When Silence Falls
By: The Hatter Theory
Ten: Can't Go Wrong
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to characters or concepts created by Marvel. And I'm dicking around with mythology mythology a bit here, so I don't own that either.
AN: Aforementioned mythology dicking. Yeah. I can't really seem to help myself. Also, unbeta'd, so if there are glaring errors, feel free to point them out.
When Tony woke up the next morning, his head was throbbing and his mouth tasted like he'd been sucking down toxic waste. A heavy pounding echoed through his room, and it took him a minute or two to realize it wasn't actually his head that was pounding. Someone was knocking on his door. His bedroom door. And Majhild always did her covert cleaning thing when he wasn't around.
Half dragging himself off of the mattress, he stumbled over to the door and pulled it open rudely, not caring what he looked like.
"Thor?"
"Stark. My brother has left Asgard."
Tony tamped down the urge to flinch, wondering if Loki had spoken to his brother before going off to do whatever it was he considered theraputic. What did Loki do to vent that rage? Destroy planets, galaxies? How the fuck did he cope? Drinking binges, killing sprees? Primal screaming?
"And?"
"Mother says you both converse. I thought perhaps you would know where he has gone."
Thor looked so hopeful, so innocent and lost, a puppy waiting for someone to take him home. And Tony knew if he told the god the truth (and it was readily obvious Thor didn't know), he'd have worse than a head injury. Thor could be vicious when it came to Loki, and Thor now technically owned him.
He couldn't hide the shudder that ran through him at the sudden, very sobering realization that his situation could, in fact, get so much worse than it already was.
"Sorry buddy, no clue. Loki and I talk, but it's mostly to trade sarcasm."
Thor's face fell and Tony felt Majhild hitting him in the head all over again.
"But he probably won't be gone too long. Anyway. I've got to get ready to go to work."
Thor nodded silently, shoulders visibly drooping as he turned and began walking away. Tony, for his part, resisted the urge to demand that Thor never come into his rooms without knocking, because even though it was Thor, he was possessive of his space. It was probably unhealthy, how territorial he was, but he didn't particularly care. He didn't like being reminded that it was not his home, not really, not his space. And he despised that it meant that anyone of sufficient rank felt they could just walk in whenever they wanted.
Closing the door before Thor had even made it to the antechamber, Tony leaned against it, one hand going to the back of his head to assess the damage of the night before. The tissue had already started knitting together, although there was a discernible ridge that fucking hurt when he traced a finger over it. The textured lines of thread stood out, neat stitches he would have to remove later, or ask Majhild to remove for him. Given everything that had occurred, he wasn't sure if he wanted to bring the night up at all, or remind her of it. He didn't even want to remember. And he doubted she did.
Ignoring the urge to crawl into the shower and never come out, he got dressed and pulled on his boots.
Gone.
"Guess that strikes out the apology," He said to the air, and when nothing responded he remembered that his conscience wasn't boxed up in an AI anymore, at least not where he could get to it.
"Stark, get the hell out of here," Splitlip snapped, glaring at Tony. Elbows braced on the table, beer in hand, Tony looked up from the book he'd been reading saw the dwarve glaring at him, dark eyes almost invisible for the set wrinkles and massive eyebrows.
"Can I just, you know. Stay?"
"You've stayed late for the last two weeks. Some of us have better things to do than watch you."
"Then go do it. I'm not going to cause any problems sitting here reading."
"You haven't eaten."
"I'll be fine," He assured the dwarve, eyes already going back to the book. He did not, under any circumstances, want to admit that he'd been avoiding Asgard. Loki hadn't returned, and Thor hadn't stopped looking for him. Or asking Tony if he knew where Loki had gone. Every morning the same thing, as if 'trading sarcasm' had been secret code for 'best buddies'. It felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop, and since old habits did not die upon actual death, Tony was doing what he had always been amazing at. Avoiding being around when it decided to come down.
"We're supposed to feed you now too?" The dwarve muttered, leaving the room, thick, heavy door slamming shut behind him. Tony didn't pay it any mind, too used to Splitlip's gruffness to take any exception to it. Taking his absence as permission though, he continued reading about one of the forging processes used, mind turning over a foreign concept and finding similarities. It stuck out particularly because it could work for shaping and charging vibranium, which meant he could create the higher yield core. If he could find some, which, while more prevalent off earth, didn't mean it was any more readily available. It wasn't even called vibranium by people outside of Earth, but the characteristics were too similar for it to be anything else.
Puzzling through the conundrum, he jumped when a wooden platter dropped onto the table, the food on it bouncing before a potato rolled off. Catching it in his hand before it could hit the floor, Tony put it back on the platter, more surprised than not to see Split sitting down.
"You seem puzzled."
"Can we synthesize materials?" Tony asked, watching Splitlip take the loaf of bread and tear in half. He accepted the offered bread and watched the dwarve take a bite and chew thoughtfully.
"It would not be impossible, but why would you want to?"
Tony slid the book around, finger tapping on the page.
"The metal that absorbs vibration, it's part of the base of the suit. I don't need to make a lot, but I need it to be shaped and charged."
He began eating, surprised by the flavor of the chewy bread, tasting honey. Splitlip stared at the book, not seeing what was written, probably because he'd memorized it eons ago. But he was thinking, eyes flicking back and forth. Absently they both ate from the platter, Tony not really paying attention to the tastes of what he did eat. Far too focused on Splitlip to care if he had grabbed coal instead of another chunk of bread, he kept an eye on the minute, changing expressions of the dwarve.
"Have you ever created metals before?" Splitlip finally asked. Tony nodded enthusiastically.
"But I had to build a small particle accelerator. I'm not sure I could without my lab equipment." Or Jarvis. Jarvis had kept him from blowing himself and the rest of Malibu into a crater.
"Explain this thing to me," Splitlip commanded.
Tony tried, he really did, but he wasn't used to explaining anything to anyone, much less anything technical, scientific, or both. The explanation itself grew more and more elaborate, all the while losing the important details because he couldn't think in a linear sequence.
"Let me just," He started, opening one of his blank notebooks and reaching into his travel bag for one of the scattered graphite sticks. Quickly sketching out the machine from memory, making it as simple as he could, he turned the book towards Splitlip, who glanced over it.
"You made this thing?" At Tony's nod, he closed the book and stood up. One giant, gnarled hand grabbed the platter and the other held the notebook. "Come with me."
Scrambling from the bench and following the smith, Tony tried to quell the trill of excitement that ran through him when he saw that he was being led past the last door.
Or what he had thought of as the last door. It led only to a corridor, small at first, but growing exponentially in width and height. Other tunnels branched off, from time to time, paths curved up or sloping down to lead into darkness, giving no hint of where or what they led to. The temperature began to noticeably drop as well. By the time they reached a large, metal door, easily as big as one of the doors in Asgard's palace, the corridor had easily doubled Tony's height and the chill was a balm to the heat stored in his muscles. Splitlip pushed at the door as though the thing weighed nothing, gesturing for Tony to walk through before following and closing it behind him.
"You'd best stay close, no wandering off," Splitlip commanded gruffly. "Not many care for an Asgardian walking about down here."
Tony was too busy staring to say anything, nodding dumbly as he looked around him.
An undergound world stretched out in front of him, reminiscent of the anasazi ruins he'd seen back on Earth, only carved into dark stone, teeming with lights and life. If Asgard was gold, this was slate, though no less elaborate. Each arch echoed the architectural grace of cathedrals, hints of light softening the edges into a blur while casting shadows that stretched into corners, giving them a fathomless, almost forbidding depth. Dwarves moved, completely unaware of him, a whole city alive and tied together by the had lines of stone ledges and too fragile looking rope bridges. He heard the sound of water and searched for the source, unable to see that far down into the darkness.
"You look a bit queer."
"I didn't read anything about this," Tony admitted, wondering how long it had taken to engineer the city.
Split made a dismissive sound. "The Æsir don't much care how we live, long as we can supply them with weapons," He grunted, walking past Tony. Wanting to stop and stare and comprehend, Tony hesitantly followed, head turning in every possible direction to get a feel for the place.
"This is, this is impressive," Tony told him. He didn't imagine the shape of the beard changing, hinting at a smile as Splitlip nodded.
"The cities are the heart of Svartálfaheimr. We've got farmer's above, but down here is home, 'specially for the smiths."
"Are all of the forges connected?"
"No, would weaken the world to do it . Each city has it's own mine and forge," The dwarve explained as he led Tony past an open, unguarded door into one of the buildings carved into a cliff face. "We do most of the work for Asgard, the others focus on commerce and trade, or creating weapons for our own."
"So it's a system," Tony asked, wondering where Asgard's blacksmiths fell on the hierarchy.
"'Tis. Now here," Split said, opening another door. It opened to a large room with a few tables against the wall and a few sitting benches. "Is a proper workroom. This one's been empty since Sindri's time. It's yours if-" The dwarve said with emphasis. "If you prove you're smarter than you look."
"Got any paper?" Tony asked, not bothering to curb or hide his enthusiasm. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the challenge, although it was probably the first time he wasn't accepting one with malicious intent.
Split dropped the platter and notebook on the table and sat down, waiting for Tony to sit next to him. Giving up any pretense of hesitation, Tony opened the book, pulled the graphite pencil from where it had smeared while the book had closed and turned to a new page.
He drew what he knew best, the thing he'd created over and over, tweaked for one purpose or another. It didn't take long, even making diagrams and giving explanations for each piece. Splitlip didn't say anything, didn't give a hint of approval or disapproval. Not sweating the silence, Tony gave information on output, hoping the dwarve would recognize terms but not bothering to add explanations for those. It was comfortable, drawing it out bordering on meditative.
When he finished, he slid the book over and sat the graphite down, then reached for one of the potatoes, realizing he was still hungry.
"This is a good piece of work," Splitlip said, nodding thoughtfully.
"My dad made the prototype, inefficient, large. I miniaturized it, put it to use."
"Haven't seen much like it. Even Eitri hasn't brought around something like this, and he's one of the best of us. Travels sometimes too, and if he'd found anything akin to this, we'd have all seen it."
"So do I get my own room?"
"Tell me," Splitlip said instead. "Why'd you decide to use it."
Tony froze, the words settling in his throat. Sure Split was probably the closest he had to a friend off Earth, but he'd never told anyone beyond the bare minimum, and he wasn't sure the dwarve would accept just that.
Several minutes passed, Splitlip saying nothing but staring thoughtfully at him. Tony was reminding himself that it was no longer a part of his body, a secret to keep buried deep down for the sake of survival.
Except it was still survival, still secret. And Split felt friendly, but then, Obie had too.
"I was dying. I had bits of metal near my heart. That," He said, tapping the paper. "Powered an electromagnet, that kept it in place."
"And this armor you keep mentioning?"
"It was a power source for it."
Splitlip nodded thoughtfully again, accepting the bare truth and apparently not caring for much more.
"You're not as stupid as most Æsir."
"Thanks," Tony said, a wry chuckle escaping.
"You still have to learn the basics before I'll set you loose trying to make summat like that," He told him, pointing at the arc reactor. "Figure you'll be able to find your way on your own after a bit pf practice. Do that tomorrow, maybe the day after. I've got to let the others know, so they don't cave your fool head in for wandering in. Get some tools for you too. You'll need 'em."
"Sounds awesome," Tony said, already impatient.
"Until then, get your ass back to Asgard. Don't much blame you for avoiding it, but you can't stay here. I'll see you back."
And like that he was up, expecting Tony to follow. Hesitantly, regretfully, Tony followed him back into the corridor, through the building and back into the open heart of the mountain. They didn't pass by anyone, and Tony wondered if the smiths stayed separate from the rest of the dwarve population, or if it was just a workspace for them so they could plan their creations in relative peace.
"Why do you guys hang out in the forge after working?" He finally asked, as they walked through the door separating the entrance to the forge from the rest of the city. It was the only path he could see leading to the forge itself, cut off from everywhere else except the building his new workshop was located.
"Transition sickness. The temperatures change too much, and we're not built to take it. Get sick otherwise."
That made sense. Tony loved the abrupt chill, how it sank into his skin and combated the heat, but he was also different from the dwavres on a physiological level. And he hadn't tried to go from one to the other abruptly either.
Once back in the small commons room, Splitlip gave him a quiet nod, possibly moving his chin only to direct Tony back through the forge. Shouldering his pack, Tony gave a genial nod and reminded himself that attempting to sneak back in after Splitlip was gone would probably end in the loss of the workroom.
The walk back was quicker than he remembered, Heimdall's name falling thoughtless from his mouth as he turned back to stare down the pass, wishing he was back in the workroom. His workroom, something that didn't belong to Asgard. Maybe not his in a complete sense, but he had a feeling the dwarves would respect his space more than the Æsir had thus far. And he could stay there as much as he wanted.
The ground lurched and he spun, stomach twisting in the familiar knots before he was on his feet again, steady and sure. Heimdall nodded impassively, not even a hint of a smile to give away that he had seen everything. And Tony knew he had, the gatekeeper seemed more aware of his movements than anyone, including himself. Giving a halfhearted wave, Tony didn't bother with greeting or farewell. Walking out into the night, the night still too bright to be true night, Tony considered everything he would need, what Splitlip was offering him.
Most of all he thought about how Splitlip hadn't just admired the arc reactor, but understood it, comprehended it. On a good day some engineers could keep up with the impossible ideas presented without their brain attempting to melt into a puddle of ooze. More importantly, Splitlip understanding the arc reactor meant it could be created in the forges. It might take a bit more work, but it was possible, even if he wasn't entirely sure how yet.
A world of possibilities opened up, exciting because of the novelty. The dwarves didn't use computers, didn't have AI, and that meant a new way of doing everything. And even if it was inefficient, it was better than attempting to create everything, AI included, from the ground up.
Wrapped up in his personal bubble of curiosity and itching fingers, Tony made it through the city and into the palace like a zombie, startled out of his reverie when a strong hand grabbed his shoulder.
Fight instincts won over flight, and he was grappling with Thor suddenly, swinging the Asgardian away and into the wall, forearm held across his throat and adrenaline kicking in a moment too late. Bewilderment gave way to a surprised smile, the corners of Thor's eyes crinkling in amusement as Tony let his arm drop, perceived threat passed.
"Few have managed to surprise me so," Thor admitted, not a sign of humility present. There was a genuine pleasure stretching his lips in a boyish grin, blue eyes lit up with equally childish excitement. The comment itself was the equivalent of praise, some of the highest Thor could give, and Tony wasn't entirely sure how to take it, caught off guard by the fact that he had moved Thor, the Asgardian he hadn't been able to elbow to any effect unless he'd had the suit.
"Right back at ya Point Break."
"I was just on my way to speak to you. Perhaps-"
"I have no clue where he went," Tony snipped testily, interrupting Thor before he could ask again.
"I know," Thor rumbled, looking pleased with himself. "But before I depart for Midgard, I wish to see him again. Perhaps you would join me?"
Tony was ready to shoot the offer down immediately, except his brain, for once, acted more quickly than his mouth. Thor looked like a puppy, eager to please and excited, feet shuffling to give away his own restless energy. The Asgardian had always wanted to show the Avengers the other realms, but hadn't been able to. Inter-dimensional travel was entirely off limits to everyone but the Hulk, and Bruce had shot down Thor's puppy eyed request with a an almost panicked swiftness.
Travel meant escape, at least for awhile. And going to find Loki meant that, if Thor found Loki, he'd be able to speak in his own defense. If he was at least present to defend himself, he might manage to escape the whole situation without leaving blood smeared on anymore walls.
He didn't want to deal with Loki again, possibly ever. But logic dictated he go, if only to get a better view off Asgard. And he'd barely had any time alone with Thor since first starting his apprenticeship.
"Sure. Just let me drop off my stuff."
"I shall meet you at the stables then!" Thor boomed, excitement making his voice rise and ricochet off of the golden walls of the corridor. He was striding away, cape snapping and Tony nodded before the word stables crashed down on him with all the subtlety of, well, Thor.
"Fucking horses," Tony muttered, hurrying to his rooms and stowing his things. He wanted to shower, even going so far as to strip down for a quick rinse before discarding the idea and splashing water on his face and arms before opening the trunk. Automatically reaching for the clothing on the top, he pulled it on, lamenting the loss of the lighter clothing he normally wore. But Thor had remarked on the clothing before, as if confused by the idea of wearing anything simple and lacking at least half a dozen buckles and straps.
Not giving himself anytime to second guess his decision, he made his way through the palace. Thor was waiting for him by the stables, staring down at Sif. The woman's head was tilted up, expression grim and mouth moving through the exaggerated shapes that belied anger. Armored shoulders were tense, and one fist was clenched around the reins of Thor's horse.
She looked ready to punch Thor, or, being denied that by the simple inconvenience of height, the horse.
"Hey, you ready?"
Brown eyes zeroed in on him, filled with equal measures of exasperation and disgust.
"You cannot think to go with only him," She snipped testily.
"Be at ease, Sif. These are peaceful times," Thor assured, none of his earlier joviality diminished by Sif's too obvious anger. Tony wasn't sure how to take the comment, considering Thor hadn't assured her Tony could take care of himself, at least. "Stark, your mount" His friend added, smile bleeding through into his voice as he jerked his chin. The white horse was waiting, saddle ready. Tony walked past Sif, cavalier smile firmly in place. Pulling himself up with considerably more grace than he had managed before, he made eye contact with the angry goddess for a moment before looking back at Thor.
"Where to?"
"Vanaheim."
"Lead the way."
"Thor, I would advise against this," Sif tried, but the reins were pulled from her hands and Thor's booming laughter answered as he waved goodbye. Tony didn't bother with a farewell, although a petulant, childish part of himself overruled any notion of maturity, a smirk firmly plastered on his face as he stared straight ahead, Sif's brown hair bobbing briefly in his vision before it was gone altogether.
Night as Asgard knew it was falling, the habitual warriors and carousers walking the streets, children and vendors notably absent. Thor fell back, matching pace with him.
"Vanaheim is different from Asgard, Stark," Thor began, excitement adding an impatient edge to his words. "Asgard is the most beautiful of all realms, but for the hunt, not even our forests can compare." Thor continued on while Tony listened, half remembering stories about hunting Thor had brought up in the past. He'd mentioned Vanaheim, but Tony had thought of it as a part of Asgard. Apparently he hadn't done enough research into mythology, not that what little he had done was doing him any good.
Catching the pause when Thor stopped talking to breathe, Tony cut in with the question that had been niggling at him since seeing Sif in the stables.
"Why doesn't she want you going alone?"
Thor shrugged, obviously not thinking much of Sif's concern. "There are those that would call the Æsir and Vanir uneasy allies, but it is nothing. The war is long past, and we have forged stronger bonds for it. Sif only knows stories and her distrust."
A sidelong glance at the thunder god proved that he believed what he was saying, not a shadow of concern or doubt crossing his features.
"So Loki's been hanging out with them?"
"There is an Asgardian there, Mimir the Wise. If Loki is on Vanaheim, Mimir will know where he is, although he will most likely be with him."
Not questioning Thor as they left the city behind and moved down the path of the Bifrost, Tony let him go on and on about Mimir, brain filtering out the useless information and catching what stood out. The adjectives were ignored in favor of the historical bits Thor let slip. The end of the war between the Vanir and Æsir, negotiations, and hostage exchange, and that was exactly what it sounded like. Good faith collateral, no matter how nicely Thor dressed it up. It was only diplomacy if a war didn't hinge on anyone dying.
Which begged the question of who in Asgard happened to be Vanir. There weren't any names that jumped out at him, although he wondered if Frigga was Vanir, if she had been a part of the peace treaty.
Heimdall greeted them with a nod, already turning to walk into the observatory. The horses ambled in easily, tails swishing as the room began to spin. Only angry nickering marked their passage before they were standing on solid ground again. Tony looked up, surprised by the thick canopy overhead blocking light, allowing only scattered beams through to the forest floor.
"Welcome to Vanaheim, Stark," Thor chuckled, smiling like a child showing his friend a secret.
Tony didn't see anything terribly special about the place. Not much different than a forest on Earth, sounds were muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves and scattered undergrowth. The only exceptional thing was the height of the trees, towering far above him, almost dizzying when he looked up to catch an open spot where light beamed down to break the shade.
"It's day here."
"It is," Thor answered, voice amiable.
"So, Vanaheim runs on different time than Asgard and Svartálfaheimr?"
"All experience time differently," Thor told him, but didn't bother elaborating beyond that. Too curious about his surroundings to press the issue, Tony followed behind, eyes scanning the forest, seeing nothing more than, granted profuse, undergrowth and occasional fallen trees.
More used to silence than he would like, he wasn't perturbed by the quiet. Slowly he began to notice the scents of rotting vegetation stirred up by the horses, leaves composting down, and damp, as if it had recently rained. Green dominated the scenery, even beneath the canopy where, by all rights, there should have only been a scattering of it. But new trees were growing, unusually shaped leaves green and healthy. Scattered shrubs and vines were vivid splashes of color against the dead and decaying browns and blacks. Moss, brighter green and eyecatching, crept along the fallen logs and up the trees like snakes. Flashes of what he assumed to be blue fungi clung to scattered trees, distracting and only provoking a mild curiosity.
Thor remained silent, leading them through the forest without offering any more stories or memories. As unusual as it was for the god to remain silent for longer than a few minutes, Tony didn't attempt breaking through the quiet. The horse, smarter than he wanted to credit, followed without any direction on his part.
There were only hints to other life he could catch, sounds that filtered through his perusing of the forest. Thor was probably catching more of whatever it was that hunters looked for. The bestiary he'd read months before had given descriptions of different fauna for Vanaheim, but nothing in the way of visual aid, and he was a little disappointed when they came to the edge of the wood and saw the spread of a village opening up to them.
And it was definitely a village. Everything he'd expected of Asgard he found laid out in front of him. It looked like something out of a documentary, a reconstruction of history. The buildings looked sturdy, clean, with none of the detritus of everyday life clinging to the walls to darken the light grain of the wood. People passed by in almost normal clothing, more normal than Tony was used to seeing on Asgard at least, and none of them looked at Thor and him at all. It was intentional, the not looking, not seeing them, and Tony was reminded of 'uneasy allies'. Maybe Sif had been right.
Thor led them to one of the smaller buildings, sliding off of his horse with practiced ease. Tony followed suit, eyes darting back and forth, unable to stop himself from evaluating the threat level. And there was, however minute, a feeling of threat in the obvious 'you're not wanted here' not-staring that might have been worse than open gawking. Not bothering to knock, Thor stepped inside, Tony only hesitating for a moment before stepping into the house after him.
"Prince," A low, smooth voice murmured. Tony followed the sound to the far end of the longhouse, where an old man sat at a table, food laid out across it. Dressed in rustic, simple clothing, with long white hair pulled back in braids, he looked every bit the old viking sans beard. Light shone in through the window next to him, cutting across his face and revealing intricate strands of dark ink that started at his hairline and worked down his face and neck.
Loki was nowhere to be seen.
"Mimir. How fare you?" Thor rumbled, obviously happy to see the other Asgardian.
"Well, as always, Thor. You have brought company."
"This is Stark, my war brother from Midgard," Thor declared, easy joy doubling in the span of the statement as his arm swept to Tony, as if presenting him, and he probably was. Tony gave a nod, not sure if he was meeting a diplomat or a prisoner. The house looked nice enough, well furnished and clean. But it was small, and in Tony's experience, diplomats liked to remind the locals that they were Very Important People. Nothing about Mimir marked him as an Asgardian away from home.
"Now of Asgard, or so I hear."
"Via crazy explosions and magic," Tony answered amiably. "Lots of pretty lights, no angelic choirs though. Bit disappointed about that, to be honest."
Mimir, with his long white hair pulled back from his face in a tangle of braids and beads, only looked amused, as though he got every reference Tony had just made. His wizened face was wrinkled into a smile, the almost disconcerting lack of a beard refreshing, his expression open.
"Asgard has no angels, merely valkyries. And their music is not something one wants to hear more than once."
"The drum and bass number?" Tony replied easily, and it was kind of fun, talking to someone that at least pretended to understand his references. But Mimir looked caught off guard by the casual remark, as if Tony had said something truly astounding. A quick glance at Thor showed that the Asgardian looked equally uncomfortable. "What?"
"It is a rare thing, to remember their song," Mimir said slowly. "Have a seat, Thor, Stark."
Both sat at the table, Tony staring at the place settings. Four of them. Four wooden plates and goblets. Obviously they had been expected, and someone else was still coming. He made an idle wish, hoping it wouldn't be Loki. Maybe some other god, or hell, a fairy. It seemed like a world for fairies to live on.
"You've come for your brother."
"I have. I return to Midgard shortly. I wish to see him again before I take my leave."
"He is currently out on the land, though he should return by day's end. Tell me of Asgard, Thor. Your brother says little."
"I know barely more than you," Thor admitted sheepishly. "Though much remains unchanged."
Mimir nodded thoughtfully, reaching into a pocket and pulling free a pipe that could not, by any natural laws, have been inside of said pocket. A pouch emerged next and he opened it, quickly packing a mixture of something into the bowl, tamping it down with his thumb. "And have you any stories to tell of Asgard, Stark?" The god put the pouch away and blew lightly on the bowl, a flame licking at the dried herbs and blackening them. He blew it out and stuck the pipe in his mouth, blue eyes moving to pin Tony down.
"I don't spend a lot of time in Asgard."
Brows rose, an indication of surprise that seemed disingenuous at best. A puff of smoke that smelled like flowers and something else unknown tainted the air with a gray cloud. "And where do you spend it?"
"Svartálfaheimr."
"With the dwarves?"
Tony nodded, waiting for the typical look of slack confusion, but it never came. Mirmir nodded slowly, seemingly impressed.
"They don't take kindly to most of us. You are a blacksmith, then."
"Stark is an honored warrior," Thor rumbled, a quick defense that sounded lame even to Tony's ears.
"I was an engineer on earth. I fight best when I make my own armor and weapons."
Mirmir didn't look any more impressed than he had before, but there was an air of approval.
"I have heard much of Midgard. Tell me what it is like, within the forges of the dwarves. I am sure much has changed since Sindri's rule."
Tony knew the dwarves weren't keen on any of the Æsir, and he had no idea how they would feel about him blabbering about the forges.
"Hot." Thor made a disapproving sound at the short answer, but Tony didn't give in to the wordless reprimand.
"Which city boasts your forge?" Mimir didn't seem fazed at all, continuing to puff away at his pipe, entirely zen about the whole thing. Tony wondered if it was the vanic equivalent of pot. It would explain a lot.
"I-" Tony paused, mouth hanging open before he slammed it shut. That Mimir knew about the cities was a little surprising. But what bothered Tony was that he had no clue what city the fore was attached to. "No clue, actually. I only got my own workshop today. Yesterday," He corrected, wondering if it was actually correct at all. Mimir only nodded that knowing, contemplative smile while smoke puffed into the air. Tony was reminded of Pepper's perfume for a moment, something floral triggering the memory of hugging her, the last hug they'd had, the break up, 'no, you go be happy, I'm happy for you' hug.
As much as he'd hated it then, he'd do a considerable amount of damage to just about anyone to get another one.
"You didn't mention this," Thor rumbled, obviously at a loss.
"Didn't seem important. Just a workspace. Split said the training wheels are coming off though. I get to start working soon."
"An asgardian esteemed in the eyes of the dwarves is not unimportant," Mimir chuckled. "They hold little love for us, unsurprising given everything that once transpired, long before either of you were born."
Tony didn't want to consider how old the god sitting across from him actually was. Splitlip was old, ancient, and the war had been before he was born. Christ, how slowly did the Æsir age?
"Go me?" He finally asked, voice flat. Mimir smiled at him gamely.
"You are a rare individual Stark. I would hear more of your tale."
"I doubt he would need invitation to speak of himself," Loki said from behind them.
"That hurts," Tony said, hand going to his chest even as he twisted to face Loki. "You make me sound like some sort of narcissist."
"It is the most complimentary thing I could call you, Stark," Loki snapped. He looked mostly unruffled, hair tied back and asgardian leathers eschewed in favor of something more norse-themed, similar to Mimir's almost rustic clothing. It was startling, the difference it made, the lack of a power suit (whether it was the leathers or the magically tailored to fit number from Stuttgart) made him look more approachable. Almost, Tony thought to himself with no small amount of irony, human.
Most of all, he didn't look like he wanted to beat Tony's head into another wall, not a trace of red in his eyes to be seen.
"You've returned early. And you errand, did everything go as smoothly as hoped?"
"As well as can be expected, though it is complete," Loki replied, a sense of indifference at odds with the tensing of his shoulders.
Thor didn't stand, but he was smiling at Loki, and it was almost painful to watch, from Tony's perspective at least. How Thor managed to continue smiling like that when Loki coldly ignored him was a mystery, and not for the first time Tony thanked the powers that be that at least his life had been spared the sibling angst.
"I did not know you came to Vanaheim for a working," Thor said, so eagerly curious Tony wondered at him.
"Because I did not bother telling you," Loki replied, voice chill as he sat across from Thor, automatically reaching for a green, polished apple. Thor, either oblivious to or uncaring of his brother's disdain, continued on, latching onto the 'working' and asking several questions at once. Loki let them all pass him by completely, a dagger appearing in his hands so he could begin carving the apple into quarters, and then eighths. The slivers of core were easily discarded onto one of the wooden plates before Loki began eating. Thor's questions stopped, but Loki continued to eat with a single minded efficiency.
"You always were starved after a working," Thor finally said, voice fond with a hint of nostalgia.
And whatever had been hidden in that statement was enough for Loki's eyes to narrow and lips to thin. Something angry and almost hateful flashed across his expression before Mimir cleared his throat, looking thoroughly unconcerned by the sudden increase in tension.
"Your brother is behind on Asgard's events, Loki. Perhaps you could tell us all, considering neither I nor Stark seem to spend much time there either." It was said with a hint of a smile, completely at odds with the quiet command Tony heard threaded through the words.
Tony waited for Loki to say something along the lines of 'Stark had a wonderful time dredging up the thought of my dead or stolen children', but it never happened. Loki apathetically recited current events in Asgard, offering no commentary when Thor and Mimir made their own observations. Throughout the discussion, Loki ate, although Tony couldn't actually recall seeing the god lift food to his mouth more than half a dozen times. But the food on the table quickly vanished, and even though he hadn't had a chance to eat, Tony didn't bother with taking his chances reaching for anything, fairly certain he'd end up with a knife through his hand.
Loki made a point not to look at him, or even speak to him. An hour, maybe two passed, and it was almost masterful, how easily Loki only said a few words every now and again but appeared to lead the conversation. By the time all of the food was gone and Mimir was packing his pipe again, true night had fallen and the conversation had become forced, almost awkward. Thor tried pushing and Loki resisted, either having nothing else to say or refusing to say anything beyond a syllable or two.
"You two go for a walk. The practice field should do. You're making the air antsy."
Tony wanted to say something about that, wanted to keep Loki and Thor right next to him, because the minute they were out of sight, he was pretty sure any chance of explaining what had happened went with them.
Loki looked ready to protest, mouth opening, but Thor was standing so quickly his chair almost fell and striding for the door, all billowing cape and general good cheer. Mimir jerked his chin at Thor, and like magic (and damned if it wasn't magical) Loki did as he was told. Once the door was closed, Tony turned to Mimir with something akin to awe. For a moment he even forgot about the impending beatdown he'd be receiving from Thor.
"They don't even listen to Odin that well." He didn't even bother trying to hide the note of admiration in his voice.
"I've known those two as long as they've known their father," Mirmir told him, shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal. And maybe it wasn't. Loki was at least cordial with Mimir, if not friendly. But there had been something like deference in Loki;s actions, and he'd only ever seen that with Frigga. "Doesn't matter. You, I'm very curious about you, Stark of Asgard."
"Everyone seems really big on the geological locations," Tony quipped.
"They matter to most. I rarely give such assignations such weight as others do. But you're a different case altogether."
"How so?"
"You are the first einherjar that does not belong to the king or queen," Mirmir began, lighting his pipe. "And you retain the memories of your mortal life."
"I take it that's a big deal?"
"It is almost unprecedented. Few have been allowed into Asgard with the memories of their mortal lives intact. Most have been in Asgard so long they have forgotten those memories." Mimir paused long enough for the statement to sink in, to become uncomfortable in it's insinuation. Even as Tony tried to assure himself that he would be back on Earth soon, he wouldn't be 'mortal' anymore. Would he forget what that was like someday? Would he be able to stay 'Tony' after centuries of life? Or would he turn into Thor, who loved humanity but still considered himself a superior species?
"Loki says Gondul brought you to Asgard," Mimir added thoughtfully, after the pause had stretched into an eternity of apprehensive quiet. "Those that know of her, know she only chose sorcerers and magicians, though she rarely picked at all. She chose fewer still, after it was realized that those spirits were made into healers."
"You're kidding." What a waste. Odin used magic, Loki used magic. Frigga did, and he was sure the other gods, at least, used it occasionally.
"Not at all. Magicians and sorcerers may die in battle, but they do not have the same spirit, the same mindset as traditional heroes, at least, so it is considered. Their true power lay within their magic. And human magics are fickle, and require energy outside of one's self. It's almost useless compared to the magic that the Vanir command, and einherjar are more often than not unable to learn it. So they are given a pittance of power, and learn only how to heal the damage done to Asgard's warriors."
"What about the Æsir, since there seems to be a distinction?"
"There are Æsir that can learn magic, but few are inclined to."
"Despite the fact that Odin uses magic?"
Mimir chuckled, a cloud of smoke escaping at the same time. He leaned back in his chair, relaxing instead of tensing at the question. "The All Father is not most Æsir, Stark. A king must be willing to use all tools at his disposal."
"So, I mean, if you don't mind me asking, why is everyone so touchy about Loki using magic? He's a prince, so logically, him using magic wouldn't be that unusual."
Puffing thoughtfully, Mimir's eyes flicked briefly, chasing one thought, and then another. He took his time before finally answering. "To the Æsir, magic is a woman's tool, for the few that can learn it. Odin, the All Father, taking up it's use is seen as necessity. In war, it is Gungnir that he uses, not magic. The people do not see him using magic, at least not often. Even his blessings appear as nothing more than the benevolent wishes of a father rewarding his children. Loki has always shown a preference for magic, whether obvious or sly. And it is that blatant preference that gives the Æsir pause. When I last explored Midgard, they called poison a woman's weapon."
The segue caught Tony off guard, and he tried to correlate the two, failing miserably because magic was nothing like poison, nothing like the creeping, hidden slowness he'd experienced.
"It was because a woman could not readily take up a sword or shield, could not fight in honorable combat. It implied that a woman must be sly, must lie and cheat to accomplish their own ends. Magic is much like poison in the eyes of the Æsir, slipping past the established rules of honor."
"Sounds more like efficiency to me," Tony answered easily. "After all, why go to war when you can kill the king with his own dinner? It seems more honorable and all that to spare a bunch of men the experience of dying over a bunch of bullshit."
"And yet Asgard is a world of warriors who spent their lives fighting, hoping to die in battle."
Tony withheld the sarcastic comment ready to leap out of his mouth in favor of a raised eyebrow and a long, hard stare. Mimir, damn him, seemed unaffected. At any rate, he didn't expound any further on the topic, switching gears abruptly and finding the thread of their previous topic with ease.
"You are not a sorcerer, not a magician, yet Gondul brought you to Asgard. It's strange, to say the least. That you remember your mortal life raises it's own questions. I was there, when the first were chosen. They came out of their deaths wild, crazed. None died easy deaths, and those memories were too much for their minds to handle. A mind that remembers the body's death is a broken one, at least, in most cases. Odin was forced to erase the memory of their deaths, and then, after more tribulation, their memories as mortals altogether."
"So, what? I'm a special case?"
"Perhaps Odin knew his son would remember you as who you were, and acted accordingly. One rarely knows with Odin. It is a puzzle, that he would chance such, given prior results."
Tony eyed the god shrewdly, surprised by his candor. Several somethings weren't adding up, but damned if he could figure out which 'something' to start with.
"You don't come off like a lot of the Æsir I've come across."
"Time and distance do wonders for perspective," Mimir replied without pause, though however lightly said, there was a sense of rancor Tony caught, a hint of bad blood not entirely forgotten. Feeling like he'd toed across the line without realizing, he plowed ahead anyway, because that's what he did, and Mimir was the first nonthreatening, if Yoda-like, Asgardian he'd met.
"You refer to the Æsir as 'them'."
"I made my choice long ago, Stark. Everyone makes a choice of where they belong, sooner or later. Even you will, when the time comes. I think your memories will allow nothing less."
"You make it sound so promising."
"It rarely is, especially for one who challenges the established order. Although it is rarely dull," Mirmir chuckled wryly, and for the first time since meeting the god, Tony had the impression of a grim, dry humor. And he liked it.
By the time Loki and Thor returned, neither looking worse for the wear physically, aside from a black eye swollen shut (Thor, obviously), Tony felt half relaxed with Mimir, not at all like he was talking with an Asgardian. If anything, it felt like he was talking to Gandalf. A Gandalf with no beard and a dash of Strange's dry humor, but none of the condescending priggishness. And it was Strange they were discussing. Tony was listening to a truly classic case of bad timing concerning the Sorcerer Supreme's last visit to Vanaheim while drinking a vanic wine that pulled free easy laughter in the haze of a light, pleasant buzz.
Loki looked distinctly nonplussed, Thor appeared grim, and Tony remembered at that exact moment that Loki had probably told Thor about the breaking of Odin's decree. His smile fell immediately and the slight buzz from the wine evaporated, leaving him instantly sober.
"I think it best to take our leave," Thor rumbled. Tony saw that Mjölnir was strapped at Thor's side and wondered if he was going to wait until they were in the woods, alone. No one would point fingers at their prince to begin with, much less when it was Asgard's resident newbie, out in another world for the first time. Thor could say he'd gotten lost, that he'd gotten separated. Or he could even use the tension between the two worlds, blaming the Vanir for doing any number of things. Things that wouldn't really be worth starting a war over.
"Stark, are you coming?" Thor urged, obviously more than ready to depart, as though he'd never been excited about showing Tony Vanaheim at all.
'No,' Tony thought with a touch of hysteria, but nodded anyway, turning to Mimir, who was watching the proceedings with something akin to amusement.
"Nice meeting you man. It's been real."
"You are welcome on Vanaheim," Mimir told him. There were no handshakes, and it was about as formal a farewell as the situation warranted. Or maybe the ultra rigid formality of Asgard was starting to skew his sense of formal and informal to begin with (and that thought was damn uncomfortable). But he got up and passed Loki, who was already making for the table, face set in a mask of apathy.
Tony stepped out, surprised to see that it was like night on Earth, a true night, not the edge of dusk night that Asgard experienced.
Thor, uncharacteristically silent, pulled himself astride and waited for Tony, but only barely. He was off just as Tony got into the saddle, navigating his way through the darkened village without even looking back.
Dread coiled in Tony's stomach, churned with nausea, pitched and rolled and knotted all at the same time. A thousand excuses sprang to mind, all of them involving Loki being a dick in some form or fashion, which meant they'd be ignored, most likely.
Christ, the silence was killing him, the waiting for a reaction, something, anything, from Thor. His pulse was tripping into overload, thumping in his ears and he was sweating.
It wasn't until they'd reached the spot Heimdall had dropped them at that they were side by side, and Tony could barely discern Thor's expression in the dark. However, Thor didn't immediately call for Heimdall, which either meant he was too lost in thought to, or he didn't want to return to Asgard yet.
"Hey Hammertime, you alright?"
Thor's head tilted, an outline in the darkness and little more, what scant moonlight filtered through the canopy above hitting his hair. It was an eerie picture, if nothing else. And not in the least bit reassuring.
"My brother will not return to Asgard, even though his task is finished," Thor finally managed. Tony could hear teeth grinding together and couldn't help but silently question how a hammer to his bare skull would feel in comparison to Loki and a metal wall.
It wasn't that he was suicidal. The pressure was just too much, the feeling of walking on eggshells too foreign to his own nature. He didn't like the thought of perpetually waiting, constantly on guard for what could be coming. And if provoking Thor's temper was the only way to just get it over with, then that was the way to go. "He give any reason why?"
"No."
Tony started, surprised. He'd been sure Loki would have sold him out the minute he'd had the chance. But he hadn't.
"Heimdall!" Thor's voice boomed, like thunder striking the earth. Obviously he was pissed, the barely held fury making his voice resonate through the darkness.
The spinning lurch was more disorienting for the sudden light, nauseating as it enveloped and blinded him. The observatory was still slowing to a complete stop when Thor urged his horse to the exit. Tony followed, too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice if the gods exchanged any words in passing or not.
A brief glance up showed Thor looking down at his hands, his entire body sagging beneath a weight Tony couldn't see and didn't understand (didn't want to understand).
Fuck. He had done this. Before he'd opened his mouth, Loki and Thor had at least been talking, tolerant of each other. And now-
He risked looking up ahead at Thor, making no move to catch up.
Instead of relief, the oily taste of guilt sat on his tongue, caustic and unrelenting.