The room remains in silence as Stark's words are sinking in.
Then there is a broad smile from Brynhjalf, full of beaming benevolence and relief. What Stark is demanding is of negligible value and consequence. As head negotiator, the man is fully authorized to bequeath such insignificant property of the Crown's in a trade bargain. Stark might as well have asked for one of the decorative but ubiquitous crystal flower pots standing in the corner.
The recently so tense atmosphere is immediately lightened, like the gathering of black thunder clouds giving way to a clear blue summer sky. The deal is saved and Vanaheim will have their coveted weapons.
"But of course, Lord Stark. The slave is yours, should you wish for him. We will include him in our deal as well." Brynhjalf inclines his head in acknowledgement of this change of conditions. "Will you then accept the terms as previously laid out, with this addition?"
"I accept."
And with that, the deal is closed. The blueprints and projector now belong to the Vanir, and the books – and Loki – to Stark.
And Loki's heart is beating wildly where he's kneeling in his corner. He did not see this coming at all. Why has Stark asked for him? Does he believe that Loki in his magic-less state will somehow still be able to assist him in making use of the knowledge contained in those books? Or is it simply Stark's vengeful side that has made this decision, loath to forgo the continued opportunity to have his old enemy serving meekly at his feet?
Loki's mouth is suddenly very dry.
The formalities are now over and done with, Brynhjalf having spoken some final words of good wishes for the fortune and their continued amiable relations and friendship. People still mill around, though, as they often do on occasions like this, conversing lightly with each other or waiting for the opportunity to exchange a few words and further well-wishes with Stark.
A fat middle-aged man, almost as wide is he is tall, comes waddling over to Stark, the sword at his side – which he probably has no clue how to use – bumping rhythmically against his thigh as he walks.
"Ah, Lord Stark, let me congratulate you on a bargain well made. Vanaheim will be treasuring your ingenious defence inventions for generations to come." His manifold chins wobble excitedly.
"Thanks. Glad to be of service and all." Stark is patient and polite with each well-wisher, the experienced professionalism born from frequenting these kinds of settings shining brightly, even though he's no doubt aching to return to his chambers to start leafing through his books. Not that he will be able to read them without his disembodied servant to help him, but still.
"And let me also say, I think Loki being handed over to you is very fair. He might still not have paid his debts to Vanaheim, but the debt he owes your realm is even greater."
"Yup, I totally agree he should be doing the rest of that paying in Midgard."
Loki isn't so sure exactly how Stark is planning for him to do that paying, but he supposes he will find out soon enough.
Next comes Lord Veidar, and Loki feels a surge of anger that he quickly stifles, still remembering their last misfortunate encounter when the man soaked him with the contents of Loki's cleaning bucket.
"My best well-wishes, Lord Stark." He bows curtly. "May both your books and your… other acquisition serve you well."
Stark offers him a toothy grin. "Well, I'm sure the books will, at least."
"I hope you don't take offence to a small recommendation, made with the best of intentions." Lord Veidar glances towards Loki, a disdainful grimace marring his already unpleasant face. "I fully understand why you asked for that particular slave, of course, but let me warn you that he is disobedient as well as disrespectful. He should be kept on a tight leash and disciplined frequently."
Stark's grin grows toothier. "Thanks for the friendly warning, but I don't think I'll have too much of a problem keeping him in line."
Loki's hands twist where they're lying in his lap. No, Stark won't have any problem with that. He'll be good. He won't dare to be anything else.
Other well-wishers file by. Thankfully they all address Stark only; no one offers him any insults or mockery, like many would have in the past. Because now he belongs to Stark.
Except that it's not Stark for him anymore. It's Master Stark.
The thought is disconcerting, that he actually has a master now. There are of course plenty of privately owned slaves in Vanaheim, but here in the castle all the slaves belong to the Crown and are part of the general staff, working where they are needed. While any free person, including the servants, may give a slave an order and expect it to be obeyed, he has never been expected to cater to the personal wishes and desires of a specific individual. Never had a master.
He wonders how different that will be from his previous life. From now on, there will be no overseer to hover above him with no other task than to make sure that the slaves under his command are kept in line. There will only be one person he has to please, whose orders he will have to follow.
Of course, that servant voice will still be able to watch his every doing and report any misdemeanour of his to their master. But he resolves that there will not be any misdemeanours for it to report. He can't afford that.
Then there is a hand on his shoulder, giving him a shake. Startled, he looks up.
"I said, get up. We're done here," Stark says and then points towards the table. "And you get the honour of carrying my books back to my room."
There are so many things he would have liked to ask Stark now that they're back in the guest chambers, the man studying the books with rapt attention. Not that he's likely to understand anything, but perhaps he can still on some level sense the power imbued in those runes, despite his lack of magic.
But he has no words to form for Stark, neither in speech nor in writing. He resolves that once he gets to Midgard, he will relearn their alphabet. If Stark allows him to, of course. He might not look favourably on the idea of his slave wasting time on any learning endeavours when there is real work to be done.
And in a dwelling as big as Stark's, there is bound to be plenty of work to do. Especially if the only source of labour in his continual employment consists of a couple of inefficient mechanical servants.
The thought of his immediate future is making him nervous. He wonders if slaves are handled any differently in Midgard. If expectations are different.
He would have liked to have asked Stark. If he had had the words.
If he had dared.
They leave the next day. Stark is anxious to return to Midgard and whatever business he left behind there.
Loki is anxious too, but for other reasons.
Servants are handling Stark's luggage, leaving Loki feeling superfluous and not quite sure what to do with himself. He has no possessions to take with him. No one to say good-bye to. If he had been allowed to, that is, which there would have been no reason to. Slaves don't postpone their masters' business with their own insignificant private dealings.
He imagines that he can feel the magic thrumming through the sturdy brown paper that's been wrapped around the books for their protection during the journey. That the runes call out to him like they would have before… well, before.
There is nothing he will miss here, he thinks as they pass through the massive gates of the castle entrance, a whole Vanir honour escort surrounding them, Loki trailing two steps behind Stark. Still, it's a strange feeling to know that in a few moments, he will have left this realm for good.
And while he has no regrets about leaving anything or anyone in this place behind, it doesn't mean that what is awaiting will be an improvement. He is still uncertain about Stark's plans for him, and why he decided to claim Loki in the first place.
They reach the teleportation platform, situated some distance away from the castle in case the spells encapsulating the extremely concentrated magic needed for travel between the realms should let some straying tendrils loose when the platform is activated. Such accidents are rare but have been known to happen. This time, he can feel the immense power of the spells woven around them, and he knows that Stark feels it too, the way his head keeps turning and his eyes darting around to locate the source of what must be an eerie sensation for one unaccustomed to it.
Then there is a drawn-out pseudo-ceremony of goodbyes and mutual assurances of the possibilities of further trading in the future. And a few words of warning concerning the power of the arcane spells in the books.
As they step into the centre of the platform and the air around them starts to flicker with a shimmering of vibrant hues, Loki can only think of one thing. One thing that no one else seems to have thought of. Or perhaps not cared about.
While the runes blocking his magic have been drawn from the deepest roots of Yggdrasil and will of course hold in any realm, the magic blocking his speech has been drawn only from the branch on which Vanaheim is situated on the World Tree.
Once they're in Midgard, far away from the source of that magic, Loki will be able to speak again.
End note: Yay, Loki will be able to speak again! :D Who would have thought it would be that easy? Any ideas what you think he should be saying to Tony? ;)