When Silence Falls
By: The Hatter Theory
Chapter Seven: Pieces
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to characters or concepts created and owned by Marvel
AN: Despite my particularly spectacular job at slackassery, you guys have been fantastic, and the reviews have been wibble inducing. Thank you for your patience, and I promise I will try to get back on track (blame the holidays, seriously).
Anywho, enjoy.
"You're very lucky," Thor told him, a smile on his face as they strode down the aisle of silver and back out of the doors. The moment they were through the smile faded and was replaced with something a bit more tired, a little more haggard.
"No, I'm smart," Tony told him, his smirk back in full force. "I know how to play diplomats in front of crowds. No one wants egg on their face. Especially not over something that small."
"It is not a small thing," Thor sighed. "Mother says you have been reading since you woke. Have you learned nothing of our world?"
"I doubt you're the one to school him on diplomatic matters, Thor," Loki sniffed, removing his helmet as he walked away. "After all, the dwarves hold very little love for you, much less any other race."
Tony looked from Thor to Loki's back, wondering what exactly Loki had said that made Thor look like he'd been kicked in the stomach.
"Come," The god said, breaking the silence after a too long awkward pause. "There is yet a feast to attend."
"Dwarves?"
"Those that craft our weapons and armor dwell on Svartálfaheimr," Thor told him, already walking away. Tony followed, having to hurry to keep up with the god's longer stride while he attempted to repeat the word, tongue twisting around it and failing miserably. "It is only the fire in their furnaces that can forge uru, that which can maintain Odin's blessing."
Tony's eyes narrowed at the slip. The last thing he wanted, if he was even able to create what he needed, was for Odin, or any other magician, to 'bless' or otherwise enchant his armor.
"I'm still not understanding the problem. If it's about forging it myself, I know how to do it. I made the Mark I in a cave. As long as I can figure out replacement elements for the components I'm sure I can build something," Tony said, voice flat.
"It is not that," Thor told him, jaw setting as he stared straight ahead. "Though they make our weapons, craft our armor, there has always been tension between Æsir and dwarves. You might be less welcome than you think. No doubt my father will have to negotiate carefully for your privileges."
"Once again, drafted into a war that is guaranteed to kill me for no other reason than a millenia old grudge match. This doesn't seem like too big of a request," Tony reasoned, still feeling sharp around Thor, sharp and wanting to cut him, just a little. Attempting to affect an air of apathy, he cupped his hands behind his head and let it tilt back, body relaxing as they walked along. Thor sighed again, but Tony didn't try to prod him into further explanation. The thought of going to another realm, wherever it was, was enough to get the gears in his head turning. After all, it stood to reason that if he could visit one realm, or world, then he could get to another. Couple that with Odin being a god king and all of the business that entailed, he would eventually stop watching Tony, if he was at all. Which meant he could probably get away sooner than he thought, if he was patient. It wasn't something he was good at, there were a million incidents that pointed to the exact opposite, but he was even worse at knowing when to quit. If pissing off a few people was the price, well, it wasn't one he was unaccustomed to paying.
"So this feast, I can just eat a bit and then leave, right?" He asked as they turned a corner. He didn't even recognize the area of the palace they were in.
"It is being held in your honor," Thor said, brow furrowing.
"So were half a million others on Earth, and you never saw me stay for the whole party. I don't think you stayed overlong either, come to think of it," Tony reminded him.
"This is not Midgard," Thor rumbled, as if the suggestion that he would skip out was beyond offensive. "You cannot shirk your responsibilities any longer."
"What are my responsibilities?" Tony asked, giving his friend another easy smile, not bothering to make it appear genuine. "Everyone keeps saying champion like it's got specific duties, but so far all I've been asked to do is primp and do the pretty."
Thor's expression darkened before he visibly forced himself to relax. "After your training, which I suppose will now be after you create your armor," Thor told him. "You will join me in battle, not on Midgard, but everywhere else," The god said, adding the second half of the statement on hastily, words rushing together when he realized what he was saying. Clearing his throat he cast a nervous glance at Tony, who was still determined to appear mostly blithe in the face of everything. "And go in my stead, when I am otherwise detained on Earth. There has been little unrest in the realms that requires the attentions of Asgard, but threats still exist."
"So I essentially fight with you or for you, depending on if you're on Earth?" Tony asked, careful to keep his tone light. "Sounds fair. So, what am I looking at? Dragons, elves, Jot-"
"It would be wise not to say that here, or in the presence of any Æsir," Thor snapped, and Tony couldn't help but feel a flicker of guilt for bringing up what was still an obviously very sore subject.
"You rhymed," He said, smiling and brushing off the spike in tension as if it had never occurred. "Warned you about that, Shakespeare." It was an old taunt, a friendly one that eased the flash of guilt with something comfortable, even if he still hadn't (and probably never would) forgive Thor for picking law over friendship. If nothing else, he had to pretend to be settling in, at least for awhile, until he could get the hell out.
"I still do not understand the significance of this Spear Shaker," Thor rumbled, a small smile on his face.
"You haven't asked Jane to take you to a play? Well, nevermind. Probably do better to watch a movie. I recommend Romeo and Juliet, the Laz Buhrman one." It had been one of the only ones that could remotely hold his attention on a very ill advised date. The black guy in drag had helped. And the speech might be vaguely familiar to Thor while the movie itself would probably confuse the hell out of him. He probably needed the drug talk anyway.
"We are almost there, Stark. I would warn you, your normal behavior at such events would not be tolerated here," Thor said, voice quieting. "The Æsir are quick to offense, and slow to forget."
"Your mom said something like that after I dropped Sif," Tony smirked.
"I have heard," Thor rumbled, tone laced with disapproval. "Just because they are not the Avengers does not mean they are incapable."
"Never said they were. I'm sure they've been training for war since they were old enough to walk. I just told Sif to stop defending a dick she didn't have."
"She has fought hard for acceptance in the ranks."
"Understandable. Patriarchal society and roles and everything. I get that," He said, brushing it off.
"It will take time," Thor told him. But time for what, he didn't specify. Time to accept, to understand, to fit in? Tony didn't find the idea of any of the three choices appealing. "But for now, please, act in a manner befitting your station."
Tony looked over at Thor, an easy assurance that he would probably be lying about ready to roll off of his tongue. But Thor had the ridiculous puppy eyes thing going, big and shining and making Tony feel more like a dick than usual. When had he learned that trick from Steve?
"I think I've pushed enough buttons tonight," He said, managing to keep his smile. "I'll be on my best behavior mom, promise."
Thor's utter relief was apparent as they continued walking, finally stopping in front of two large doors.
"Tony-" Thor began.
"No emotional moments Thor. I'm a big boy," Tony told him, seeing the contrition reflected in Thor's gaze.
"I am sorry."
And Tony believed it. It didn't help him, couldn't take him back, but it went a little (minuscule) way towards soothing his anger. Besides, he'd figure his own way back, and Thor-
He'd try his best to keep Thor out of the inevitable crossfire.
"I know buddy."
Thor pushed one of the doors open and Tony was greeted with the sight of several dozen Æsir already rubbing elbows and drinking from gold goblets.
Even if the dress was medieval, the booze shitty and the food…the food was terrifying if he was being honest with himself, it was his element. Nothing could beat corporate galas for sheer boring, mind numbing falsity. And he was the master of navigating it, even when he was the center of attention. Especially when he was the center of attention.
The next morning Tony woke up to banging on his door. Not his bedroom door, for which he was mildly grateful, but on the door to the suite itself. The volume and force of the bangs were what confused him momentarily, because it sounded like it was coming from his bedroom door. Grunting a expletive, he got up and walked through all three rooms before opening said vibrating door, surprised it hadn't somehow buckled beneath the pressure of Thor's knocks.
"What?" Tony asked, still too bleary and foggy to muster anything resembling polite. He'd actually slept the night before, mentally exhausted from dealing with too much gold, too many inquiring minds, and the indelicate references to his death.
"Make yourself ready. We travel to Svartálfaheimr within the hour."
"What?" He repeated, the words blasting the cobwebs out of his brain.
Thor looked at him like he'd been dropped on his head a few times before being force fed paint chips.
"Your armor. Odin has already come to an agreement with the dwarves."
"Already?" Tony asked, blinking to try and clear the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. "I thought there were delicate political issues or whatever."
"It seems the dwarves are interested in the Æsir that wishes to smith his own armor," Thor told him, his tone belying the incredible dumb luck associated with that curiosity.
"I was born under a lucky star," Tony smiled. "Let me get dressed."
"Hurry. I am to travel with you, and there is still more I must do this day," Thor told him. Tony nodded, closing the door in his face and resisting the urge to run to his bedroom. Getting dressed was only a problem insofar as all of his clothing was suitable for anything other than a forge of any sort. Going for the plainest clothing he could find, he was still stuck with a red shirt and pants that, under other circumstances, would have made him wonder how his ass was looking and if he was too old for leather.
Once back outside Thor gave him a speculative look before shrugging.
"So how are we getting there exactly?"
"The Bifrost. Heimdall has been informed that you will be traveling to Svartálfaheimr quite often in the coming seasons. Odin has another matter he must see to, so I will go in his stead."
"Does Asgard actually have seasons?" Tony asked as they walked through the halls. He had to take two long strides for every one of Thor's, and wondered again, somewhat resentfully, why he hadn't at least been made taller when they were rebuilding him.
"Yes, although all are mild, barely noticeable to most."
Tony saw that Thor didn't know much more about the climate so didn't bother to ask, mind already on plans for his suit. He'd have to learn more about the elements readily available, but he'd made enough arc reactors in his time that once he did find substitutes, putting one together would be a piece of cake. Without a computer to run the programs, everything would be more primitive than he'd like, but it was doable. Alternatives for the trigger system on the repulsor tech were already scrolling through his mind while he nodded at whatever Thor was saying as they walked outside and took a turn down a path he hadn't followed yet. It wasn't until they were in front of the stables that he stopped short, eyes on the already saddled horses that were waiting.
"We can't walk?" Tony asked, voice flat. The horse nearest him was eying him like it wanted to chew his hair.
"This will save time. Have you never ridden before?" Thor asked, head tilted in that way that showed just how confused he was by the notion that someone didn't ride.
"Yeah, it's just been awhile." Decades. It had been decades.
"This will save us time getting through the city. Besides, it will settle the minds of the people to see the new champion on a steed befitting his station."
More hoops to jump through. Tony wondered, not for the first time, if the position was mostly decorative, if he was only hanging around as the Champion because Thor would never have been content with him as another soldier wandering Asgard, fighting for Odin or Frigga.
"Stark," Thor said, already up in the saddle, staring down at him expectantly.
"Yeah, sure point break," Tony muttered as he walked over to the waiting horse, (a white fucking horse no less, could the disney references get any more obvious) trying to remember how to properly pull himself into the saddle. Thor watched patiently, and somehow Tony managed to pull himself up before the god felt the need to make a polite suggestion or offer any sort of instruction. It wasn't the most graceful of mounts, but it wasn't as bad as his last dismount either, which had been considerably less graceful.
"So, let's get this show on the road," Tony said, offering Thor a cocky grin that had the god smiling back and urging his horse on.
"So, this one doesn't have eight legs," Tony said, needing to distract himself from the wholly uncomfortable sensation of a horse walking beneath him. "Isn't that a thing here?"
"Only Sleipnir has eight legs," Thor said quietly. "It is why he is Odin's steed."
"So is it true he's Loki's-"
"It is ill advised to ask such questions," Thor rumbled, warning evident. "Or insinuate such."
Tony opened his mouth, ready to ask why, because no one gave a warning like that without reason, especially Thor, when he remembered the day at the healer's, how Fandral and the healer both had clammed up at the mention of Fenrir. His mouth clicked shut as he considered the insinuations. The silence, obviously enforced by something like law, official or otherwise, indicated shame. Which meant that Sleipnir and Fenrir were probably Loki's kids.
That thought sent sent a shudder through him. If there was anyone in the universe less qualified to be a parent than him, it was Loki. He made a mental note (those were piling up, each new one reminding him of the five dozen others waiting) to research the genealogy of Asgard. If there was anything about it available in a book, and given the silence, he doubted it.
"So, anything I should expect with the dwarves?" He tried.
"They are tiny," Thor began, casting a sideways glance at him as they ambled past the gates and into the city proper. "Quick to anger, and slow to forgive. Their minds, their minds do not work like those of the Aesir."
"How?"
"I cannot explain. They just do not think as the Aesir do. Be careful of your manners with them, should you want continued access to the forge."
"So none of my normal sparking wit and charm?"
"It would be ill advised."
Thor was saying that a lot.
"So, what? Bow and scrape and be humble?"
"I doubt you could ever manage humility," Thor chuckled, smiling fondly. "But the pretense will probably do more good than bad."
Tony pulled his expression into one of shock, one hand going to his chest while the other kept a firm grip on the reins. "Is the honest, almighty, good prince god Thor telling me to dissemble? To lie," He gasped, trying and failing to bite back the smile. "Didn't think you had it in you."
"Loki has made me aware of my lack of diplomacy. It is something I have sought to rectify."
From what Tony could remember of Thor on earth, the lessons hadn't really taken, and the night before had been wine and song, not enough to give him a reliable baseline for the god's skills.
"I hear he's been making trips to earth."
"After his initial punishment, he was allowed access to the realms. There is little we could have done otherwise. So long as he refrains from war mongering and treason, he is free to come and go as he pleases."
"And how long has this been going on?"
"Perhaps a year, maybe a little longer."
Needing to think about anything but Loki wandering the earth, the universe in general, with no magic muzzles to keep his chaos contained, Tony looked around the city as they walked through it. The hustle and bustle of pedestrian traffic was normal enough, people going back and forth. The surrounding city of gold wasn't as hard to reconcile with a city of steel and glass as long as he didn't look up at the floating towers or the planets off in the distance. The clothing made it impossible to find any comfort in the quasi familiar sight, and the horse beneath him walked smoothly, but it was not a car.
What he was familiar with, and what was easy to ignore, was the feeling of eyes on him, the people stopping to watch he and Thor pass by. It wasn't too different from earth, the lack of camera flashes and women smiling flirtatiously notwithstanding. Hoops and fanfare without any fanfare. He suddenly felt like he was part of a two man parade, out to make an announcement.
"They're curious," Thor told him, smiling brightly. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen since Thor had knocked on his door the day before. "It has been a long time since a warrior was chosen."
"Seriously? How does that even work? I'm sure there are probably a thousand other guys more honorable and strong and whatever than me that died in battle, and I get chosen? I mean, I know I'm awesome, but that just reeks of favoritism."
"Not possible. A valkyrie is above influence, including Odin's. I am unaware of how they choose, but that you have been chosen after so long, it speaks well of your character."
"No pressure or anything," Tony joked, inwardly flinching because he was pretty sure that meant everyone thought he was Thor's white knight. There was almost zero chance he could get away with being the same Tony Stark that had been Iron Man. Then again, if Thor and the warriors were anything to go by, he probably didn't have to check his behavior too much.
"Heimdall's observatory," Thor said several minutes later, a hand going to point out something in the distance. Tony looked, unsurprised to see a golden tower, or something like it, rising up from the distance. The tower tapered to a point, the tip appearing to rest directly beneath a star, like it was propping it up in the sky.
A sense of urgency hit Tony, with the bridge just ahead and the future suit just beyond his fingertips.
"So, can these things go any faster?"
"Faster than any of your mortal cars," Thor laughed, voice rich with his normal joy. It inspired a flicker of guilt, his future plans already forming in his mind. But Thor was urging his horse on, making him go faster as they got past the gates and onto a bridge. Tony kicked his heels into the horse and felt it jolt forward first into a canter and then into a full out run. Unused to riding, it felt like he was strapped to a missile that was rolling over a city's worth of speed bumps.
"In France they eat your cousins, hope you know that," He got out as a particularly harsh bump made his body jerk wildly. Careening down the bridge, he was still behind Thor as they traversed the distance. It wasn't until they were almost at the observatory, a dome like building with the pointed spire coming out of it that the horses came to a smooth stop, not skidding on the shimmering, rave themed bridge beneath them.
Already he was thinking about articulation, power sources, potential circuitry while vaguely wondering if horse steak was outlawed because one of them, however strangely mutated, was Loki's kid (and wow, what asshat for a grandfather would go around riding his grandson?). Like a kid on Christmas Eve he was jittery, anxious and ready for the sun to just rise already. The horses seemed less than pleased to walk into the domed structure, but Thor stayed astride so Tony forced his own far less tractable mount to follow. The inside of the observatory was the expected gold, but the dim light and pattern of circles and spheres kept it from being overbearing, giving the inside of the room a different texture than the rest of Asgard, something a bit rougher, a little less pristine, antiquated instead of fantastical. The edges had bronzed, as if time had left a patina to mark the passage of travelers.
Heimdall was not what he expected. For one, he had been aware that every ethnicity under the sun existed pretty much everywhere, he just hadn't expected an african american (or was it moor, shit he felt even worse now) as part of the pantheon. With bright gold eyes no less. Everything else fit in with the color scheme of Asgard though. Gold. Gold. More gold. Ornate, ridiculous helmet to top the whole thing. He sent a brief prayer to a god that he was still sure didn't exist (judeo-christian thankyouverymuch) that the dwarves didn't live in gold caves.
"My Prince, Champion," The gatekeeper said, inclining his head and giving both titles a particularly capital first letter. "To Svartálfaheimr?"
"Yes, Heimdall," Thor rumbled, nodding at the veritable giant that stood almost as tall as their horses.
"So how does this work?" Tony asked, watching Heimdall closely as he strode to the center of the observatory and touched his sword to the pedestal.
"The sword is the key," Thor answered, nodding at Heimdall. Tony kept the obvious dick jokes to himself, not wanting to offend the person that held the 'key' to his ride for the foreseeable future. But the sword was key. Of course it wouldn't be a lever, or an actual key.
"Because of enchantments of it's an actual key?" Tony asked, eyes on the sword as Heimdall slid it home, the room around them beginning to spin. The horses stirred uneasily, the metal on their hooves clattering on the marble floor, combining with a hum that was growing louder. The lights inside of the room grew brighter, too bright for his eyes. Clenching them shut to keep even a fraction from penetrating the seam of his lids, he cursed whatever was keeping him from seeing what he wanted, needed to see. The way the whole thing worked, the mechanism that got someone from one realm, universe, whatever, to another.
Unpleasantly reminded of the ever increasing rotations of a much smaller device, he tried to tune the humming out as it grew louder, sped up until it was like a whistle inside of his head, relentlessly buzzing, shrieking. His horse, sensing his obvious discomfort, began to stamp it's feet even more, a nickering noise weaving into the buzz and stabbing into his temples like glass. His body lurched, stomach two steps behind his chest and brain six behind that, and the whistling stopped.
Opening his eyes, he looked around blankly, seeing but not comprehending the surrounding stone cliff faces on either side of him, the dark sky, only the chill air that offered minimal comfort.
Terror bolted through him when the thought occurred that maybe, since the whole thing was based on fucking magic, that part of him had been left behind, leaving him feeling disoriented and shot out. Opening his mouth, he tried to force words out, but nothing happened.
Unless he counted the surge of bile that rose so quickly he barely had time to snap his jaws shut and swallow before making a fool of himself in front of his friend.
"The first time is difficult for most," Thor said, voice sympathetic but face etched with lines of amusement. "Even I found traversing such a distance unpleasant."
Unpleasant. Sure, why not. Tony grimaced, the taste not quite washed away when he swallowed a second time, or even a third. The unexpected bonus to the bitter taste in his mouth was that he seemed to be coming back to himself, his mind quickly coming back to him, sensations other than nausea and tunnel vision settling into a cohesive awareness.
"That was fun," He lied, releasing his death grip on the reins. The first aware breath of air went into his lungs like the cold shock of winter into the bellows of a forge. Brittle and steaming, he exhaled and inhaled deeply again, the cold stilling the remnants of chaos left over in the tell tale tingle of magic.
"I should hope so, friend. You will be using the Bifrost quite often."
"If you give it a name, a more fun name, I mean, and some lights, maybe some seat belts, you could sell tickets, make a killing at carnivals."
Thor chortled laughter as he led his horse forward beneath the natural walls of the cliff faces, his breath steaming the air in small puffs. Tony exhaled again, surprised when his own breath appeared like smoke in the air. Chalking it up to his own over excitement and tells he had never had a chance to get trained out, he squeezed his knees and urged his horse on, taking in the almost desolate scenery.
"So, simply walking into Mordor?" He asked, words echoing off of the dark stone.
"There are no orcs here, but there are still rock trolls," Thor told him as Tony came up beside him. "The comparison is apt, however. The dwarves need the fires within this planet to forge uru, among other things."
Knowing a fair bit about the metal from the few times he'd had a chance to scan Mjolnir and a 'souvenir' piece Thor had given him, he knew there were few natural heat sources that could make the metal malleable. On earth, uru was harder to come by than adamantium and vibranium combined, and three times the bitch to work with when it held any sort of enchantment. But outside of earth it appeared far more often. Shit, maybe Doom's plating had been made of it. It would explain a lot.
"Cheery," Tony muttered as pebbles fell down the cliff face, clattering and chittering like something unholy in the dark.
"The dwarves are not known for their cheer."
"Are their names adjectives?"
Thor cats him a quizzical look, confusion evident.
"You know, Sleepy, Grumpy, Dopey?"
"I do not know. I have rarely had contact with them, and never the need for their names."
"Weren't they the ones that made your hammer?"
"Of course."
"And you don't know any of them personally?"
"Once, a few, but I doubt a one of them was involved in the crafting of Mjolnir."
"Sounds like a story."
"For another time. It is one I dare not recount whilst in their domain."
"Definitely something I want to hear later."
"It would be prudent not to ask them," Thor rumbled, another warning in his tone. "Should you wish to create and complete your armor."
"Gotcha. That kind of story." Which probably accounted for the delicate political situation. In turn, that lead to why the dwarves had been so quick to allow him access to their forges. Affecting a note of caution for the potential threat of retribution through him, he stored the information away, no longer quite so eager to meet the dwarves.
The corridor ended abruptly, the walls of the cliffs falling away to reveal an open hole, like a meteor had struck. Honeycombing the jagged outcroppings were tunnel entrances, each a dark shadow smearing the stark landscape.
"Hail!" Thor boomed out, the noise so loud and sudden it startled Tony's mount, the distressed sound of the beast barely heard over the ever repeating echo of Thor's voice as it hit every curve of the wall below. "I am Thor Odinson, of Asgard."
A voice muttered several incoherent syllables that echoed in reply, too close to be anywhere but right next to them.
Tony's head barely swiveled as he tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. Left, right, down, up. No sign of a dwarf. Thor returned the greeting, if that's what it was, expression one of bemusement as he continued staring straight ahead. Tony took his cue from the god and kept his gaze fixed forward despite the temptation to mimic an owl and look everywhere for the source of the gravelly words.
The exchange continued for a few more minutes, Thor growing increasingly unhappy if his facial expressions were anything to go by, but his tone remaining even. For every volley of exchanges, each coming and going more quickly than the last, the niggling anxiety that he was about to be ripped from the horse grew until he was fighting the urge to fidget nervously in the saddle.
When the figures appeared in front of them, the air rippling until the forms of three very short, stocky, bearded men emerged from nothing.
They were glaring up at them. Glaring very angrily, resentment obvious, even if he couldn't understand the muttering that whispered between them, too low for him to hear.
"They'll lead you from here. There are other needs that I must attend."
"Yeah sure. Uh, hi guys," Tony said, smiling at the three dwarves. One of them garbled angrily at him, giving the impression of an insult, not that he could tell.
"Thor, buddy?"
"Yes?"
"I can't understand them."
"I do not understand them either, but it is their forges you must learn to work within-"
"No, like the words that are coming out of their mouths. I can't understand them."
The pure befuddlement that slackened the god's expression was not abnormal to Tony, but this was Svarterwhatever, his territory, sort of, his thing. He should know, well, if not everything, a decent chunk, right?
"All Speak. It's effects end at the borders of Asgard, I did not think- The spell is natural to me, so I have never noticed."
"All Speak. You mean the spell only works when I'm in Asgard?" Tony said, the unmistakable note of a whine pitching his voice. He was whining. Damn, this was…This was beyond bad. How had he not been able to find a book on the dwarvish language? Why had he not considered it?
"I know not the spell, and I doubt the dwarves do either, they know little of enchantments."
"Which means-"
Thor ignored the open ended question and looked down at the dwarves again, who were growing increasingly agitated, all shifting from foot to foot and muttering more loudly, their words becoming clipped and hard. A string of syllables came out, cajoling in tone as Thor smiled the smile of 'oops' and tried to shrug the mistake off. If what little Tony could see of the dwarves expressions were anything to go by, they weren't thrilled with whatever the Æsir was saying.
Another series of volleys, the words completely lost on Tony and expressions mostly hidden by way too much facial hair didn't help other than to give him the impression that by not being able to communicate with them, he'd made some sort of grievous error. Thor grew increasingly exasperated, his voice growing more commanding and more pissed off with each exchange. When he finally leaned back in his saddle and looked to Tony, irritation pulling his features down and making his beard poof out.
"They say that it doesn't matter, since we never listen anyway," He muttered. "And that if you don't begin today, they will refuse you further access to the forges."
"You're shitting me."
"No. Stark-"
"No, it's fine. Can't be any worse than Germany." And if he was lucky, and yeah it was a long shot, they'd have beer. Lots of beer.
"Tony-"
"I got it buddy," He said, slipping down from the horse without tangling and tripping himself up in the stirrups. Plastering his best smile, oozing charm and confidence, he walked in front of the horse and extended his hand to the group, waiting for one of them to shake it.
Which was apparently not a thing on Svartlerwhatever, if the awkward silence was anything to judge by. Or maybe they just really didn't like him. His hand dropped back down to his side, although he forced himself to keep his smile.
"So where does the horse go?"
"I will take it with me," Thor told him, resignation making him sound tired. "I will return soon, Stark."
"Take your time. These guys probably have plenty to show me."
"As you will," Thor rumbled. Another volley of the foreign language and Thor nodded to them all, turning his horse and galloping off. The riderless mount followed, the sounds of galloping hooves moving further and further off. The outlines of his friend and the horses faded into the gray darkness until they were nothing, the sound the only thing to let Tony know that they did in fact exist.
Incoherent mumbling next to him forced him to look down. Not as far down as Thor was forced to look down, but he had a feeling he was going to develop a crick in his neck after awhile. The trio turned and began walking down some path they could obviously see that he couldn't, but he hurried after, surprised at how quickly, how surely they moved along the rocky curve.
Within seconds he could decipher a curved path running along the basin, swirling around, lower and lower. Order became apparent in the chaos of tunnels, each lining up along the curve, further apart than appeared at a cursory glance. As they passed a first, and then a second, he thought he heard the sounds of clattering coming out from the darkness, muffled and indistinct. The muttering of the dwarves ahead of him muffled what little echo came out from the shadows.
Further down the spiral until they were in the deepest part of the basin, walking into a tunnel, the chill immediately lessening as warmth and humidity hit him like a wall in the dark. Immediately stifling the urge to flinch in the heat as it grew in increments, Tony followed quietly.
Contrary to popular belief, he was not claustrophobic, although most of the world had decided he was after his experience in Afghanistan. Who wouldn't be after a three month vacation in a cave? But he wasn't, couldn't be if he was going to survive in a suit that was considerably smaller and more restrictive than a cave. He'd never had a problem with small spaces, he just preferred open space, providing open room to think.
He wasn't overfond of darkness though. Lights were a sign of life, even the tiniest blinking a signal that some piece of tech was alive and operational. LEDs were a comfort he was uncomfortably aware of missing, the blinking lights as much a night light as everyone joked his arc reactor had been. In the current, almost absolute darkness, the lack was never more apparent. There weren't even torches on the wall to make it easier to navigate the rough hewn floor.
But he managed not to stumble or otherwise make a scene, not until the bloom of orange red in the distance appeared, a pinprick dot that demanded his attention, disorienting him when he looked away, remaining fixed in his vision. Chewing the inside of his cheek nervously, he looked ahead at the pinprick, the hole in the darkness, eyes sliding this way and that to try and avoid the almost painful contrast.
But the closer he came, the more oppressive the heat grew, the worse the light was. He could feel his pupils growing small, could feel sweat beading his forehead.
Redorangeyellow
Phantom fire spiraled inside of his bones, coiling tight and blooming out at once.
Yellowgaslightblue
His vision blurred, shadows dissipated until there was nothing but light.
Chemicalblueblindingwhite
He could taste iron in the back of his throat, like flecks of metal mixing with the bile that surged up, acrid like smoke and cinders, filling his nostrils.
Something hit his leg, made him feel like it was breaking in half like a scorched twig as he fell to one knee, eyes still on the flickering colors just ahead. Sounds echoed around him, guttural and angry. Not Doom's rolling drawl, or Jarvis's elegant clip. Not his own voice screaming inside of his head. Lights exploded in his vision, not the hellfire blaze that had been threatening to consume his vision, but the sudden explosion of bright lights that came with a sharp blow to his head, knocking him out of the fire and back into his own throbbing skull.
The angry, guttural cursing got louder, right in his ear like someone was shouting directly into it, spittle hitting his eardrum. Pushing at the source of the vibrations, he blinked rapidly, the two sounds, the one in his head and the one outside of it, crashed against each other, leaving him stunned and stupid.
Ineffectual waving was ignored and a solid, meaty fist made contact with the back of his head, forcing him forward so that he had to catch himself with his hands.
The rock beneath him shuddered and the angry voices stopped completely. Gasping for breath, Tony remembered the chill air of the world outside of the tunnel and briefly considered making a run for the entrance before he let out a shuddering breath and inhaled. Silence circled him, on the other side of that the sound of fire and flames, or clattering and clanking echoed.
Iron Man. He was there to make his suit. He hadn't let a cave frighten him before, or a goddamn missile, or space. He was not going to let fire fuck with him now.
Pushing himself up, he got back to his feet and rubbed the back of his head, letting out a weak chuckle and shrugging at the dwarves, all of whom were watching him closely, dark, deeply set eyes glittering forebodingly in the flickers of light. None of them moved to hit him again, which he considered a definite plus the way his head was throbbing. His leg hurt too, a phantom blanket of needles in his calf that made him limp for the first few steps before he forced himself to ignore it. The dwarves began muttering again, hurrying to take the lead. He slowed, grateful to get behind them.
The tunnel opened, and Tony was ninety percent sure he had stepped into the inspiration for hell.
Clanks and clangs, the metallic sound of metal on metal echoed over the sound of the fire, which was just beyond the wide outcropping, just beyond and beneath, if his eyes were playing trick on him, although the light was so brilliant it was difficult to tell. The black stone glowed unnaturally in the orange and red light, rough, almost granite like stone forming steps above them, jagged spikes where more forges were housed.
Everyone on the level he was on had stopped their work to stare at him. Sweat dotted his forehead and back, slid down uncomfortably, itching his skin. Not daring to scratch, he gave a friendly wave and smile, careful not to show any teeth. The inside of his cheek was still throbbing from where he'd bitten into it and the pervasive smell or iron had only gotten worse.
"Hi guys," He managed.
The voices immediately started, mixing together into rapid fire baritone chatter that reminded him of foreign businessmen he'd charmed into deals almost as important as this one. Tracking facial expressions and tones the best he could given the abundance of facial hair and sounds of the forges, he watched and kept his smile firmly in place. The general consensus was that none of them wanted him there, and most of them blamed the oldest dwarf present, distinguished only by the fact that his whole beard and his hair were silver white, smudged with either black or coal, which he couldn't tell. Odin's name cropped up several times, and even Thor's. But not his. Maybe they didn't even know his name. Hands flew in increasingly violent gestures as the volume of their voices grew, until the shouting carried over the din of the forges over them.
In other words, nothing was getting accomplished, which under other circumstances would have been hilarious. But not now.
Searching his brain for something, he crouched down, acutely aware that he was bringing his face to fist level of short, stocky men with chests like barrels and arms like decently sized tree trunks. Fingers light, he quickly scrawled out his approximation of the language he'd learned in Asgard, simple asking if they could read it. The oldest stopped, eyes zeroing in on the dirt (or soot) he was writing in, the words obviously ill formed, but distinguishable. The others quieted, following the example of their 'leader'.
When he nodded, Tony continued, wracking his brain for words he'd memorized but hadn't used. Coding would come more quickly, but he stayed with it, taking a painfully long time to say that he knew they didn't want him there, obviously (which earned a few derisive noises) but that the sooner they got to it, the sooner he would be gone and everyone could go back to their normal lives. Taking them for a fairly straightforward bunch, he didn't bother with delicacy, hoping they would appreciate bluntness over tact, honesty over diplomacy.
The pause that followed was broken only by the shuffling of feet. He didn't try to stand, staying at their level while he waited for the oldest to act. It wasn't long in coming, the dwarf bending to use a gnarled looking stub of a finger to scrawl beneath his stilted writing. As words appeared, Tony's heart began to sink. Despite being unable to understand all of them, he got the gist.
'Splitlip is name. You will apprentice before allowed to touch an anvil. The bellows Asgardian.' Or something very much like it.
Well. At least the names were adjectives, although if they honest descriptions of the owners, he couldn't tell. Beards were really beginning to piss him off. Ignoring the resentment roiling beneath the surface of his smile, he wrote out a quick, informal thanks and stood, knees straightening without so much as a pop. At least he had that going for him. His new body didn't hint at any of the myriad injuries he'd accumulated on earth.
Splitlip snarled something at the others, who scattered as quickly as they had gathered. Tony watched them go back to their respective tasks, the sound of hammers striking metal quickly creating a resonating din that assaulted his ears and reminded him of the cave.
Yinsin would have been fascinated, and probably kicking his ass up and down the walls for getting killed.
Splitlip walked over to a giant bellows that looked too big for a dwarf to operate. As if to prove him wrong, he reached up and pulled it down, creating a rushing sound. Then he let it go and looked at Tony. Nodding despite the overabundance of resentment he was feeling, he took Splitlip's place and pushed the bellows down. Air rushed through it easily, taking no more effort than squeezing a squeaky toy from earth.
"Antiquated stress reliever," He said in a bright voice through a smile he didn't feel in the least. Splitlip ignored him entirely, seeming pleased after a few more pushes continued in a steady pattern and walking over to an anvil where a long cylinder of metal was waiting. Tony watched him, concentration almost completely focused on the dwarf as he continued to work the bellows.
There didn't seem to be a lot to it, whatever the dwarf was doing. Hammering and folding, the long cylinder smoothed out, he rolled it, hammered it, and rolled it again. The metal glowed red hot, making Tony's stomach roil dangerously. The indescribable heat of the forge itself was enough to make him want to cut and run. His workshop had been cold, freezing even to the people that weren't used to being in it. Even Natasha had commented on it. Cold was good for electronics, kept them from overheating. The forge was hell compared to that, reminding him uncomfortably of things he didn't want to think about, that his mind shied away from every time the memories came close.
'Armor. Armor.' It was a mantra he whispered in his own mind again and again as he watched Splitlip. Whatever the dwarf was doing appeared simple, but within several turns the cylinder became a smooth spear, a single piece of blade and tang that was more staff than tang. The dwarf worked rhythmically, his whole body moving in time to the work he focused on, the hammer striking the metal without the tinny sound Tony had expected. The resulting reverberation was deeper, resonating through the forge like the baseline of a song. Too focused to take notice of the others, he let himself find a beat inside of that rhythm and continued watching, trying to figure out how the dwarf was shaping the hunk of metal, because between each turn it grew impossibly more ornate. Even lacking detail it was still a wispy cloud of quickly thinning metal curls, as though the spear blade was being teased out like cotton candy into some unfathomable fractal.
There wasn't any magic that he could see, but there had to be something, because the spear turned into a staff, burning red and malleable in the dwarve's hands as he worked, it's top a mathematical spiral that even Tony could spot the rhyme of, if not the reason for. Perfect in it's asymmetry, the equation he saw spiraling within the pathways was entrancing in it's complexity, a code he could almost grasp but not quite.
A puzzle that had obviously distracted him a smidgen too much if the sudden glare in his direction was anything to go by.
Splitlip shouted something at him, whatever had existed of the spell completely dashed on reality as he picked up the pace, working the bellows harder as he tried to see what the dwarf was doing next. But the little bastard had moved so that he was blocking Tony's view. Probably intentionally, the prick.
The fractal given form teased at his brain, the austere lines of orange red no longer burning his consciousness as he considered the twining, curving slopes. If he had seen the finished project, he would have only seen a uselessly ornate piece of shit, more show than use. But he'd watched it coming together, and somewhere between steps he'd fallen into it, seen something that had hinted at something, but whatever it was, he couldn't figure out. Steel trap that his mind could be (when he wanted it to) the lines were already fading, losing significance and becoming nothing more than filigree uselessness, nonsensical and theatrical.
Maybe he'd imagined it. It wasn't unusual to see patterns within any shape, was impossible for him not to, given that he'd been born to be an engineer, that breeding reinforced by a lifetime if study and work. But there had appeared to be purpose, something more than math and science but only just barely.
Shrugging it off as dwarven magic, something he probably couldn't learn and would never have the inclination to, he turned his gaze back to the bellows, the wood darkened by decades, possibly centuries of dirt and soot, the smudges almost obliterating any trace of the grain. Which was just as well, because any time he tried to focus on it his head began to hurt, and the only other options were Splitlip or the fires beyond the forge, which made his head hurt even more.
Breathe in.
Up.
Breath out.
Down.
It was the closest he'd ever gotten to intentional meditation, even though Bruce had attempted to coach him through a million different chants and exercises. It was a bitter irony that made him chuckle despite himself.
And when the dwarves put their hammers down, when Splitlip moved away and cast the staff into water, steam rising like smoke from a wildfire, he barely noticed, losing himself in nothing was working so well.
Well, not nothing. Not exactly. But he supposed Bruce chanting in two three out two three didn't count as nothing, but it had been enough to lose himself in, to keep him calm and make him forget the oppressive heat that pressed in from every side, that threatened to smother as it seeped into his pores. The poke to his side was as abrupt and shattering as the strike to his head had been however long before. Looking down he saw Splitlip hold a wooden staff as gnarled as his fingers. The dwarf wrote something in the dirt, reading vaguely as 'done today go home'.
Nodding once he let go of the handles and realized he'd worked up enough of a sweat that his shirt was soaking and that his whole body hurt. Splitlip followed the other dwarves to a door he hadn;t noticed before and, knowing better than to assume any sort of filial after work drinks, Tony walked for the single tunnel entrance he could see, grateful the moment he hit the darkness. Several degrees cooler than the forge itself, he pushed Bruce's voice away, no longer needing it even though he wanted it.
Best not to think about that.
The tunnel was an uphill slope going back, barely noticeable before but to his suddenly burning legs and heavy arms it was a ninety degree angle. Each step made him feel more and more like Sisyphus, wanting to give up and roll back down. Maybe he could just sleep under the bellows. It would save him the trip back on the Bifrost. And a ride on a horse. He wasn't sure which sounded more unappealing, debating with himself and creating a pros and cons list as he walked.
The horse was sort of smelly, having the undeniable animal scent that any animal had, apparently even in a land that thrived on magic. It took longer, made too much noise, had the potential to throw him (which was why he didn't ride on or in things he didn't have complete control of, mechanical bulls and human beings aside) and it was white, which he suspected had more to do with color coding to Thor than anything else.
The Bifrost was quick but made him feel like his brain was trying to catch up to him. And magic, which counted for three or four slots of cons all on it's own, really. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Heimdall either. Thor had mentioned him before, the all seeing all knowing eye of Asgard, which was damn uncomfortable now that he had met him and the watcher wasn't just some intangible name among a hundred others. What did all seeing mean, and did anyone actually have that sort of capacity? Dozens of philosophical, Thor inspired debates (because, christ, a living god in your living room playing video games was enough to either confirm or destroy the closely held beliefs of any atheist which almost all of the avengers were) about omniscience, omnipresence, omni-anything had led to the conclusion that if god in an ultimate, 'no others before me or I'll turn your world to ash' sense existed and there was any truth to the press, he was probably insane from sensory and information overload.
Tony was sticking with atheism. Thor's people were called gods, revered as deities, but they were aliens. Just like the skrull, like the silver surfer and a dozen other people he'd crossed paths with. But Heimdall was claiming powers uncomfortably close to the judeo-christian god he'd been accused of blaspheming with his science. While it didn't make him rethink his beliefs in the least, he couldn't stop wondering just how much the watcher saw, how he did, and how he managed to stay sane if he was aware of everything going on in the universe. Or universes. Whichever.
It was a psychological, theological puzzle, one he wasn't suited to at all, but it helped to wonder about someone else's insanity when he was dragging ass back toward the tunnel opening, savoring each degree of chill that soothed the heat in his muscles. They'd probably lock up on him because of it, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Not even when he felt the sweat chilling, sliding away to leave salt crusting in his clothes and on his scalp, itching uncomfortably could he find fault with the cold, allowing it to seep into muscle and bone and rid his physical body of the forge.
When the light at the other end began to come through, it was nothing like the hellish red that had been a vague threat, instead promising a cold shower and food in his future, horse and Bifrost be damned. Just about anything was worth crawling into the shower and getting the grime off of him. He'd probably burn the clothes too, fucking ridiculous for working in a forge anyway.
Once outside, he took a deep breath of truly fresh air, the cold settling into his lungs and making him smile. Any sense of being smothered vanished, the heat evaporating into nothingness.
"Hail, friend Stark!" A voice called from over his head, the unmistakable voice pinging around the basin in a series of echoes. Tony looked up, smiling at Thor, who was waiting at the top and waving down at him.
"Any chance you can get me up there Point Break?"
Thor, bless every blond hair on his head, took the hint and swung Mjolnir, following the hammer like a clinging afterthought. Tony accepted the outstretched hand, too tired to make a gay joke, and felt his arm almost pulled from it's socket. But the trip was short, and he was stumbling on his feet, landing face first in horse neck.
They really did smell.
"How was your day?" Thor asked as he swung himself into the saddle, all bright smiles and cheer.
"Split's got me working on the bellows for now," He groaned as he pulled himself up with decidedly less grace.
"Bellows?" Thor asked.
"Heating the forge."
"So you came to an accord?"
"They can read your language and I can write it, so we found a middle ground until I can speak their language." Which he would be finding some sort of translating dictionary for, or, shit, asking Loki for, the minute he could. Best to at least learn their damn language, maybe they'd think he was more than some jackass to work a bellows. "Say Thor?"
"Yes?"
"How long do dwarves live anyway?"
"I don't know."
He'd have to do more research. Hopefully an apprenticeship didn't last longer than a few weeks instead of say, a century.
"I want a shower," He grumbled, pulling at the shirt clinging to his chest.
"You need one."
