There were corpses, this time, and it wasn't the blood, or the smell that bothered Loki. It wasn't their dulled eyes, faded as white as the snow they lay in. It wasn't even the faces of the children looking up at him from beneath their parent's bodies, shielded uselessly, and equally as dead.

It was the painted nails, that bothered him. The brand new robes and wedding bands, or lockets still clasped around their throats. It was the colors they chose, perhaps the very day they died. Something about the irony of red, the propriety of black.

It was the way cold, stiffened fingers still curled around those lockets and rings, with something precious enough inside for them to spend their last moments clinging to it.

It was those and more, and more, and more. Too many bodies with too many small, simple things that screamed 'life' where there was none.

How long have I stood here? Loki wondered, realizing too late that he'd been doing nothing but absentmindedly plucking clumps of fur from his cloak. The world around him became a blur of red and white, and he forced himself to look down at the growing pile of black fur next to his foot, instead.

Some time, then.

"Sire?"

"Hmm?"

"Some time what, my lord?"

Had he said that out loud? Norns, he was sloppy today. The again, the simple matter of getting out of bed this morning had been difficult. If not for Anthony, Loki honestly could not tell where he would be, or how he would be.

The man had forced him from his blankets by showing a rare burst of bravery, placing both feet in Loki's ribs, and kicking him out of bed. Literally.

And so, here he was, where he did not want to be, surrounded by silent screams of betrayal rather than the nice, comfortable warmth of that—annoying bastard of a—little body he had grown to need by his side.

"Where is my general?" Loki asked the air, still unable to meet any of his men's eyes. Guilt made it nearly impossible, and Loki doubted that, even if he did look, his men would meet his eye.

"By the well, sire," he was directed, and sure enough, bent backwards and nearly broken in half over the well, was General Maneir.

"And this is how you found him—all of them?" He questioned as he stepped between bodies with careful precision. He did not want blood on his boots. Oh, and it was disrespectful, too.

"No one was moved." The guard paused and added hastily, "only, someone had to step up on the well to, er... read the message."

"Indeed?" Loki mumbled, frowning up at the body that was well above his eye level. If one of them—of average size—had to step up to see, he clearly would have to double their efforts. Not for the first, or last time, Loki cursed his smaller frame, and hoisted himself up the stone wall of the well. He had just made it to the top when the icy stone underfoot tried to throw him off.

"Easy there," came a familiar voice, joined by a sturdy hand against his lower back.

Loki's first thought was, 'So warm,' and his second, 'surprisingly strong for one so short."

Which made him smile, regardless of how incredibly inappropriate it was. No one needed to know if he allowed himself a small reprieve from despair.

Anthony, his warm, determined Anthony, asked, "You got it?" And the hand on his back pressed up even harder. With his balance returned, Loki wrapped an arm around the beam and turned in time to catch the man standing up on his toes to help support him.

"I am fine now, you can let go," he said, brow furrowing when he remembered his previous order. "You should not be here, I told you to stay with the horses, did I not?"

Anthony simply shrugged, and replied, "Afraid my delicacies will be insulted, again? Didn't we talk about this already? I'm a mess, but i'm not made of glass."

Loki frowned down at him and replied softly, "I simply did not want you to see this... failure."

That determined set of Anthony's jaw slipped a little, and Loki waited as he let go of his back and glanced around at what was once a beautiful village. There was disgust in those golden eyes and perhaps some fear, but what grew stronger with every body Anthony lay eyes on, was anger.

"This is just a game to him?"

"'The game has begun'," Loki recited, remembering the reason he was balancing on a slippery wall of a well. That's right, to read the same words carved in the man's stomach.

He knew—had known General Maneir. The man had been one of the few in favor of Loki's return after Laufey's untimely death. That was the reason Loki had kept him around when he sent so many others away from his survives. That and he was good at his job. The people listened to him like his word was law, which was especially important since they did not listen to Loki as often.

"According to this mage, it's my turn next," Loki remarked dryly, climbing back down and dusting the snow and what looked like chunks of frozen blood from his cloak.

"Do you know him?"

"Thanos? No, we have not had the pleasure of meeting just yet."

"His name is Thanos?" Anthony squeaked.

Loki looked up from his fastidious cleaning and frowned at the expression he was greeted with.

"What of it?" He questioned slowly, dreading the answer that Stark's expression was already providing him.

"It can't be the same guy..."

"The same as whom?"

"It can't be."

"I rather think it might," Loki growled, stepping closer to the man, who was already shrinking visibly under Loki's gaze.

Anthony eyes were as wide as the day Loki found him on the roof, not all that long ago, and the small part of him that cared reminded himself that he promised to never let that fear cross his friend's face again.

Yet here they were.

"Anthony... tell me."

"Please—"

Loki hissed, "Tell me," and took hold of Stark's chin, forcing him to look at him.

"T-Thanos... was the name o-of—" he broke in with a wheeze and tilted his head to the side, giving Loki a nice view of the gold look piercing Stark's ear.

"Oh..."

"He's not... who you think he is, if it's the same guy," Anthony continued quietly, still not meeting Loki's eye.

Loki let go of his chin, touching the earring with a thumb before letting his hand drop.

"Who is he?" He asked, trying and failing to quell the sick crawl of dread that crawled into his stomach moments ago, and would not leave. "Why did he... brand you as such? I never saw his name across your skin. If he owned you—"

"He does own me," Anthony interrupted, finally rising his eyes from the bloodied ground to meet Loki's gaze. "You crossed out all their names, made me a clean slate, but you can't get rid of this."

"He does not own you," Loki snapped, reaching up to grip the earring once again.

"He does, it's imposs—"

"You are mine!"

Anthony stopped wriggling and stared at Loki out of the side of his eye. Loki, still engaged in glaring at the loop of gold, missed the way the man's breath hitched, and his eyes grew wide.

"...Yours?"

"Yes, obviously, you are..." Loki blinked, something clicked, and his attention snapped back to Stark. "You... oh hells."

"You can't," he said quietly, carefully prying Loki's fingers from the earring. "I'm sorry."

"No... no, I didn't mean it like that, I meant—"

"No matter how you mean it, I can't be yours."

Loki choked, yanking his hand free from Stark's grip. "What?"

His Anthony, his warm, sturdy Anthony, smiled so sadly, and looked away.

"There's something I need to tell you."


They didn't have a room set up for him, because, well, King or not, it was a village of the dead and no one had thought that King Loki would want to linger here in the first place.

Not that he did, but Anthony had something to tell him and there was no way he could wait the entire trip back to the castle. Never mind the fact that this something apparently had everything to do with the mage who seemed to enjoy killing Loki's people, and calling it a game.

So, in a rather uncomfortable moment of confusion, Loki managed to steal himself and Anthony some privacy in one of the silent inns near the court yard. He had told his men to begin the clean up, something the elder general were all too familiar with, and the younger, not enough.

No one was happy.

That was nothing new.

"Sit."

Loki waited until Anthony finished his nervous wandering and did as he was told, seating himself across the large, dark-wood table in the center of the room. His cloak, one of Loki's, was damp with melting snow flakes that had begun to fall as they made their way inside. It gave the dusty green a much too vivid look that what suited the mood.

"Please don't be mad."

Loki blinked, excused himself, and shook his head. "I am not angry with you."

"Yeah, you are," Anthony corrected, pulling the much-too-large cloak tighter around his small frame. "You're mad that I didn't tell you. You're mad that I know the guy who's going around killing people. You're probably mad because this same person owns me."

"I would agree with the latter statement, but the other two, not as much."

"Then do you really need to know more about it?" Tony asked, a small, desperate spark of hope in his eye. Now that Loki could actually see his eyes. He had finally pulled his hair back away from his face, citing 'low visibility' when they left the castle.

"Yes," Loki growled, "I need to know everything I can about this monster."

"That's... a good word for him. Appropriate," he said, ducking his head and hiding his face behind his hair once again. "I guess I should start with how I got there, and who he is."

"Please do."

"Thanos, no last name that I know of, bought me from an Aesir when I was just a little older than when we last saw one another. A year or so after I lost everything. Back then, I thought that it was going to be easy." He looked up with a rueful smile, much to calm for the subject matter. Loki decided to ignore the way that burned him and nodded for him to continue.

"The first guy I was sold to was actually pretty nice, considering. A bit of an unhealthy person and yeah, I was kind of young and new at everything, which was what he... Liked..." he trailed off, worrying his lip between his teeth.

"Anthony... you do not have to speak of this if its too painful. We can—"

"I'm fine," he snapped, then added less confidently, "mostly."

"Anthony..."

"Just let me talk, alright? You're the one who actually got me... speaking again, so let me do just that."

Loki put his hands up in surrender and leaned back into his the chair that was digging into his spine.

"He treated me well," Anthony was saying, as though the words were bitter in his mouth. "He gave me things and actually fed me, and sometimes he let me read books from his library. So, when he died, I was at a loss. I had grown comfortable there, even with the nights spent in his bed. But, in the end, I was still property and the dead owned nothing."

Anthony signed and reached out, nails digging into the wood to pick out a splinter from the table.

"And that's when I was sold to Thanos."

When he didn't continue right away, Loki asked the only think he could think of at the moment, "How so?"

"Auction," Anthony replied, still picking away at the table. "He out bid two other people, and took me home in a carriage."

Loki wondered what the significance of the carriage was and if it was relevant to their lack of one now, or somehow an example of Thanos' 'considerate nature'.

"You see, I spent the entire ride worrying,thinking that maybe I'll have to do worse things..." he trailed off, eyes boring into the table.

"I had no idea how bad it could get."


Thump. Thump. Thump.

It started slow, like a steady drum beat.

He would wake in his bed, not unlike the one his previous master had given him, and eat a simple breakfast. From there, it was a day of typical servant tasks around the house, or sometimes joining the men to clean out the stalls. He would eat his dinner with the rest of the staff, and unlike his previous master, went to bed with no further company.

Then, there was no breakfast.

And no dinner.

And then, one night, he returned to his room and there was no bed, either.

But it was fine, Anthony could handle sleeping on the floor, and perhaps missing a few meals. Surely, it would only be a few.

When I t wasn't, and the days went on and the work was hard on an empty stomach, he tried to ask for help from the others. No one answered him, no one fed him, no one pitied him. He was nothing.

Thankfully, he was lucky enough to be small, and quick, and with deft hands. Otherwise, he would have starved to death long before Thanos finally called him to his chambers.

Perhaps that would have been better.

Thumpthumpthump

His heart raced the first time Thanos touched him, just as it did with his previous master.

Then he screamed.

All those horrible things he imagined happened. And when all the horrors he dreamed up came true, Thanos invented a thousand more. Every dissection, every spell, every time he used Anthony's body, he was sure that he was going to die. Surely, this time, he would die.

But he didn't, because, somehow, he could handle the starvation, the chemical burns, the 'tests'. He could handle his bare room, the disgusted looks the other servants gave his scars and exposed ribs, the way the days bled together in a steady beat. It was always just one more day, one more hour, one more beat.

It wasn't until he woke up alone on the side of the road that he woke up. He had been numb for so long, just letting each excruciating day wash over him like it was nothing, he didn't even notice the time passing.

One more day. One more hour. One more beat.

But he was awake now, with all the memories crashing in at once and all he could do was scream to the sky he hadn't seen in months.


"You were freed?" Loki asked after a heavy pause in the story.

"Abandoned, actually," Anthony corrected, expression blank. "'Freed' would imply that Thanos actually let me go."

"But you said just now that—"

"He left me in the road?" Anthony finished for him, giving Loki a icy smile. "Yeah, I was left there, I didn't have to be tortured anymore, but he made sure to leave a nice little collar around my neck to show he still owned me. So there you have it."

Loki's brows drew together sharply as his eyes fell on the golden loop in Stark's ear. It wasn't particularly ornate, or even shiny. Just plan gold, worn and dirty even after their bath together. But now that Loki was studying the thing, he noticed the small runes etched all the way around the loop. Runes he knew and used once before.

"Oh no..." He breathed sharply, meeting Anthony's burning eyes once again. "You truly think you are just his slave."

"Just?" He growled.

Loki gave a shake of his head and dropped it into his hands, hiding from those golden eyes.

Why was it worse? Why must it always be something worse?

"You are no slave, Anthony. You are something much more."

"A slut?" He offered, "Sex slave? Bed-mate? None of those are remotely better or even more valuable. Not to him, anyway. Maybe to some of the others, the ones who tried to pretend it was some kind of honor to be fucked until I bled and left to sleep 'peacefully' on silken sheets."

Loki shook his head again, clenching his nails into the skin of his forehead.

"What? No? What did you mean, then?"

"You... are a Thall."

There was no shout of surprise, no gasp of fear. So Loki looked up, unsure of what he was expecting, and was met with confusion.

"A what?"

Loki let out a breath and mumbled, "of course you don't know... why would you know? Why would such a man even explain it to you? He would not... No..."

"Would you explain it? Please?because you're scaring me a bit."

Loki shook his head again. How could he tell him this? Everything will change and they had just reached a place of comfort with one another at last. Just broken through another of Anthony's walls, and now...

"Loki," he rasped, "tell me."

"You are a Thrall."

There was a pause, and another confused grunt of, "a what?"

Loki lifted his gaze at last, finally meeting Anthony's eye properly, and refused to look away. If he was going to tell him, he was going to treat him with the respect he deserved.

"A Thrall," he said. "More than a slave, more than a bed-mate. You are under his complete control, Anthony. If he says jump, you jump. If he says kill, you kill."

Loki smiled bitterly at the shocked expression across the table from him.

"And to think I thought it luck that brought you to my side once again."

Anthony blinked, eyes growing wide. "Wha-what do you mean?"

"What I mean, my dear friend, is that you've been placed here to kill me."