It's good!" She exclaimed.

Tusk chuckled as she hungrily started to scarf down her meal.

"You must have been hungry," he commented.

She swallowed. "Yeah, I was starving. Thank you for that."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it." As the two of them continued to eat, he glanced up curiously at her. "Why do you refer to yourself as 'Maeve'?"

Maggie sighed. "Growing up, I used to be into Irish mythology. It's part of my heritage."

"Irish?"

"Yeah," she nodded as she chewed. "Maeve had been an idol of mine growing up along with Crimson Countess."

Tusk gave a puzzled look. "Crimson who?"

"Crimson Countess," she repeated. "She was a hero that had served with a group known as 'Payback' during World War II."

"Ah." He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed.

"When I was a little girl," Maggie confessed, "I wasn't as strong or confident in who I was, in my abilities. I never had any real female figures in my life, and my father, well...he spent most of his money making bets and drinking."

"Hm." Taking a sip of some water from a cup, Tusk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "How did you gain your powers? What deity granted them to you?"

Maeve scoffed lightly, shaking her head as she stared down at her fish.

"It wasn't any god," she admitted.

"Was it sorcery, then? Alchemy?" His face darkened before speaking in a low voice, "...Necromancy?"

She frowned.

"No, it's not..." Maeve scrunched up her brow as she tried thinking of a way of explaining it. "I had been...injected with a serum when I was still in my mother's womb. Compound V. That's what they called it. It's what gave me my strength."

"Hm," Tusk grunted, taking another bite out of his fish.

"It also came at the cost of my mother's life," she admitted. "My birth had been difficult for her, and because her body was having trouble carrying me to term, she..."

Trailing off, Maeve's eyes gloomily staring down at the cooked fish in her hands.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tusk nodded sadly.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "What about you? From our fight, it's apparent your strength is anything but natural."

Swallowing, Tusk glanced to the side, staring at a wall marked with a white, five-pointed star. For a long while, it almost seemed as if the man wasn't going to speak, making Maeve nervously wonder if she had inadvertently struck a nerve in her massive host.

"...I was out hunting with my family one winter evening as a child," he began. "My mother, father, and three brothers. We were all following tracks belonging to a herd of Tandor."

"'Tandor'?" Maeve repeated the unfamiliar word in confusion.

Glancing up in annoyance, Tusk frowned. "Uh...Dah, that was the word we used for them back then. You call them by another name, but I can't recall what it is in your language."

"What do these "tandor" look like?"

"Tall as trees. Walk on all fours and covered in thick fur, with a long nose and tusks."

Maeve blinked, scrunching up her brows. "Walks on all fours, covered in fur, with a long nose and tusks...? What, you mean a boar?"

"Nay, not a boar," he waved.

"A bear?"

He gave an annoyed look. "Tis was no bear. It had a long nose like an elephant."

"An eleph-" Maeve parted her lips, then gave a slightly incredulous laugh. "You mean a woolly mammoth?"

"Ah!" He nodded. "That's the word you English you used. Mammoth. Dah. They looked like elephants but hairier with long tusks and shorter ears. We used to hunt them with spears that had flint tips at the end and stab them in either the neck, belly or back. On a few occasions one or two of us would cover ourselves with their own dung in order to get closer and ambush them. We would also create pits full of spikes or try to drive one or two of them near the edge of a cliff, but the damn things were very clever. Many times they would outsmart us, injuring, even killing my clansmen."

Maeve stared perplexedly at the man sitting across from her.

Was he being serious, or was he pulling her leg?

"...You're...a caveman?"

She searched his face for some sign that he was joking. The only thing Tusk did was pull a corner of his mouth to one side, forming a partial smirk, giving an amused grunt.

"It has been a long time since anyone called me that," he said, shaking his head. "Dah, I suppose I am. At least, by your modern standards."

The two of them sat still as the wind howled outside. Finally, Maeve looked away, scoffing disbelievingly.

Of course she would end up trapped on an island with an insane person.

At least, she thinks he's insane?

Part of her desperately wanted to dismiss Tusk as a delusional nut job, but given the fact that she had narrowly escaped being eaten by an eight-eyed dinosaur of all things, and was saved by both this man and those faceless winged freaks, she felt somewhat inclined to believe him. Maeve was doubtful, though, especially with regards to his state of mind, but she wasn't going to make him aware of those doubts; after years of working with Homelander, Maeve knew better than to antagonize someone potentially more dangerous than her. She might be a shit hero, but she was definitely no fool.

"Of course," Maeve muttered as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course that I would encounter Barney the dinosaur and Fred Flintstone all in the same day."

Tusk raised a brow. "Who?"

She pulled her hand away.

"Nothing. It's nothing." Exhaling, Maeve gestured for him to continue. "Go ahead. Please, tell me the rest of your story."

The man watched her for a moment, then looked away, staring at the wall marked with the painted white star.

"...We were hunting during the winter," he continued. "The snow had been so thick that it had blanketed everything, making it near impossible to see. Because of that, we had all stuck close to one another so that none of us would get lost in the storm. In those days, there were no shortage of dangers. Aside from risks of exposure, we also had to worry about wild dogs, Tarags - ah, big-toothed tigers, I believe is the word you call them."

"Sabretooth Tigers," she corrected.

"Dah, and various other dangers." He rubbed his nose, "We were following Tan- ah, mammoth tracks when we came upon a...creature. A walking human skeleton, with eyes so red that they pierced through the winter gloom, brighter than blood, and a laugh so loathsome that...to this day, I still get nightmares."

To Maeve's surprise, Tusk's giant muscular form shuddered, the man wincing in revulsion.

"It was carrying around this shield, like a mouthless mammoth's skull with an octopus-like beard at the bottom, while in the other hand it had held what looked like a bloodied club. The thing was standing over a bloodied pile of what used to be a mammoth herd, looking as if it were...basking in its slaughter. When it turned its eyes over in our direction, though, everyone in our clan knew we were in trouble. In that instant, we knew we had to fight and destroy this thing, otherwise it would without a doubt destroy us all."

He stared quietly to the wall, clasping his cup. Taking a sip, he placed the cup down on the table.

"We tried everything. We stabbed. We clubbed. We stomped. We even threw rocks and our own tools at it, but we might as well have thrown our fists to the wind. That thing cut us down one by one, until only I, a mere whelp at the time, remained. I fought that creature with everything I had, even going so far as to beat it with my own fists. I had beaten it so fiercely that I ended up cutting my own hands, causing them to bleed. Despite my best efforts, the creature just laughed in my face before gravely injuring me. And then, to add insult to injury, he...it...resurrected my fallen family, forcing me to cut them all down one by one, until finally they all charged me and tackled me off the edge of a cliff."

Maeve sat still as she listened.

"When I awoke, I was lying on the snow, bleeding, lying on the smashed remains of my clan and family. I was drifting in and out of consciousness, visited by strange visions, strange dreams. I saw a collection of strange beings made of light approach me, along with an old man with fearsome eyes. I don't recall what it was that they had said to me - I heard the words "Ichoriens" and "Nodens" being spoken - but at the time, I knew not what they were. I was certain that I was dying, that these were spirits that have come to collect me."

Tusk's mouth was a harsh grim line, his eyes cast in shadow.

"When I awoke, I found myself fully healed, marked with this tattoo on my torso, while beside me I found Warg-Gram, albeit in a different shape as it was then. Since that day, I had wandered and hunted alone, searching everywhere I could for that creature, the murdering bastard that killed my family." He shook his head gloomily. "I was never able to find him. Eventually, I ended up coming across another tribe, with whom I had lived with for a time. I took a mate for myself and ended up having several children with her."

Maeve saw his eyes gloomily droop.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Tusk quietly sighed, his shoulders sagging.

"...My mate and all my children...they all died young..."

As Maeve listened, she felt a tinge of pity for the man. While she doubted Tusk's sanity and truthfulness in his words, there wasn't any denying that the overwhelming aura of sadness that emanated from him was real.

"I'm... I'm sorry," she said in a quiet and empathetic voice.

He shook his head sorrowfully as he took in a deep breath, his eyes straining to keep in his tears.

"...It is never easy losing a loved one," he confessed in a low voice, "but to see your own children die...it is painful. More painful than any weapon or tooth to have ever pierced my skin. I have had two or three other wives and families after that, but..."

Tusk breathed lowly, shutting his eyes. "Immortality is a cruel torture I wouldn't wish on anyone. You cannot imagine the pain that comes with that." He lifted his head. "It is even worse when your family is...taken from you."

Closing his eyes, he massaged the bridge of his nose.

"I have fought in...so many battles. So many wars. I have seen many friends and family fall throughout the ages. By age, by fire, by disease, by sword...it is so...tiring." He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Have you children of your own?"

Maeve sat still, then swallowed.

"I do," she replied. "I have two sons. One is in Ireland, a teenager now. I hear he's now part of a superhero group called Teenage Kix. The other one is living in Chicago with his father, a Vought executive. They...neither of them know I'm their mother."

Tusk gave a look of surprise.

"Neither of them know you're their mother?" he repeated.

Maggie sighed. "No."

"Why is that? Did you give them away?"

She lowered her eyes in shame.

"...I did," Maggie admitted. Putting a hand to her mouth, she exhaled softly as she looked up at the ceiling. "The first child I had was with an older man...um..." She exhaled. "I was a young girl, a teenager, completely smitten with this handsome man known simply as 'The Legend'."

"'The Legend'?" Tusk said puzzledly. "Was he a great warrior?"

Maggie laughed in spite of herself.

"No," she shook her head, "he was a...a writer and an artist. Senior Vice President of Hero Management. I had met him before I had joined The Seven. We used to...um...be...intimate. I used to fantasize about us getting together, having a family of our own...but..."

Maeve looked aside as she trailed off.

"...What happened?" Tusk asked quietly.

Sniffing, she wiped her eyes. "When we started our relationship, he was already married to someone else at the time. I hadn't been aware of that, though. Honestly, if I had, I wouldn't have gotten involved with him. But...when I found out that I was pregnant, I thought-" She licked her dry lips, "I thought that this would be my happily ever after. I thought he and I would start up a family together, but...um..."

Maeve sighed, shaking her head.

"Why didn't you keep the child? I've seen plenty of mothers raise children on their own," Tusk said in a gentle tone, his eyes soft.

Maggie bit her lip, looking distractedly around the room. Swallowing, she then looked up at the ceiling.

"...I wanted to," she admitted, "but Vought - ah, the business that I work for...um..."

She exhaled roughly. "Where I'm from...image is everything. For Vought, they didn't think the image of "Princess Maeve", the "strong female warrior" and "Empress of the Netherworld"-"

He raised a questioning brow. "'Empress of the Netherworld'?"

Maggie shook her head. "It's what the marketing guys thought up. It's a meaningless title. Fake. Like me."

"Hm."

She chewed her lower lip. "Vought didn't think the image of "Princess Maeve" pregnant would be consistent with its image of a strong, wholesome female warrior. They only thought that my having a child would cause trouble, that the public would think I was nothing but a whore and turn against me."

Tusk gave a dismissive snort. "And you believed that?"

"I didn't," Maggie shook her head, "but what choice did I have? I really did try to keep it. I have pointed out multiple times that I would still be a strong female warrior like they had wanted. But-But they were more worried about the damn company, about the potentially scandal it could cause, especially if it were to come out that The Legend had a child with a woman outside of his own marriage. They were...so...infuriatingly damn certain that people would be asking questions about who the father was, and that-that it would eventually slip. That-That I would let it slip."

She wiped her eyes.

"They also had the gall to say that I was an unfit mother due to my excessive drinking. Self-righteous pricks." Maggie shook her head, her lips pursed, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I would have stopped. I would have been careful. I'm not a great person, admittedly, but I would have changed..."

As Maggie trailed off, she placed her fish back onto the plate and looked away, her tears finally falling.

Hearing a soft clatter of a plate, she looked up in surprise as Tusk approached, offering her a cloth. Maggie's eyes softened as she accepted it.

"Thank you."

He shrugged. "It's the least I can do."

As Tusk was about to turn away, Maggie clasped onto his hand.

"Wait."

Looking back at her in surprise, Tusk's brows furrowed in confusion, his dark eyes giving her a questioning look as she felt his strong hands.

Rising up from her seat, Maggie stepped closer to him, her hands trailing along his hands upwards, feeling his strong biceps, her hands roaming along his muscled tattooed chest as he stiffened, her breath coming out in slow pants. Swallowing, she shakily raised her hands to his face as she blushed, her heart racing.

"Please be real," Maggie said in a low voice as she felt Tusk's handsome sculpted features in her hands. "Please don't let this be a dream. Please be real."

Leaning closer toward him, she pulled him in and passionately locked her lips against his, hungrily consuming his mouth as she lustfully and audibly moaned.

Maggie felt Tusk's hands massage her shoulders and shoulder blades, then felt them trailing down to the small of her back, drawing her in.

For a moment, all she saw, felt and sensed was him - everything seemed to fade away in that instant, her smaller body pressing up against his powerfully robust and muscled form, her legs wobbling beneath her.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Tusk pulled away, causing her to look up in confusion as the two of them gasped for air.

"Nay," he said in a low, hoarse voice, though his eyes blazed with want, with need. As Maeve tried to kiss him again, he raised a hand, speaking more assertively he shut his eyes in denial, "Stop. Tis wrong."

Maggie gave a confused look, her brows knitting together.

"You are injured," Tusk said in a low and serious voice. "I may have done things that I am not proud of throughout the centuries, but I will not take advantage of your vulnerability and use you. It would be unfair to you. We have just met. You deserve better than to be treated that way."

He dipped his head, his mouth locked in a frown as he locked eyes with her, shaking his head slowly. "Don't fall in love with me, Maggie - it will only bring you nothing but pain."

Maggie blinked at him in surprise, then gave a slight laugh. She had to admit, as nuts as he might be, she was surprised at his being so considerate.

"It's just sex," she said. "Love doesn't have to be a part of it."

He gave her a doubtful look. "People that say that tend to be fools, Maggie." The barbarian then shook his head from side to side in warning. "It would be best if we did not cross that line. I do not want to see you get hurt."

She scoffed.

"Believe me," Maeve said as she took off her tiara, "I've been hurt plenty of times. I can punch through steel and I'm able to hold my own against Black Noir, who's one of the strongest in The Seven next to Homelander...there's nothing I can't handle. I can take it."

Letting her cuirass-styled corset and skirt fall, Maggie exposed herself in her entirety to him, the woman blushing beneath his stare. Stepping boldly toward him, she slowly placed her hands on his chest, feeling the rippling muscle beneath her fingers.

"It's just you...and me," she said in a quiet voice. "Nothing else matters. So go ahead, big guy. You will find that I don't break easily."

Tusk looked conflictedly at her, looking as if he were warring with himself. Finally, Maggie let her guard drop, showing more of herself to him as she looked up at him pleadingly.

"Please," she begged quietly, tracing her fingers along his musculature and biceps. "I need this."

Upon hearing that, the barbarian's gaze softened. Placing a hand onto her face, Tusk wordlessly stared down into her eyes, his blue orbs searching hers. As he gently brushed aside a lock of auburn hair, he exhaled, causing the skin on Maeve's neck to form goosebumps, his hand brushing her cheeks.

"...As you wish."

With that, the two embraced once more, their lips locking together as one.

* * * * *

Author's Notes: So, in the comics, Maeve had two sons, Blarney Cock from Teenage Kix and another child on one of the covers. I'm not sure if Maeve had more children or if that cover was meant to be a joke at Stormfront's expense or not (he was definitely a male in the comic, and just as much of a piece of shit as in the show), but I thought that I would include that as a reference. I also included some references to Edgar Rice Burroughs somewhere, so let me know where and what. ;)

Hope you like what's to come! Take care, and stay safe and healthy, guys. :)