Alright so this is my first Medieval AU! Sorry if it's not historically accurate, so for you readers who are sensitive to historical accuracies I am eternally sorry. I may have altered some facts to suit my needs for this story so please bear with me.
A couple things that you guys have to know to understand:
Artillator – A maker of bows, arrows and other archery goods.
Maid – An unmarried woman, usually a servant.
Sheriff – The chief administrator and judicial officer.
Master Craftsman – A person who practices or is highly skilled in a craft.
Apprentice – Usually a young male studying a trade under the guidance and teachings of a master craftsman.
Lord – Ruler over lands and rented to peasants who worked for them. A form of nobleman who is quite wealthy.
Knight – A warrior who owed military service underneath his lord in exchange for payment of money and/or land. Usually of noble birth (not in this story).
Town Crier – A person who announces the news via the use of voice.
Everything else is pretty much straightforward :)
Warning: contains light sexual content (not actually sex, but descriptions of acts leading up to it) and depictions of violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers.
Braveheart
The rain pitter-pattered on the shutters of the old abandoned cottage at the edge of the forest. Inside, there was a gleaming glow of a bright white light and the cackling laugh of a madman that resounded through the air.
Those who dare to cross my path
Will find themselves among my wrath
And those who are brave enough to spare a breath
Will be cursed by the spell of the cruelest death
A clap of thunder cracks, and it muffles the sound of a scream.
The slight rattling of horse hooves outside of Natasha Romanoff's window rouses her from her slumber. She can hear the loud chime of the church bell, and the sound of the screeching voice of the Town Crier.
She turns, and covers her ears with her old and worn pillow, the thinness of the fabric not clouding the loud noises from the outside.
The door rattles. The tavern owners are awake.
"Oi!" Madame Achard screeches, "Wake up, girl!"
Natasha growls, ignoring the news of the Town Crier since it never applies to her anyway, and reluctantly stands up and walks over to the sink and mirror in her cramped room.
She looks at herself, curly red hair disheveled, green eyes with a sparkling fire and a pale face from years of malnutrition and hard work.
She turns on the tap, grateful that there seems to be clean water flowing through it, and strips out of her bedroom clothes. She grabs the linen cloth on the side of the sink and submerges it in the water in the basin, before rubbing it quickly all over her body.
The street is louder than usual, she can't usually hear the chatter of the people down below from her window, but today, she can. Voices filled with fright and eagerness.
She shrugs, something must have happened during the night.
She fumbles through her set of worn clothes, all slightly ripped and all slightly small, with fading colors and frayed edges. She settles on a deep colored red dress that modestly comes down to her ankles, and ties her hair up in a bun. Madame Achard is always furious that she doesn't wear stockings, but damn them, Natasha thinks but never says.
In all honesty, she has better clothes that the normal commoner and maid, partly because the tavern that she works at does and gets good money, and who is she to complain when merchants stop by for a visit and offer her tips? Madame and Mister Achard cannot take her earnings away from her, it's against the law.
She straps her apron tightly around her waist, and fastens her boots on her feet, before finally descending the stairs.
The tavern doesn't usually open until an hour past dawn, but it's already bustling with hungry and thirsty merchants. She notices Madame Achard behind the bar, wiping down the table with a sharp scowl on her face. The scowl is directed to Mister Achard who is oh, so subtly ogling at the wife of the town tailor.
She enters the bar and stands beside Madame Achard. She isn't that bad, on her good days she can be quite helpful and kind, but most of the time, there almost always seems to be a permanent scowl etched on her face.
"May I ask why we seemed to have opened early, Madame?" Natasha asks, watching her boss wipe down the already clean counter.
"The butcher's daughter is missing, didn't come home last night," Madame provides, voice reeling and sharp.
"Certainly that shouldn't cause such a commotion," Natasha says, "people go missing all the time, and they always turn up unharmed after a day or two."
Madame Achard's eyes flicker over to her green ones, a look of somber and sorrow flying through them quickly. "Her body was found this morning."
Natasha freezes, and the noise in the tavern becomes a faint buzzing noise in the background. "Confirmed dead?"
"Aye, unnatural causes."
Natasha nods, her eyes glancing down to look back at the countertop she was polishing.
She's heard stories, of women being abducted across the country, mostly unsuspecting, all unconnected, but all turning up dead the next morning. This was a first in their town.
Coulson would certainly want to hear about this.
She watches the clock, and she counts that there's approximately five hours left before Coulson has his morning meal in the tavern.
She wonders if this will be the last murder in this town.
"M'lord?" a voice asks quietly.
Lord Anthony Stark wakes from his abrupt sleep, burns from the fire on his skin still inflamed and aching from his previous night's shenanigans.
"Yes?" he asks somberly, voice muffled by the white fluffy pillow.
"I'm afraid someone is requesting to speak with you, sir. They say it is quite urgent."
His eyes snap open, taking in a sudden gleam of curiosity. "Tell them I shall be present. At what hour am I requested?"
The sharp grey-haired man in front of him straightens his back, surprised that his master is agreeing to such a meeting without knowing who the person war. "At noon, sir."
"Thank you, Jarvis," he waves him off.
The butler nods his head curtly, and bows slightly before shutting the door behind him.
Anthony straightens up in his bed, propped against the headboard. He warily rolls off and walks to the window.
Below the window of his manor, just a quarter of a mile short of the castle, is a commotion of peasants chattering amongst each other and themselves. Merchants, tradesmen, journeymen and craftsmen the like.
Unlike most of his colleagues, like Lord Stane and Hammer, he doesn't mind frolicking with the 'commoners.' In fact he finds them quite interesting and admires their way of life. To them, they work hard for what they get while he simply waves his hand and he gets it.
His hands are those of an inventor and his brain the intellect of a philosopher.
At night, he is not Lord Anthony Stark, he is just Tony. Just Tony.
They aren't aware of his double life, nor does Tony ever want them to know, because then he would be ostracized and would most likely lose the respect of the King and his colleagues. Because despite their pretentiousness, being a Lord does have its perks.
One of them, the secrets that travel through the criminal underworld.
There have been whispers of a sorcerer. Of a practitioner of black magic. They say his eyes are those of a snake's, and his looks are those who befit a king.
They say he lives in the woods, because the whispers of the night have heard the voices of the women that he has captured, and of the screams that come before their imminent death.
Tony knows exactly what's going on. He just wonders why the hell it's taken them this long to do something.
The sun is high up, shining brightly over a small village in a little country called Great Britain.
Natasha Romanoff wipes a plate clean, and hears the familiar footsteps and the ring of the bell from the front of the house.
She smiles, and excuses herself to take care of the new customer.
To the usual ear, his footsteps are light and cannot be heard, but her ears are trained and she can hear them from a mile away.
She sees a mop of spiky brown hair and she feels a smile spread through her face.
"Why Mr. Barton, how nice of you to visit," she purrs.
He laughs, "Why hello Ms. Romanoff, how is your day?"
She nods curtly, turning around briefly to pour him his favorite ale. "Quite fine, business was booming this morning. Did you hear?"
Clint glanced up, intrigued. "Why yes I have, been the main gossip around town since the Town Crier announced it this morning."
Natasha smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief.
She leaned down on the countertop, elbow and hand supporting her head as she gazed down at her friend. "You know something, don't you?"
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Why Ms. Romanoff, you know me all too well."
She blinked, smirk widening. "And what, pray tell, do you know Mr. Barton?"
"Can't tell you here," he says, eyes darting behind him, "someone might hear, Coulson wants to keep this down the racks."
"Understood. He's late."
"I know, business with Sheriff Fury. I passed by the station on the way here, apparently Fury has a meeting with Lord Stark at his manor, something regarding this issue."
Natasha raised a brow, "Lord Stark? Why on earth would Sheriff Fury want to talk to him about this?"
Clint shrugged, downing his ale in one gulp. "Unfortunately Ms. Romanoff, I cannot answer that question."
She nodded, and swiped his glass from the counter to put it in the sink.
The bell rings, and Natasha knows that Coulson has finally arrived.
"Good afternoon, Deputy Coulson," Natasha greets.
"Afternoon Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Barton," he nods to them.
Natasha slides over another glass of ale and prepares Coulson's favorite meal, passing it to him when she's done. He nods in thanks.
"I can tell you both have questions," he says after he finishes eating.
"Why yes, Deputy, we do, and here is not the place to ask them," Clint berates, grabbing Coulson's arm and dragging him out the backdoor with Natasha in tow.
Natasha became friends with Clint shortly after she started working at the tavern, almost a decade and a half ago, when he was just a mere apprentice to an Artillator. He wasn't like the other men she had seen, he had not ogled or whistled at her, he merely tipped his head in thanks and chatted with her as if she was a normal person and not just a Maid.
Deputy Phil Coulson came into their lives approximately five years ago, when he moved to town after wanting to start anew. He too, treated Natasha like an equal.
Natasha told them her secrets, including that she was the daughter of a disgraced army soldier, and to get money, was pawned off to an organization called the Red Room. There, she was trained to become a spy whose job was to infiltrate castles and steal riches from the Royal Families.
She was the best, until a mission gone awry caused her to kill her captors and bosses in order to save her own life, and after that, found shelter and a job at a tavern as a barmaid. Even though she despises the Achard's, she can't help eternally grateful to them for taking her in.
She could be in much worse situations.
Clint, on the other hand, was born into an abusive family, and ran away at a young age, with an intent on becoming an entertainer of the Royal Family. That didn't work out too well when they refused him at the gate, and he had nowhere else to go. But he found himself wandering the street one night after a couple weeks of solitary, and was taken in by a compassionate man who so happened to teach Clint how to wield a bow and arrow. He is the best of the best, better, far better than any of the Cavalry Archers the military has.
Coulson is more secretive, and Natasha and Clint don't pry.
They stop in the back-garden, by the storage room.
"There have been stories," Coulson begins, "of a man draped in green and black. He is said to be a sorcerer of black magic, and that he is behind all of these attacks."
Natasha leans closer, eyes narrowing as if in deep thought. "You cannot possibly allow me to believe that this is fact."
"I can, dear Romanoff. But I will not force this upon you, as it is a heavy burden to carry upon your shoulders. But I must warn you, keep your shutters closed at night, look behind your back, and whatever you do, do not go out after dark."
"You seem to be shaken, Deputy. But there's more, is there not?" Clint asks.
Coulson nods, albeit reluctantly. "Sheriff Fury has gone to Lord Stark to ask for his help regarding this issue."
"Why on earth would he go to him?" Natasha curiously inquires.
"Because Stark is an asset in this, believe it or not. He's smart, he's basically a detective in the sense that he can predict upcoming moves," Coulson says.
"It's like a game of chess, and he's the man who is always one step ahead, who always knows what to do next and who always has a plan, even when he doesn't. It's all basically a game, Mr. Batron and Ms. Romanoff, a deadly one, and Lord Stark is the one we need to know which piece is going to get struck out next."
"And wouldn't he be revolted at the prospect of working with those below his class?" Clint probes.
Coulson shakes his head. "There is more to this man than meets the eye. He dabbles with the lower classes, yearns to be one of them, and has a sense of belonging. I would not underestimate him, if I were you. He is the only one that has the power to sway the King. And that, in itself, could be an asset of its own. He can move mountains with a single sentence."
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Deputy," Natasha says, her lips in a frown.
"You will soon."
"What do you mean?"
Coulson stops, eyes darting back and forth between the tavern and his friends. "There's an idea, to bring together a group of remarkable people, so when we needed them, they could fight the battles that we never could."
"And…" Clint falters, "and we're part of this? As well as Lord Stark?"
Coulson nods wearily. "Go to the station at 5pm, come alone and make sure no one sees you. We'll tell you everything there."
Then he's gone, the swift piece of fabric from his coat flying through the door, and Clint and Natasha know that something has definitely gone amiss.
"Sheriff, what brings you to my humble abode?" Tony asks, sitting on his lavish Moroccan sofa with his feet perched on the glass table.
Fury laughs without heart, and sits opposite the man draped in his signature red and gold clothes.
"A sorcerer, and help."
Tony takes his feet off, now leaning towards the man in front of him, hands steeped underneath his chin.
"Ah, the Sorcerer of Mischief."
Fury dusts of his shoulder, staring at Tony's intelligent brown eyes. "I'm afraid I need your help."
He shrugs noncommittally, "What ever for?"
"Don't play games with me Lord Stark, I am quite aware of your double life."
Tony smirks, eyes glinting with malice and jest. "Oh, you are, are you?"
"Indeed."
"So tell me," Tony starts, leaning back on his chair, "what could you need from me?"
"You double as a blacksmith and an inventor during the night, hence the burns on your hands and the old scars that have not faded and will never fade from years of tricks and welding. You are famed, Lord Stark, among the commoners as the finest blacksmith of all, and they above all, do not know your true identity.
"What I need, are weapons and equipment in order to track down this madman."
Tony juts his head to the side, and narrows his eyes briefly. "And why should I help you?"
Fury shrugs, mirroring Tony's posture. A pigeon squawks from the other side of the window.
"Because the reason that you lead a double life is because you yearn to be helpful, you hope and plan to be more than just a Lord. Because you want to do something with your life and not allow it to go to waste. You don't like war, nor do you like the loss of life, unlike your comrades who view the war and battle as honorable and exciting.
"You may not like war, Lord Stark, but you crave the fight. And I shall need your help in this battle."
Tony's eye twitches, and his hands are seizing, and Fury knows that he's got him within his grasp. "You play a dangerous game, Sheriff Fury, I do hope that you are aware of who you are talking to. But alas, I shall help you, because you are right."
Fury nods, pleased.
"But surely," Tony continues, "you are not being fully honest with me."
Fury laughs, because this man in front of him is too smart for his own good. "I am not. But considering that you have agreed to help, I shall inflict on you the burden of which I carry."
"And what, pray tell, is that?" Tony asks.
His lips upturn into a smile of secrecy and prolonged deceit. "I am putting a team together, individuals from which I believe are strong enough and brave enough to trace down and capture this madman. A group which I am certain of will succeed, and will not give up, no matter what the cost."
"And I, dare I ask, am part of it?"
Fury chuckles briefly at the puppy dog look that Tony is giving him. "Oh, Lord Stark, does that question really need answering?
"Your intellect, expertise, connections and inventions will give us the utmost advantage."
"May I ask who else will be a part of this gathering?"
He nods his head curtly, and clears his throat. "A woman, not like most. She is the best hand to hand combat fighter across the land, she can kill with a simple flick of her wrist, it would do you well not to get on her bad side. She's sly and the master of disguise and deceit, and her beauty are those that can rival a Queen's."
Tony grins, intrigued at the prospect of meeting such a strong-willed woman. Perhaps this team will be far more interesting that he initially thought.
"Then there's a man, the best marksman Great Britain has ever seen. He can hit a moving target over 200 feet away without even taking a second glance. He has the stealth of a fox and the grace of a cat.
Thirdly, a master craftsman of science with major anger management issues and bipolar disorder. Don't get him mad or else destruction will follow. He's strong, to boot.
Then, someone you are familiar with, a man who was strong, loyal, brave, fierce and agile enough to become a knight without noble blood. His weapon is a shield."
Tony nods, yes he is indeed familiar with whom Fury was talking about.
"Then there's a prince, but he not from around these parts, but rather from Scotland. He's strong and fierce and loyal as well, and he'd be an asset to this fest. It's also a rumor that it is his brother that is the Sorcerer of Mischief.
And finally, there's you. A certified genius of mechanics, science and engineering. Creator of weapons. Ties with the King, and the ability to bend metal at his every whim. They call you the Iron Man, do they not?"
Tony nods, grin stretched widely on his face. "Indeed they do, it is a name I shall likely never forget."
"It would do you good not to. But I must leave," Fury says, standing up. "I suggest you come to the station at 5pm tonight, there is a meeting there regarding this issue that you would like to be a part of."
"A meeting where all of us six people are to meet?"
"Yes. It is," Fury sticks his hand out. Tony grabs it and shakes it willingly.
"Dare I ask, Sheriff, why have you chosen us?"
Fury stops for a moment, seemingly startled by the question, "Because you six are from different classes, and no one, not even a trickster or a madman, would foresee such an assembly."
"Unlikely heroes," Tony whispers, tasting the sound of the words on his lips.
"Precisely."
"And what would this assembly be called, Sheriff?"
Fury turns back, glancing a cheeky eye at Tony, before laughing slightly and turning away.
"It's called the Avengers Initiative."
A timid man in a purple cloak swept through the alley, leaving nothing but dust in his wake. He tipped his head down, bowed to avoid eye contact with those who were in his path.
The cobblestone streets were in a frenzy, the horror and magnitude of the day's events still fresh in the minds of the town's citizens.
The sun was now setting, and the famous Achard tavern across the street from his workplace was now leading into dinner time. He couldn't see the pretty lady with the red hair through the window like he usually does.
Still, he walks away, head tucked into his chin, weaving through the crowds as if invisible, and minds his own business.
The howl of the wind makes his head hurt, and it seems to be pulling him towards the direction of the forest. The dusty path covered in leaves.
He walks around the Town Square, rounds off by the carpenter's, and finds himself on the front door of the station.
He knocks bashfully, and the door opens with a creak.
Inside, he is greeted by the man he saw walk into his workplace earlier that morning, a kind looking man with greying brown hair, who goes by the name of Phil Coulson.
"Good evening Doctor Banner, I'm glad you were able to attend."
Bruce shrugs off his cloak, and hangs it over his arm before being led to the back of the building. "I honestly don't think I had much of a choice, Coulson."
"No," Coulson says, "no I suppose you didn't."
He puts his hand on a door, and pushes it open to reveal a room filled with six other people, five of which he didn't know and one he recognized as Sheriff Fury.
"Ah, Doctor Banner, please sit down."
Bruce looked around the room, heart heavy at seeing that the only spot left at the table was a seat next to a wealthy looking man draped in red and gold and a shaven goatee on his face.
The other man, however, threw over a warm smile at Bruce. "Ah, you must be the man with breathtaking anger management issues. Come, sit down, I don't bite."
Bruce blinked, no one had ever spoken to him that casually before since he had wreaked havoc on the streets four years prior due to someone hitting on his beloved, Elizabeth Ross.
He suppressed a smile, and sat down comfortably on the chair.
"Now that we are all seated," Fury began, "I would like to get straight to the point."
A man with shoulder length blonde hair at the end of the table nodded, albeit wearily, and Bruce noticed that he seemed to be carrying a huge burden on his shoulders.
"There have been rumors of a sorcerer, unlike any man we've ever seen or we've ever faced. He leaves nothing but mischief in his wake, and his tricks are those of a madman's."
Natasha looked down at her intertwined fingers, listening closely.
"As of today, he has left behind his fifth victim. A first for this town. And I assure you that it won't be the last.
"He has claimed the lives of two victims in each town, and I have assembled you here today to stop him from claiming another," Fury finishes.
"He has been seen, and his looks are those of a snake looking for its prey. He has been seen, but for never more than a fleeting moment. He walks among us, crowded by the shadows of those we know, and yet, we never notice. He looks and moves like a phantom, like a specter hidden in the night," Phil interjects swiftly.
The blonde man, Thor, looks away.
"You have been assembled to find this man."
The knight at the edge of the table, a handsome man with baby blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, furrows his eyebrows in deep thought and curiosity. "Why us, Sheriff? Surely there are other people whose job is more suited to your request."
Fury puts up a finger, as if to silence the man. "Because, Stark knows this, you are a group of remarkable people with a skill set so outstanding and so outrageous that it matches and beats those of a skilled warrior. In this room, there are geniuses, knights, former spies, soldiers and master archers.
"This is a man that will need more than the skill set of an army to take down. You are all unsuspecting people, etched into society with no question, and you have all found your place. No one will ever suspect that you six would be part of a team, not even a madman.
"An army is not needed to take down this man, Sir Rogers, this is not a war that needs to be won, but merely a battlefield that needs to be triumphed. Brawn will not claim and avenge this man's deeds, but brain and stealth and skill is as well. The army, I dare say, lacks those particular traits.
"You are all human, all of different classes, and yet hold secrets so closely within your heart that these differences should not matter, nor should it ever matter. You've all suffered tragedy, you all know loss, you've all seen the battlefield of which you have fought on, and what else do we need, but that?" Fury says, pacing around the room.
"But the question still stands," he pauses, leaning down on the table and staring each of the six members in the eye.
"What are you prepared to do?"
A fire is crackling in the corner of a shack near the center of town. Inside, a beautiful female with striking strawberry blonde hair shovels coal into the flames.
The door creaks, and she knows he's arrived.
"Mr. Stark, you're late," she says, turning around swiftly to face her boss.
She notices that he has a wary look on his face, and that the burns from the night before are still inflamed and in need of treatment. He just wouldn't listen to her when she insisted on safety gear.
"I had a meeting with the Sheriff," Tony says, hanging his coat up on the wall before disappearing into a room.
Pepper turns around and focuses her attention on the fire again. The night is cold with a slight chilling breeze.
"What ever for?"
His voice is slightly muffled by the wall separating them. She knows he's changing into his work clothes.
"Confidential business. But then again you know everything."
She chuckles lightly. "Is it about today's murder?"
He walks out of the room, clothed in simple peasant wear – a loose fitting shirt and pants, preferable for his work as a blacksmith and inventor.
"Yes it is, Ms. Potts," he answers.
He walks to the door, but instead of putting the 'open for business' sign like he usually does, he locks it closed, deeming the blacksmith closed for the night.
"Are we not open for the night, sir?" Pepper asks, baffled. Tony always kept the blacksmith open for the night, it was the only time when he'd get to mingle with those of the lower classes.
She was his apprentice, and though, usually male, he had taken a liking to her and taken in her. He saw potential in her, intelligence that shone brightly through her blue eyes, and had gained her trust. He was stubborn, but then again what complex and brilliant man wasn't? He was brilliant, compassionate, strong, brave and so much more.
She was completely in love with him.
She knew his secret, they were friends, and he housed her in the shop whenever during the morning, and would leave her gifts and cash whenever their lessons and shifts were over. She kept herself occupied during the day, visiting her family by the Town Square, visiting friends and shopping for groceries and materials. He so often forgot to eat when he was absorbed in making one of his exquisite inventions that she worried about him often.
He wanted to be more than a Lord, he wanted to have purpose and not be put on a high pedestal simply because he was wealthy. He was an intelligent man, and he wanted to be remembered for that, and not because of his riches.
During the night, when the kingdom slept and his comrades had their way with the castle maids, he'd sneak out, becoming Tony instead of Lord Anthony Stark, and opening a blacksmith which was free of charge. He was the best, and could always, always, come through with orders and requests in due time and quickly.
Whenever the shop business was slow, though, he'd teach Pepper new tricks and give new challenges for her to complete, while he, in the meantime, concocted inventions under the candlelight.
She was his assistant. He was her magician.
No commoner knew of his identity and heritage, nor one could figure out because of the lack of gold woven into his clothes or the iron sword strapped to his waist. A sword which he forged himself.
He was indecipherable from the Lord of which he was when he wore peasant clothing. He let he goatee grow scruffy, and he teased his customers with a friendly glint in his eye. He held no decorum when he was in his element. The place he truly wanted to be in.
He barely slept, but that was alright because Pepper took care of feeding him and making sure he was presentable to the King's court the very next day. He made up for it on the days he had off, which he mostly spent with her in the shop.
"No, we aren't," he says in reply.
"Is it because of the murders?"
He nods, moving to the center of the room to grab a piece of paper and a quill. "We must be careful and stay off the streets. The man responsible will be looking for another woman to abduct."
Pepper bit the inside of her cheek, she could not resist asking. "Would you…would you be distraught if I were to be his victim?"
Tony snapped his head towards her, in shock and in horror. "I would most certainly be devastated. Don't talk like that and don't ever think about the idea of it, Ms. Potts."
Pepper suppressed a smile, and went to the windows to close the shutters. The only thing illuminating the room was the fire crackling in the far corner. Tony was sitting on the seat beside it.
"You seem stressed," she says, moving over to the seat opposite Tony, "may I inquire as to why?"
He nods curtly and sighs deeply. "Sheriff has recruited me to help with the capture of the perpetrator of these crimes."
Pepper cocked her head, "Why? I do not mean to pry, but, surely this isn't up the alley of a Lord?"
Tony shakes his head, laughing at Pepper's baffled expression. "It isn't, fair lady Potts. He's not only recruited me, but a barmaid, an artillator, a master craftsman, one of my own knights and a prince from a faraway land!"
Pepper furrows her eyebrows, and begins to tap her knee subconsciously. Tony notices how the firelight makes her lips look blood red.
"What a strange lot. And he has assembled you six as a team of hunters and fighters?"
"Indeed he has, Ms. Potts. Although his logic behind is sound. I shall be meeting with the group tomorrow morning at the gates of the castle when the sun breaks the horizon, and we shall be marching through the forest together," he says, almost sounding resigned.
"What's wrong?"
He shakes his head, and his eyes meet hers. There's a look of fear within them.
"We are dealing with a sorcerer, and he is within our midst. I am a scientist, Ms. Potts, I don't understand magic. I don't know what he's capable of doing."
She takes his hand in hers and rubs his knuckles soothingly with her thumb. "You are a brave and smart man, Mr. Stark, I am sure that you will triumph with honor and dignity. There is no need to be afraid."
He looks at her, really looks at her, and feels something bubble within him, something that seems to have been repressed but has been awakened. A spark, a fire.
He grasps her hand in his, and leans in slightly, his hot breath colliding with her cold neck. "I will never be afraid if you're beside me."
He feels her shiver, and hears her heart thumping wildly against her chest with an elevated heart rate. She takes a glance at him, and sees desire swimming in his eyes. Not just desire, but a feeling that is so, so much more powerful than that.
Her heart is pumping, she fell in love with him shortly after he had taken her in. She had fallen in love with his laugh, his smile, his compassion; she had fallen in love with the way he would get so engrossed in a project that he would forget to take care of himself. She had fallen in love with a broken man with a broken past, most of which people weren't aware of, but she did, because he trusted her enough to tell her. She fell in love with the way his hands would move when he was bending metal, his voice, the way he spoke. She fell in love with his entire being.
And it was in this moment, that she knew he loved her back.
He raised his hands to cup her face, their hot breaths mingling together. Their eyes locked onto one another's, before Tony captured her lips with his own.
She tasted sweet, of fresh air and blueberries and honey, and Tony couldn't get enough. He couldn't understand why such a woman who worked with coal and fire and ember all day could taste as sweet as sugar. He deepened it and licked her bottom lip, and she opened without hesitation, ringing her hands through his black hair and pulling. A deep growl resounded from the back of his throat.
He pulled her closer, closer that humanly possible, and tugged her bun free. They broke apart, foreheads still leaning against one another and lips inches apart. He observed his handiwork – her lips were swollen, still blood red from the firelight, her eyes filled with love, lust and desire.
"I like your hair down," he growled quietly. She whimpered, tugging on his hair again before pulling him into a much fiercer kiss.
He began to give her swift kiss across her jawline, as he slowly moved her onto his lap. He was thankful that she had closed the shutters earlier and that he had locked the door, as they were now in solitary confinement with only one another to please.
He started to suck on her neck, and she bit her lip hard to stop herself from screaming. Oh, how long she has waited for this moment, to feel his lips moving against hers and on her skin. She loved it.
So did he.
He could feel her squirming against his touch, and he loved how poised she held herself, even in such a situation. He was so, completely, in love with her.
"I'm here, I'm here," she whispered repeatedly against his hair.
He stopped for a moment, locking glances with her before realizing. "I never realized how much I needed you," he rasps, "I never realized how much I yearned to be with you every single day, how you were the reason why I could get through the day, because I knew you'd be waiting for me during the evening. You were always there and I've always trusted you, and you've become a part of my life and I don't know what I'd do if I'd lose you."
She smiles slightly, the meaning of his words sinking in.
"I'll fight for you, I'll capture this man just to make this world safe for you again. I need to protect the one thing I can't live without."
Her breath hitches in her throat, and she whispers 'thank you' against his lips.
He crashes his lips against hers once again, filling it with desperation and love and loyalty, before synching her up and wrapping her legs around his waist, and leading her into the bedroom.
"I love you," he whispers as he unties her dress.
"I love you, too," she whispers back.
And there, underneath the night sky and the glow of the firelight, is where two lovers made love and whose moans were clouded over by the song of the crows.
Knight Steve Rogers was tired. He was very tired.
He could hear his mother in the kitchen, and judging by the rattling of the pots and pans, she was making dinner.
He was tired.
The meeting at the station intrigued him, and contrary to popular belief, he was not shocked to see or learn that Lord Stark was considered to be a member of the team. The man was kind enough to offer him land at a cheaper rent, and was not insistent that he pay his rent on time, as long as it was paid.
He was grateful to the man, granted, they knew each other when they were younger, and he had always admired Tony's intellect and his ability to work with his hands.
But Tony had always told Steve that he was special in a different kind of way.
Back then, during his childhood, he was small and scrawny, was often picked on because of his numerous allergies and illnesses. But soon, in his early twenties, he began to fill out, and soon, his allergies and illnesses were no longer a problem.
Steve's dream when he was a child was always to become a knight. Traditionally, knights were of noble blood, so Steve's father would always tell him to choose another career path, one that would be of use and of service in the future.
But his growth had gotten attention, and since Tony was still a close friend, he had managed to get Steve entered into knight training, where he excelled and became the best, becoming a knight after a mere two years.
He was always in the front line during battles, and while others on the front line were slaughtered and killed, he remained standing. He was a miracle.
Steve knew that it was just skill and because he used his brain, not just his brawn.
He was a tactical genius.
Tony was stubborn, but he was also a brash and brilliant man, and Steve owes him everything.
They've fought, granted it was because of their clashing point of views and standings, and also the fact that Tony's dad had always favored Steve more between the two.
But underneath the fighting and the trading of insults, they were friends, and they had each other's backs no matter what.
He's glad Tony's part of the Avenger's, because it wouldn't feel complete without him. He feels safe with him watching his back.
"Steve! Dinner!" he hears his mother shout.
"Coming!" he replies, and he wonders what the morning will bring.
The church bell rings, and the kingdom wakes.
In front of the castle, are five lost creatures waiting to embark on their journey.
A click clacking of hooves gets louder, and they find Tony riding a beautiful black stallion.
"Always fashionably late, Lord Stark," Natasha sneers.
Tony laughs and jumps of his steed, clothed in normal peasant clothing. "Better late than never, Ms. Romanoff. And anyway, I was preoccupied."
He saunters over to Steve, who is, in turn, polishing his shield. "Morning, Rogers, see you've also brought your horse."
Steve glances behind him, a small smile on his face. "Indeed, she's a beauty. How are you, Tony?"
Tony shrugs, "Good as ever. We should get started before the streets get too busy. But first of all," he points his finger up in a gesture to wait, and disappears around the corner from which he came from.
Clint and Natasha glance at each other, eyebrows raised in confusion.
Natasha is clothed in her normal wear, a simple dress. But underneath, she wears clothes from which she used when she was still a member of the Red Room – loose fitting pants and shirt, with blades and knives tucked away into her boots.
She feigned sickness in the evening, so when the morrow came Madame Achard wouldn't dare to enter her room, in fear that she too would become sick.
Clint is wearing his usual clothing, like Bruce. The shy man is tucked away underneath his cloak, fiddling with his fingers until Tony gets back.
Thor has also brought a horse to accompany him, and a weird weapon of choice – a hammer.
Natasha hears a chorus of heavy footsteps come around the corner, and she tries her hardest not to let her jaw drop.
Three horses, all beautiful in their own right, complete with saddles and reigns are following Tony obediently behind him. A spectacular white horse, a dark amber colored one and an ashen grey one.
"I figured that Steve, Thor and I would be bringing horses, so I thought that we might as well be equal," Tony says brightly, patting the amber colored on the neck.
"Are they yours?" Bruce asks.
He nods, "Yeah. My mother loved horses, so I grew up around them, and I love them myself."
He lets go of the reigns, and gestures for the three to take their pick.
Natasha immediately goes to the amber colored one, the color of his mane so strongly resembling her own hair.
Clint goes for the grey one, color much like a hawk's.
Bruce settles for the white one, and the horse licks his face when he goes to pet him. He chuckles brightly, and realizes that it was the first time he's laughed in a long while.
As Natasha settles on her steed, she eyes Tony cautiously. "May I ask why you aren't wearing noble clothing?"
He turns to face her, "I'm sure you know of my job as a blacksmith, and these clothes are much more suited for exploring and riding horses anyway. Oh and you don't have to be so formal around me, I hate that. Just call me Tony," he grins.
She finds herself suppressing a smile.
"Well we should get started, yes?" Thor suggests, hands already in the position on his horse's reigns.
"We should," Steve replies, and together they ride into the path of the forest, leaving the bustle of the kingdom behind, and entering unknown territory.
Thor is worried, immensely worried.
He's travelled for a long time, across kingdoms and unclaimed lands, and yet, he has somehow found himself in the midst of those who want to capture his brother.
Loki.
Oh Loki, what have you done?
He was a troubled child, always finding himself among mischief, and was always interested in the use of magic, even when the penalty for sorcery was death. The only thing protecting Loki from prosecution was that he was the son of the King.
Truth be told, the Odinson's harbored a secret.
When Thor was barely one, Frigga and Odin found a baby boy left in the ruins of a castle they had invaded, a baby that the King of the land abandoned.
They took him in and raised him as their own.
Loki was always so resentful, always sneaking out of the castle to wander in the forest, always disappearing, always creating havoc.
But Thor loved him anyway. He still does, and he always will.
He does not intend to kill his brother, and he has made sure that those who are his companions don't plan to as well.
He will merely capture him, plead with him to stop this madness, and bring him home.
He just wants his brother back.
The ride down to the forest was tricky, with leaves and twigs and branches sprouting out of the soil at every turn. The vines were intertwining with the hooves of the horses, and the sun was shining brightly and hotly upon the six horse riders.
Steve and Tony led the pack, with Natasha and Clint rounding up the back. Clint has an arrow notched onto his bow, ready to fire at any given moment in case danger presents itself. Tony kept a hand on his iron sword, ready for it to cut through anything that gets in their way.
As they went deeper into the woods, Bruce noted that the air seemed to get colder, like the happiness was sucked out of the world. The branches of the trees began to hunch over, creating a barrier between the group and the sun. The trunks began to grow, and dead trees with no leaves began to present themselves. Like a story out of a fairytale.
A howl transpires through the forest, and Thor feels a chill go down his spine.
They continue to move forward, and ruins of former cottages begin to emerge. They split up, but remain close together and within eyesight of each other when each of them claims a cottage to inspect.
A cloud covers the sun, and the sky grows dark.
Natasha thinks they've been searching for hours.
"Don't you think we should have found something by now?" Clint asks.
"I don't know, but we can't stop. We've gone this far," Steve replies, marching on.
"Wait!" Tony suddenly says, "Look!"
They snap their heads in the direction of his finger, seeing a cottage in near pristine condition, with vines and blossoms climbing up the walls, and a quaint light blue door.
"Do you think that's it?" Bruce asks timidly.
Tony looks back at him and shrugs lightly, "Looks can deceive."
They march forward, and tie their horses to the tree branch just outside the cottage.
Thor moves forward, and places a palm on the door, feeling dust and rust.
"It's old," he murmurs.
He pushes it open to reveal a quaint living room, with brick walls and dusty furniture. Tony sees a coat hanging on a chair in the corner.
"Doesn't seem like the place of a madman," he mutters.
"Be careful of how you speak, this is my brother we are talking about," Thor replies back, albeit not harshly.
Natasha runs her hands through the wooden table beside the door, and finds a picture frame hanging on the wall, with the glass shattered. She smells the dust, and wrinkles her nose.
"This place hasn't been lived in for almost five years," she says.
"Can you explain the coat, then?" Steve probes.
She looks at it, and bites her lower lip. It's black and heavy and burdens intricate green embroidery. "Did Fury not say that the man we are looking for is draped in green and black?"
Tony nods his head, "He did."
"Then this is his quarters," she says, holding up the coat to display the green embroidery, "this is definitely his coat."
Thor looks through it, grasping the coat tightly in his hands. "I've seen this before, it definitely belongs to my brother."
Tony nods his head briefly, before spotting a book in the corner of the room, and although old, did not harbor any dust.
He moves closer, and gestures for Bruce to come with him. The timid man follows, and both take a peak at the book.
Bruce adjusts his glasses, squinting to read the foreign and difficult script inscribed on the yellowing page.
"It's in a different language," he murmurs.
Tony leans down and furrows his eyebrows. "I know this language, it's hardly used 'round these parts anymore, I can hardly remember the name of it." He leans in closer and runs his fingers through the words. "It's some sort of poem, like a spell of sorts."
Thor overhears, and beckons the others to follow him to the book.
Like Tony, he can read the foreign script.
"It's the language of my ancestors, it is indeed a book of spells."
Clint whistles, "Wow, witchcraft."
"No, no, wait," Natasha interjects. She points to the drawing inscribed on the page. "What is that? It looks like some sort of gemstone."
Bruce takes a once over on the page, and his eyes land upon the drawing. He nods in understanding. "It seems familiar. When I was younger, my mother used to tell me of a legend of a stone, one that harbored magical powers, and whose loyalty belongs to the one who found it."
"But that's a legend," Steve says, brow creased in confusion.
"Legends had to come from somewhere. They're usually lessons."
Then the book slams shut, pages flipping over on its own whim in the air, before an audible slam makes it shut.
Those who dare to seek my throne
Will find themselves among the unknown
They think themselves as the brave
When this place they will find becomes their grave
"What's going on?" Steve gasps in shock. "What is that?"
"I don't know," Tony murmurs back.
The door is pulled open from its hinges, and Tony hears the panicked sounds of the horses from the outside of the house. The sky is darkening, and the door slams shut.
A sound of thunder claps, and something howls in the distance.
"It's getting colder," Natasha snarls.
A moan resounds from the outside of the house, and they see something appearing in the middle of the room.
A vision, an apparition of a man clothed in green and black stands before them. See through, with long black hair reaching his shoulders, and a malevolent smile etched on his face.
The Avengers crowd into the corner, eyes wide and breaths shaking. Thor stands in front of them, with his hand reached out to touch the ghost, before his hand falls through the apparition completely.
"Loki…" he whispers desperately.
The man – Loki, grins widely, "Oh brother, you are still so naïve."
Thor jumps back, a look of betrayal on his face. Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder.
Steve blinks at the man and clenches his jaw, before standing up before him. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"
Loki simply looks down on the Knight, with a look of condescension on his pale face. "The question is, what do you want?"
Steve grits his teeth.
"Stay away, and leave me to do my bidding."
Steve shakes his head, "Leave you to kill? That simply cannot be done."
Loki looks around, acting confused. "Why yes. You think you can stop me?" He stops, and then laughs. "You cannot. Leave, and keep out of the light, or else everyone you hold most dear will die."
Then he disappears, leaving behind a cold and dark room, and the disturbed gasps of the Avengers behind.
By the time they get back to the station, Natasha is once again dressed in her maid clothing, the horses have been put away at the stables, and there is nothing but silence amidst the group.
Tony knocks on the door wearily, four prolonged knocks before it opens, Coulson standing in front with a surprising look of worry.
He gestures them to come inside, and they willingly comply.
"I didn't expect you all to show up here today," he says, settling each of them with a cup of hot tea on the table.
It's Tony who breaks the silence.
"The woods is the home of a monster."
Phil sits down, Fury standing behind him. "What ever do you mean?"
Tony shakes his head and laughs humorlessly. "There was a book of spells, of black magic. It's real…it's all real," he opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, eyes filling with tears, "we saw him, and he said that if we were to keep looking for him or try to stop him, that he'd kill those we loved most.
"I don't know what he's capable of, or the extent of his magical abilities, but this is something new, something terrifying."
"I agree with Tony, Sheriff," Natasha interjects. "This man is strange and horrifying and unpredictable. He's powerful in all the wrong ways, and I don't know what to expect."
Fury rebounds off the back of Phil's chair and begins to circle the table. "Remember what I said, you do what you are prepared to do."
"I say we keep looking for this man, we can't let him get his way, or else he'll think that he owns us," Steve suddenly says. Bruce's eyes snap towards him.
"I'd prefer if we'd leave him be, let him strike and when he does, we'll catch him when he least expects it."
"Except he'll always expect it," Clint draws his eyes towards Fury. "This man is smart, he is after all, the Sorcerer of Mischief, who are we to think that he'll stop simply because we've left him alone? He knows about us now, he –"
"He gets a thrill from it," Tony interrupts smoothly. "Thor, he's your brother, what do you think?"
Thor looks at them, eyes sad and sombrous. "I think Loki will continue to play his games, no matter what the cost."
A knock sounds on the door, and a piece of parchment is slipped underneath it.
Fury picks it up and smooth's it out, placing it gently on the table.
"The symbol. It's a serpent," Thor says, picking up the parchment.
"Hand it over," Tony sticks his hand out, and Thor places it in his palm.
He opens the seal, a blood red symbol of a serpent engraved on the wax.
Inside, there's a letter, with charred edges and black soot.
It reads;
You have found yourselves a worthy enemy, one of which I would not underestimate. But the actions you have committed will not go unpunished.
You have stumbled upon my place of secret, and established it to your own liking.
There will be consequences.
Blood will be shed with the first sunrise of the morning.
A crime of the century will not be forgotten.
And it is because of your own imprudence that it is to happen.
'Brave' is simply another word for foolishness.
Heroes? There is no such thing.
Natasha comes homes to the busy tavern that night, mud soaking her boots and her head hurting from the songs of the birds in the woods.
She sees Mr. Achard flirting with another barmaid, and she knows that Madame Achard would not be in a happy mood tonight.
"I thought you were sick?" a cold voice pierces behind her.
She freezes, oh she definitely wasn't thinking this through.
She turns around, and Madame Achard is standing there with a scowl on her face and her arms crossed against her chest.
"Is that mud on your dress? Have you been in the woods?" she taps her foot impatiently.
Natasha groans inwardly. "I felt better so I thought I'd go out for some fresh air."
"I was down here all day and I didn't see you."
Natasha glanced behind her, at the staircase that was separating her and her bed. She could hear the whistles of some tavern customers.
"Oh, I –"
"Don't lie to me," Madame Achard growls, her blue eyes mad and flooding with anger. She grabs Natasha by the arm, and she has to restrain herself from fighting back.
She throws daggers at the men inside the tavern, her green eyes piercing through them and scaring them enough so that they go back and mind their own business.
Madame Achard opens the door to her bedroom and pushes her inside. "You're staying in here tonight, and don't expect to be getting out any time soon."
The door slams shut, and Natasha finds herself enveloped in darkness.
Tony wakes up the next morning with Pepper sleeping soundly in his arms. Her hair splayed out on the pillow and a soft smile on her face. He kisses her cheek and her nose lightly, whispers that he loves her in her ear before throwing on his clothes and leaving a note saying that duty called at the castle, and to be careful.
He dresses in his traditional red and gold garments, grabs his sword and treks back to his manor.
The church bell hasn't rung yet, and the streets are deserted.
He sees his manor around the corner, its shining black iron gates guarding it, and goes inside.
He tips his head to Jarvis, who in turn tips his head back.
"Sir," the butler calls out, "there was a message in the mail for you."
Tony looks back and sees a white scroll with the seal of the King on the glass coffee table.
"Thank you, Jarvis," he says while he opens the envelope.
Inside, in the brilliant calligraphy of the King, was an invitation requesting his presence at the King's court.
He finds himself dreading what it's about.
Natasha wakes up to the sound of the panicked voice of the Town Crier.
"Murder! Murder by the forest!"
She sits up quickly, eyes wide and breath heavy. She stands up and peers out the window, and sees a commotion of people crowding around a bloody body being carried away.
Natasha bites her lower lips, the victims never used to have a scratch on them, let alone that amount of blood. They were always drained of life, as if their souls were sucked out of them.
Then it all clicks and Natasha can feel bile rising up her throat.
'Blood will be shed with the first sunrise of the morning.'
It's a warning.
Before their intervention at his cottage in the forest, all the murders were brief and clean, done with no trace as how it happened. Natasha can clearly see with her trained eyes, a stab mark in the throat, and a word drawn on with a knife on the torso.
'Avengers.'
It's a warning to stay away.
Natasha closes her shutters, shuts her eyes, and vomits in the sink.
Tony's horse gallops to the castle, and a feeling of fear is spreading inside him.
There's been a murder, and it's been linked to them.
He sees the castle on the horizon, white brick walls and black towers, with the flags of the kingdom perched on top of the pillars. The iron gates have been opened, and Tony is let inside.
The heavy mahogany door opens, engraves with patterns of gold, and Tony walks up through the lobby and into the throne room.
There sits the King, draped in expensive fabrics with a crown made purely of gold, with his wife sat beside him.
He bows, and the Kings gestures for him to rise.
"My dear King," he says.
"Lord Stark," the King bellows. It makes Tony's head hurt.
"I have been summoned here at your request."
"You have," the King replies. Tony nods briefly, watching the King tap his fingers on the armchair of the golden throne.
He gulps, and he wishes that Pepper was beside him.
"You have surely heard of the murders that have transpired across the land," Tony nods, "and you have also surely heard that another murder has occurred today."
Tony furrows his brows, he was too preoccupied with fear and reaching his manor early that he was not made aware of any murder.
"I'm afraid I haven't, sir."
The King purses his lips, "Well, as you know, usually the murders are clean with no trace of bruising or blood."
"Yes."
"This time was different."
Tony grits his teeth and clenches his fists behind him. "What do you mean, may I ask?"
"Today a young servant girl who worked for the baker was found by the edge of the forest, her throat slit and a word carved into her skin."
Tony's breath hitches in his throat. Loki went through with his threat from the night before.
"And what is the word, pray tell?" he asks nervously.
The King narrows his eyes, and spits out the word in disdain and disgust. "Avengers."
It takes all of Tony's strength and will not to let out a terrified gasp.
"I have summoned you here today to help aide my soldiers in finding the people responsible for making these crimes worse. It is time that these Avengers paid for their sins.
"You have a great intellect, Lord Stark, and I am sure that you will not fail."
Tony swallows hard, and nods his head in affirmation. "I assure my King, I will not fail."
What will you say when you realize that one sixth of the group that made the matter worse was standing in your very presence?
"And once you bring them back, they will be hanged for their sins."
Tony blinks and breathes out, heart thumping wildly against his chest, before bowing and leaving.
They will be hanged for their sins.
Tony moves out of the castle, stopping by the servant quarters, where he knows the soldiers sometimes sleep.
He knocks on the door, and a man with greying hair and slightly yellowing teeth answer.
"Lord Stark," he bows, and gestures for Tony to come in.
Tony politely refuses by putting his hand up.
"Tell me, was there anything that was found on the body?" he asks, the soldiers must have the evidence to be able to prosecute the Avengers.
The old man nods, and disappears inside the shed before emerging again with an envelope that is slightly charred around the edges with black soot, and a seal with the symbol of a serpent.
"Thank you, but I'm afraid I will not be needing your services to catch these vigilantes," he says to the old man, words coming out hard and stiff from his mouth.
The soldier parts his lips to retort, because sighing deeply and nodding.
"Goodbye, Lord Stark," the soldier says, tipping his hat.
"And you."
The soldier moves back into the shed, and Tony leaves the castle with a heavy heart.
He sighs and gets back up on his horse, before riding off and away from the castle and away from his impending death, with a wish of seeing Pepper one last time.
There's a thud on a window, and Natasha isn't privy to it.
She reaches and opens the shutters, and sees a pigeon with a letter tied around its neck.
A message.
She carefully unties the string and lets the bird go, watching fly away in the direction of the Town Square, before disappearing around the church tower.
She opens the message, and smooth's it out.
Meet me at the station at noon. It's urgent.
- Tony
She looks at the clock in her bedroom, and sees that she has fifteen minutes left.
She climbs out the window, and ushers down the vines that trail up the tavern, before sprinting down the alleys of the town, and reaching the door of the station.
She bursts inside, and finds herself the last one to arrive.
Five somber faces stare back at her, and she wonders just exactly what's gone wrong.
"It's not just a body, is it?" she asks sadly.
Tony shakes his head, and his flings a piece of parchment onto the table.
"Read it."
So she does.
Two per town was my game
Until the Avengers raised my aim.
Hearing her scream for help and watching her squirm caused me great pleasure. I like a challenge. If you ever try to look for me or stop me, another girl dies.
I love watching you dance.
She drops the letter on the table, and sinks into a chair.
"What do we do now?" she hears Clint ask.
She glances at Tony, and sees him biting his lower lip and fiddling with his fingers. He refuses to meet any of their eyes.
"Tony," Natasha begins, "what are you not telling us?"
He scratches his goatee and rubs his eyes, sighing heavily and tiredly. "The King asked for my presence today."
"And?" Steve asks.
"Is he going to do something about these attacks? Is he going to help us?" Bruce questions hopefully.
Tony shakes his head. "He asked for my assistance to help capture us. We are to be hanged."
Steve gasps, horrified. "Why?"
"The King believes that we have made matters worse by attempting to bring Loki to justice."
"Which we have," Bruce says under his breath.
"We have," Clint snarls, "but not intentionally."
"What are we going to do?" Thor takes his hammer and puts it on the table.
"I don't know," Tony says softly, "I don't know."
A scream rings out, and the ground shakes.
Natasha rushes to the window, her eyes widening at the commotion.
"Oh my god…" she whispers.
The rest rush to the window, and Bruce has to look away.
The streets are plagued with bodies, all drained of life and some covered in blood. There's an army of Dark Knights marching through the town, carrying swords of shining silver and clothed in black armor.
"This is Loki's doing," Thor growls out.
"I see him, big guy," Tony says, pointing to the edge of the street.
And Loki stands, draped in gold and silver and black and green, with horns that look like reindeer horns and a spear that matches him in height. A shining blue glow is coming from the staph.
"A crime of the century will not be forgotten," Tony murmurs.
"It's a bloodbath."
They watch in horror as their town gets torn apart, with people they know screaming in fear and running away, places they once visited now in ruins and in flames. Some courageous souls who were unarmed that tried to take on the Dark Knights now lie dead.
"Come out Avengers!" Loki calls out, "Come out and play!"
Natasha can see him smirk, and then she sees him dragging a body and holding her at gunpoint.
"Unless you want her to die," he says, pointing his spear at a pretty redhead.
Tony's eyes widen, and he acts with his heart instead of his mind when he bursts out of the station and yells, "No!" in desperation.
There are tears forming in his eyes, and he's wishing, he's hoping that Pepper is alright.
He can see her tears, and bruise marks around her neck. Anger flares inside him.
"Tony…" she rasps.
Loki smirks and chuckles with an evil grin. "Love is a dangerous disadvantage, Mr. Stark."
He's staring at her, and he can't let go of the fact that he left her alone when he knew that there was a madman on the loose with a vendetta against him.
Bruce follows him, and soon the rest do as well.
"Oh I see you've come out to play, then. Welcome to the party," Loki taunts.
"Stop this madness, brother! This is not like you!" Thor yells.
"Oh," Loki hums, "then you don't know me at all."
He brings up his spear into the air and crashes it onto the ground, and the Avengers witness a sea of blue light protruding from it, and suddenly they feel themselves dropping down on their knees.
Tony looks up, and he can see Loki walking through the crowd.
"It's the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation," he starts, "you were made to be ruled, in the end, you will always kneel."
"Not today!" Steve roars, running towards Loki and leaving the Avengers in amazement in how he was able to get up.
Then Natasha tries, and she grits her teeth and pushes herself up with the strongest force she can manage, before breaking the barrier that was forced upon them and ripping her dress off, revealing the same clothes she was wearing in the forest the day before.
One by one, the citizens of the town followed their lead, breaking the barrier that the spear created, and retained the ability to stand up once again.
As the remaining Avengers break their own barriers, they can feel the eyes of the townspeople being set upon them. Almost shocked, as to how they never expected that these unlikely people would come together.
"Isn't that the barmaid from the Achard tavern?"
"That's not Lord Stark, is it?"
"It's Doctor Banner, the scientist!"
A chorus of whispers and roars of voices swept through the town, as each of the Avengers took their positions and claimed a Dark Knight to fight.
Meanwhile, Loki was walking away from the crowd, and Pepper was struggling in his grip.
"Let me go!" she growled out.
He shook her fiercely, "Oh you're a feisty one, aren't you? I can see why he likes you."
She grunts against his strong force, and then notices a shining blue gem sitting comfortably in his spear. She squints her eyes and realizes that she's seen the same gem before.
Her mouth gapes, it's the same gem drawn on the Dark Knight's armor and it's the same color of the Dark Knight's eyes. The gem is the one controlling Loki's army, and the one the legend spoke of – the gem of unspeakable magic.
She gasps, her hands scratching at Loki's hands around her mouth.
"Tony!" she grinds out, "Tony!"
He hears her scream, and begins to chase her.
"Tony the gem! It's the gem!" and then Loki's covering her mouth, and the next thing she knows is pure darkness.
"I'll kill you later," Loki spits.
"No!" Tony screams as he falls to his knees. He draws his sword at a Dark Knight, and before managing to pierce its armor, notices a drawing of a gem and the color of its eyes.
The gem is the key to Loki's power. It must be destroyed.
It's the same gem from the book of spells.
Tony hears Bruce roar, and sees the usual timid man fighting with incredible strength at the opposition, fighting off more than five Dark Knights at once.
Clint is perched on a roof, shooting arrows at the Knights that are attempting to terrorize the townspeople.
Steve is fighting with his shield, a strong arm decimating those who come into its path.
Natasha is valiantly holding of a group of Dark Knights, using blades and knives and her body as lethal weapons.
Thor is now fighting his brother, attempting to reason with him.
The townspeople look on in awe.
"Get out of here!" Tony yells, "Get inside!"
Tony grabs a something out of his boot, a weapon that he has been saving for a rainy day.
He calls it repulsor technology, and with a push of a button, bullets spring out and penetrate metal and skin.
He calls it a gun.
A cry of pain rings out, and Tony turns to see Thor sinking to the ground, clutching his stomach in visible pain. He can see a bloodied knife in Loki's hand, and a look of indisputable betrayal on Thor's face.
Tony charges, firing and riddling Dark Knights with bullets while he wields an iron sword in his other hand.
He sees Pepper lying unconscious on the ground, but still breathing, and he feels his anger rise.
He runs to Natasha, firing at the Dark Knights that are surrounding her. "None of this is going to mean anything if we don't get that spear," he breathes.
She nods, "I'll handle him, you get the spear."
Natasha runs towards Loki, jumping and grabbing his neck in a thigh grip while onlookers watch on in awe. Madame Achard blinks to believe her eyes.
Loki falters, and Tony takes the opportunity to fire his gun, and rip the spear from his grasp.
"Tell me, are monsters born or created?"
He smashes the spear on the ground, the gem shatters, a blue light illuminates the land, the Dark Knights disappear, and the nightmare is over.
The sun is shining high over the kingdom, music is playing on the streets and children's laughter fills the air.
A festival, sponsored by the King, plays out among the streets.
The blood has been wiped off, and the ruins are being rebuilt.
Inside the castle, are six individuals who were indirectly linked to one another, who were of different classes and of tragic pasts and of various riches, and who are now, forever bonded.
Bonded together as a group of unlikely heroes.
A woman with beautiful strawberry blonde hair straightens the jacket of her lover, and accepts a kiss on the forehead.
"Thank you," he whispers, "thank you for risking your life to tell us about the gem. Thank you, thank you, thank you," he murmurs.
She giggles softly, placing a soft kiss on his jaw, "And thank you for doing something about it."
"You should be getting rewarded as well."
Pepper shakes her head, "It's okay, the King has granted my family with gold to sustain them for ten years, that's a better gift than anything."
Tony smiles, and he hears the sound of the trumpets announcing their arrival.
"Let's go," he puts his arm out, and Pepper takes it gladly.
They march out towards the lobby, and stand outside of the door leading to the throne room. Pepper kisses Tony goodbye on the cheek, before she enters, leaving him alone with the rest of the Avengers.
Loki is now in the custody of his father, being punished for his crimes, and Thor's just glad that Loki's being allowed to live. But he will never forget his betrayal.
"At least we aren't getting hanged," Clint chirps.
They laugh brightly, and indeed, they aren't.
An anthem plays, and the door opens.
A chorus of screams and claps and cheers surround the air, and even Natasha feels a smile on her face.
They walk, close together in a straight line, with matching steps and matching strides, before they reach the throne of the King and bow before him.
"Rise," he says.
They do, and the audience silences.
"Because of your valor and your bravery, your perseverance and your courage to protect this kingdom, it is my greatest honor to be standing in your presence today," the King bellows.
He smiles, and his eyes lock with Tony's, realizing that this group of vigilantes are heroes after all. "And I hereby proclaim you, Protectors of the Kingdom!"
A smile rests upon their faces, and they know they've finally found where they belonged.
"And if we can't protect the kingdom, you can be damn well sure we're going to avenge it!"
They may be of different classes and of different families, they may be of different pasts and of different stories, but they are heroes, and like villains, heroes are not born, they are made, and to become a hero, one must hammer and forge himself one, and find the strength, and the courage within them to move on and do what's right.
Because this is the life that they're living, and soon they'll be nothing but stories and legends in the end, but legends are lessons and their legacy will live on, and it will be written across the stars.
Because there are no guarantees for happy endings, there never will be. But you show up anyway and you don't give up, you never give up, and that's what it takes to be a hero.
Bravery is not foolishness, it never has been.
Bravery is not he who gladly throws himself into the fray, but he who accepts, understands and fears the danger…
…but fights anyway.
The End
Well that is it! Braveheart is finished and it stands as my longest one shot at 34 freaking pages! I'm actually quite proud of myself here, and I am quite proud of this story.
I know of the historical accuracies, I'm not an expert, but I do hope it wasn't irritating for you readers who actually do know what they're talking about. I did some research, but this is fanfiction and I'm not to stressed about getting everything right, and it is an Alternate Universe after all.
I spent a lot of time on this, and I am very proud, so please:
Reviews for the Angst-Ridden Soul (although this wasn't really angst)?
Thank you all for reading!