A kingdom can not be ruled well with an unhappy king.

A wise man once told him this, and Loki was inclined to believe it.

Loki was unhappy, and the kingdom was suffering. Perhaps not due to his mood, but rather due to a crazed mage on a rampage of magic user was ruining villages, killing the livestock, and even stealing clothing from his people's homes. As far as revenges go, it was an odd one. Loki caught himself wondering long into the night of why he didn't attack him personally, but went for the innocents in the lesser villages instead. If by revenge, he meant to frustrate the king so much that his stomach bled, then he was well on his way to making it happen.

What Loki needed was a break, and that was something a king was not allowed. What he really needed was something to stimulate his body and his mind, if possible. Those needs could be satisfied by so very few, and had to be satisfied well. Intelligent conversation was just as dire as his body's cravings for touch of flesh. If he could not find a break between the petty revenge and running this realm, he would at least have that. It had been a while since he had found someone to fulfill this role in his life. Too long, in fact.

"Anifein, find me a slave once more. You did well, last time, in finding what I need," Loki commanded his trusted aid.

"As you wish, your majesty," Anifein said with a bow, "I assume you mean to slake the same thirst as before, sire?"

"You assume correctly. Be quick about it," he paused and glanced at the hall around him before adding, "and be discrete."

"As always, my lord."

"Good. Now go. I hope to have them by tomorrow night, at the latest."

The man bowed lower and scampered from the room with an eagerness Loki was pleased to see. He knew what was in store for him if he failed his king. It was not pleasant, and it was not quick.

Loki smiled to himself and lounged on his frozen throne, draping his long legs over the side and leaning his head back to relax. Being king was glorious and all, but he did miss the days of old. His childhood, spent with his few more precious friends. Thor still found his way to Jotunheim when he wasn't off fighting some rock troll or another. The thunderer's mother, the lovely Lady Frigga came more often than he. Loki welcomed her with a warmth he rarely showed his own people, which she always found time to chastised him for.

He couldn't help that he was a cold king. One could say it was in his blood. His father, King Laufey, was a calculating king. Right up until his untimely death that threw the realm into a state of confusion and destruction. Loki had been away when it happened, only to be forced back to take the empty throne as his.

Loki sighed and closed his eyes against the high, arched ceiling above him. Remembering his childhood always spoiled his mood. He had long since lost contact with all of his friends. The strongest ache was for the loss of Anthony Stark. After he and his mother moved away from Asgard, Loki never heard from him again. He realized, too late, that of all his friends on Asgard, Anthony had always been his had played together the most, often ending the day covered in scratches, mud, and gods know what else.

Loki's foot began to bounce to an old song in his head. It was something Anthony always sang when they roamed the gardens together. He frowned when he realized he could no longer remember the words, just the tune. With a frustrated sigh, Loki stood from his throne and cast an irritated gaze across the room. No one was in sight and the castle was quiet, just how he liked it. It was late, he decided, and left by way of a hidden side door. Tonight would be his final night alone before he would have his desired company. He found himself humming the tune, yet again, as he climbed through one of the many secret paths to the royal rooms. It was strange what came back to you so suddenly, without precedence. Loki shrugged away all further nostalgia and threw himself into his cold bed. One more night, just one, and he would no longer be alone.

By mid-morning, Loki had already forgotten his request for a slave. A blight had stricken several towns almost overnight, sending many panicked village leaders to his castle to beg for assistance. Their grain had suffered a heavy loss, and several villages lost some of their animals as well. It was a hectic morning spent between one meeting and the next. By the time he had finally gotten a break, breakfast had came and went, along with lunch.

"My lord, would you like to rest a while before we make a decision?"

Loki swore internally at the councilor. The king made the decisions, there was no 'we'. This lackluster gathering of old men who thought they had control over the kingdom was simply a show. All they did was slow the process down, and steal from his people. He knew at least one of them was, he had yet to find out who. Once he did, there would be an fine example made out of him. Perhaps Loki would leave his bleeding body in the very chair he sat in now.

"My lord?"

"Yes," Loki hissed, throwing himself from his chair. He dismissed the others with a wave of his hand."Go. We reconvene on the hour."

They bowed and scuttled away like brainless mice while Loki headed for his throne. He had grown accustomed to it, like an old fur, worn and falling apart over time. It was a place he could think, and relax, regardless of the history and its own ghosts. He cared not for superstitions, but rather for his own comfort. So, to the throne it was.

He had just settled in, draped across in his usual cat-like pose, when his confidant snuck into the room and cleared his throat suddenly.

"Sire?"

"This had better be extremely important, Anifein," Loki growled, not bothering to look away from the nails he had been lazily inspecting.

"I have brought you your slave, my lord."

"Oh? Did I ask for one?"

Anifein made a small choking noise and went silent. It was the soft clink of a several chains brushing together that caused Loki to turn to face them at last. Behind his aid was a shaggy looking man, barely able to stand under the weight of the metal draped over his body. One large shackle was clasped around his throat, almost hidden completely by his long ratted hair. Loki bit back a hiss of irritation at the red swelling around the man's slave's face was turned to the floor, his eyes hidden completely by more shaggy hair. What Loki could see was something of a beard sticking out from his chin. Beards were not something he typically enjoyed, nor did he expect such a poorly treated slave. Anifein usually used the finer slave traders, the ones who kept them clean and hole until they delivered your product. After that, it was up to you how the slave lived.

"Anifein," he began, his voice heavy with disappointment, "this does not look like something I would want."

"But, Sire... H-he is Anthony Stark of Alfheim, a once respected royal and friend to the court of Asgard. He is a prized slave, as you can see. Many have desired him, and many—"

"Did you say 'Stark'?" Loki interrupted, jerking his body fully around to peer down at the man. "This is Anthony Stark?!"

Both men flinched at his tone, and Loki saw one golden eye peek out at him from behind his hair.

"I am Stark," a low, raspy voice spoke.

Loki stood and walked to the edge of the throne's dais. "Do you remember me, Stark?"

The man tilted his head back more, revealing a well battered face. His lips were split in several places, his eyes heavily shadowed with either bruises or exhaustion. His cheeks were sunken beneath the awkward beard that grew out in odd tuffs. It was not the boy Loki had waved goodbye to all those years ago, it was the face of a ghost.

"I thought I did," the man answered at last, "but I don't think you're him."

"I am Loki. We... We played together as children."

The one golden eye widened slightly at this and the man swayed on his feet. "Loki? It truly is you, then."

"It is the very same," Loki responded, an odd sense of relief flooding his body. "But what happened to you? Did he say Alfheim?"

Anthony cleared his throat, and it was a painful sound to hear. "Indeed, I was in Alfheim before my... removal."

Loki stepped down at last from the throne and approached them. Anifein backed away a little, sensing his lords distress.

"Your removal to where?" Loki asked, one hand hovering near Anthony's face. He wasn't sure where to touch the man that would not hurt him.

"Anywhere and everywhere, it seems," Stark replied. Loki could hear a hint of the humor the Anthony he used to know always had, but the man's face remained blank and shadowed.

There was a clatter of doors opening and the voices of his council echoed from across the hall. Loki snarled at their approach and grabbed Anthony's arm, steering him towards the hidden door. "Take care of them, Anifein."

"I- y-yes sire!"

Loki forced Stark through the door in front of him and shut it quickly. "Here, we must hurry to my chambers. I do not wish to deal with them now and we have much to talk about."

Anthony hissed as Loki gripped his arms again and ducked his head. Loki let go immediately and backed away a little, afraid of hurting him more. "My apologies, Stark. I... In my haste I—"

"S'fine," Stark answered quickly, "it is nothing."

Loki looked him over once more before leading the way down the thin hallways. After many twists and turns, they exited from behind a tapestry that hung directly next to his chambers. He opened the door and ushered the man through it, noting for the first time at how light he felt under his fingers.

Had they not fed him at all? Who treated a supposedly 'highly desired' slave as such?

"How have you come to this, Stark? When last we met, you were one to own slaves, not to be one."

Anthony stood, listing to the side a little, and gazed at the room around them. It was Loki's second chamber, the one he filled with notes and drawings and other useless fascinations. While he waited for his reply, he watched the man's eyes wander across the messy room with fascination. He hadn't the heart to push the question, not after seeing the first sign of life in Anthony thus far.

After another curious sweep of the room, Stark turned and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "So you're king, then? You're doing well."

"Anthony..."

"I know," he interrupted and looked down at his shackles. "You want to know the how and why."

"Let me remove those, at the very least," Loki said, stepping forward.

"You don't have to..."

Loki growled and took the man's hands in his carefully, touching the shackles with just his finger tips. The metal snapped and fell away, dragging the connecting chain from his neck down with a harsh clank. Anthony winced and bowed his head under the sudden weight.

"Oh," Loki whispered, ashamed at his own foolishness, "my apologies, friend. I should have removed that first."

Anthony responded with a swift shake of his head, but remained silent. Loki cursed himself and touched the cold metal ring around his neck. It fell away, like the others, with a snap. Under his fingers, the skin felt hot and infected. Loki bit back another curse and removed his hands, unsure of how welcome his touch was.

"My mother died," Stark rasped out, quite suddenly. "She died and I had nothing left."

Loki stilled, staring at Anthony as something inside him shattered. It wasn't the news that hurt his heart, but the voice that told it. Anthony was a man now, but his words trickled forth like a frightened child. Soft, unsure, painful.

"The Lord El removed my status not long after she had passed, claiming I was not truly a member of the Stark bloodline," Anthony continued, unaware of Loki's troubled frown. "I lost my home, my work, all of my things... I lost everything."

Loki shifted back a little and fell ungracefully into the first chair he could find. Anthony watched him from behind his hair, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"So you were... removed from your world?" Loki asked in a weak voice.

Anthony nodded and shuffled his feet. He had not moved from the spot since he entered the room.

"I was basically kidnapped and sold to the highest bidder," Anthony spoke bitterly, "apparently ex royals are high in demand."

"Bought..."

"Over and over again," Stark added, his voice growing raw with an emotion his face would not display. Loki looked away from the frozen mask and focused instead on the man's hands. They were shaking, badly, and the red skin gave way to dark bruises where the chains had previously covered. His left hand was more still than the other, and Loki noticed the wrist was bent at an odd angle.

"You... By the Norns," Loki began, standing up suddenly to reach out to him. "Why did you not tell me of your wounds?"

"You did not ask."

"How could I have known to?" Loki glanced into his eyes and found confusion and fear there. "I would have been more gentle if I had known."

"I didn't think you would."

Loki bowed his head and breathed over Anthony's abused hands, before pressing his muttering lips to his flesh. With his cold breath, a spell weaved itself into the damaged skin, sinking into the bone and muscle. He felt Stark tremble under his hands, but ignored it to watch the bone snap back into place.

So it had been broken. A broken wrist and not a sound from Stark this entire time. Just how conditioned to pain was he?

"There, that should help a..." Loki paled when he met his friend's eyes once more. Stark was shaking in fear, a few tears already streaking down his dirty face and dropping from his beard. Loki could feel the tension in his body, like a rabbit before the wolf. "No, no... Stark, you needn't fear me."

He reached out to wipe away a tear, and the man's tension snapped. With a startled cry, Stark ducked away from him, curling up instinctively into a ball. His arms came up to protect his head, and his knees pressed tight against his chest. His entire form was shaking, and a serious of soft pleading whimpers came muffled from his hidden face.

Bile rose in Loki's throat at the sight of his once happy friend pleading him to not strike. The boy who would shove him out of trees without a second thought, who laughed in his face when he failed in training. The same boy who treated him like an equal, something none of the Aesir ever did. That boy, now a man, was cowering on his bedroom floor as he waited for blows that would never come.

"No," Loki breathed, crouching down near him. His hand touched Stark's back gently, and was greeted by a harsh flinch and another wave of whimpering pleas.

"Pleasedon'tplesedon't...I'm sorrysorrysorry.. Please, I cannot, I'm sorry..."

"Anthony, Anthony... It is Loki. You cannot forget me for someone else."

The stream of whimpers stuttered to a stop, yet his body still shook.
"L-Loki?"

"Yes," Loki replied calmly, his hand now tracing small circles on his back. "And I would never hurt you. Not ever, not like this."

He got no response for a while but the gasping pants from the hell hidden face. When Stark finally spoke, his voice wobbled and broke. "No... No, Loki just pushes me off of carts...hits me with...Thor's boots..."

Loki laughed. It was weak and lacked the amusement it should have held, but it seemed to be enough to calm the man below him. Anthony's panting breaths slowed as he fell into an uneasy slumber, still curled around himself on the cold floor.

Loki waited until he was sure Stark was asleep, and lifted him from the floor easily. Far too easily, for he weighed even less than Loki had originally guessed. He could feel the bones rubbing together as he lays him down gently on his bed. The man instantly curled over, needing to protect himself even as he slept. Loki sat on the bed, legs folded under him, and watched his new slave twitch and jerk in his sleep.

Rage, and the promise of torturous deaths writhed in Loki's chest. He silently swore to the shivering back beside him that he would make them regret the day they laid their hands on Anthony Stark.