"Does your offer of making me a suit still stand?" Clint asked, twirling spaghetti around his fork. "I got kind of hyped."

Between Clint, Thor and Foster, the most advanced dish they could come up with was still Clint's pasta.

Stark shrugged. "Yeah, why not? I can get to it once we come back." He turned to Thor. "Hey, Flash Gordon, how did the last coup in Asgard's history go?"

"I have no knowledge of such events," Thor evaded, turning his gaze to the half-eaten meal, then kicked the meatball around with his fork. His time with Foster warmed him up to the idea of cutlery as well, it seemed. "Loki would know more," he added.

Right.

A stretch of tense silence followed, interrupted only with the sounds of chewing and the clinking of tableware.

"There's a prophecy," Thor started, putting his glass down, "from the beginning of my… of King's Odin rule. It says that the end of Odin's power will befall him on the hand of his own blood. Loki found it on some old scroll in the library, when we were still children, and he'd spent days fretting about it." A small, nostalgic smile danced on his lips. "He was convinced it was going to be him. It made him sick with worry, until our mother came and told him that not all prophecies are real. Some are warnings or just ramblings, that never come true. That no one can tell how the future will unfold, until it happens." He let out a sigh. "It turns out this one is real. Only it isn't about Loki. It is about me."

"Thor…" Jane reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know it must be done. Gripped by grief, the All-Father no longer has the best interest of the Nine in his heart. Yes, he is my father and he will always have my respect and my love, but I have sworn to protect Asgard, as well as Midgard, to my dying breath. Odin grew vindictive in his judgments and cruel in his actions and it needs to stop."

"Grew?" Natasha scoffed. "Open your eyes. You might have been the golden child and it was all sunshine and rainbows to you, but it was a much bleaker life for Loki."

Thor's forehead wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps the All-Father acted too harshly at times, but he knew about his true nature and he did best to correct…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't give me that bullshit! Loki's adoption status has nothing to do with it!"

Thor clenched his hands. "He's a Jotunn, a Frost Giant," he ground out.

"Yeah, we know. So what?"

Thor stared at her, his face completely devoid of understanding. "They are vile and…"

Natasha got up, took a swing, and punched Thor in the cheek. Her fist slid over his cheekbone and hit his nose. He stumbled back and up from his seat, knocking the chair over and clutching his face as blood seeped between his fingers. His stance was aggressive, but his eyes dashed around, hurt and disoriented.

Tony sat back in his chair and laced his fingers on his stomach, Bruce's gaze was still firmly on his plate and Clint was grinning maniacally, his hand holding a fork frozen halfway to his face.

"You had this coming, buddy," he judged and stuffed the pasta in his mouth.

Thor huffed out an angry grunt.

"Sit down, Thor," Jane said, calmly but sternly, and Natasha wondered how many of Thor's racist rants she needed to hear to be as unsurprised by the turn of events as she was.

Thor did sit down, then glowered at Natasha as he rubbed his cheek and wiped the blood from his face. "You speak as if you know anything about my brother and I." His voice was a bit slurry and nasal. She might've broken his nose.

Good. Not only would it heal quickly if Thor still had his magical healing ability, but it also made her feel a lot better. She had wanted to do this for a long time.

She huffed and sat back down as well. "Maybe I do. And what I do know for sure is that you profess your care and love for Loki, yet you say shit like this. Don't you think it's rather hypocritical?"

"Loki was better than that because he was raised an Aesir."

"No, Loki is who he is because he is Loki and he is incredibly smart, loyal, and strong enough to live through a millennium of Odin's and your – and the whole of your fucking kingdom, honestly – abysmal treatment and still come out as a decent person on the other side, somehow. His race has nothing to do with it."

Thor's glower slowly bled into a frown. "He attacked your realm. He brought an army to Midgard and laid waste to your city."

"While a big bad space raisin breathed down his neck and yanked his leash with the awesome power of mind control," Stark said nonchalantly. "Knowing Loki now and remembering how he had acted during the battle, I'm honestly astonished you didn't realize how out of character he was behaving."

"His mind was consumed by madness after…"

"Okay, one last time, in plain and simple words," Stark said, articulating each word with careful pronunciation and hand gestures. "After your father yanked the rug from under Loki's entire sense of self and after he tried to off himself because of that, your brother landed with a bad guy, who tortured him and then forced him to attack us and ensured his obedience with the scepter. Loki wasn't even trying to win, he was just trying to survive."

"How do you even know that?"

Natasha brought her elbows down on the table and hid her face in her palms. "Because Loki told us and we fucking listened. You should try it sometimes."

"Loki's talent in deception is well known."

She dropped her fork and stood up, the chair screeching on the floor loudly. "I'm done." She turned on her heel and left the room.

It was a good two hours ago before there was a knock on her door.

"Come in," she grunted. She expected it, but it didn't make her any more eager to go through what was sure to follow.

The door squeaked and Thor's unmistakable heavy steps shuffled in, muffled by the carpet. He trudged to sit next to her on the edge of the bed, the frame creaking under his weight.

"That's a fine weapon," he said, pointing his chin at the dagger in her hands.

"It's Loki's," she murmured, dragging her fingers down the length of the blade. "Tony made it for him."

Thor nodded and looked away. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

"Jane made you come here and apologize, didn't she?"

"Yes," he chuckled. "Lady Jane is a kind woman. I still have a lot to learn."

Not being a racist asshole would be a great start. "That might be the most on-point thing you've said in a while."

"It's all still… new to me. This life, away from home, here on Midgard. I knew my way in Asgard, I knew what to do and how to act. Since I'm here everything I do or say seems to be a mistake. Even Lady Jane's friends treat me like a child and snigger behind my back and I don't even know what I'm doing wrong."

He was no longer a beloved prince that everyone looked up to because they had no other choice. That must've stung.

"And then I came here and I learned that Loki made allies, despite the things he'd done… I couldn't believe it. Loki was never the one to make friends easily."

"Has anyone ever tried?"

Thor hummed noncommittally and hung his head. "Those past two years, since Loki was gone, me and the All-Father quarreled constantly. He was angry at me all the time and I could no longer avoid his punishments when his wrath reached me, no matter what I said." He paused and fiddled with the cuff of his hoodie. "It was like that for Loki all the time, wasn't it? And he never said a thing. No wonder he hates me now."

"He doesn't," Natasha said quietly. "He is angry at you and disillusioned, for a good reason, too. But he doesn't hate you."

"You speak of my brother fondly, Lady Natasha."

"I'm no lady," she chuckled, avoiding the reply.

Thor looked up at her and stared, still waiting for an answer.

"I hold him very dear, yes," she said warily. "We all do."

"I swear that, once I'm king, I'll do everything in my power to undo Odin's sentence and return Loki to his rightful place."

She sat back, frowning. The only reason they were going to Asgard was to get Loki out and back to safety. Any help they could provide Thor with was a secondary objective, at best. It didn't even feel right, to just go to another world and meddle. That was what Odin had done.

She bit her tongue though. They needed Thor for the plan to work and she couldn't risk him turning away in anger, no matter how much she wanted to hammer that truth in right here and now.

Besides, she was almost certain Loki cared little about his rightful place anyway.

"I'm grateful for your generosity," she squeezed out then barely held back the eye-roll at Thor's benevolent smile he graced her with when the sarcasm flew completely over his head.

It was ten past seven and about fifteen minutes past sunset when the Bifrost slammed onto Stark's roof again. By that time everyone but Tony had gathered in the living room, while Tony – according to Jarvis' assertions – was doing final touches on his armor. He had no time to prepare the new design he wanted, he barely had time to modify the old one, but he was making do, like they all did.

Since no one had come out to greet him, Heimdall found his own way inside. He stood in the middle of the room, looking ridiculously out of place in his outfit, and his golden eyes surveyed the gathering.

"You cannot go to Asgard like this," he judged.

Natasha inspected her borrowed clothes – dark pants, a long-sleeved, close-fitting top, and leather boots reaching to mid-shin – and found absolutely nothing wrong with it. It was practical in a battle and casual enough to not look like a combat suit. But then again, if all citizens of Asgard followed a similar sense of fashion as Heimdall (or Loki, when he had first come to Earth, although his later wardrobe choices were rather unassuming, once he had been allowed to make them for himself, that was) she was awfully underdressed.

"We don't exactly have golden robes laying around," Clint said. "What's the difference anyway? You intend for us to keep hidden, right?"

"The Bifrost bridge offers no places to sneak in the shadows. We need to cross it to reach the city," Heimdall said, exasperated, then made a wave with his hand, pulling a bundle of cloth from thin air.

Natasha crooked her head. "How did you do that? You had it prepared beforehand, didn't you? You can't just make things out of nothing."

"Correct, Lady Romanoff. It appears that the young prince taught you the principles of magic well."

"What?" Thor barked behind her and she grinned at him.

"I anticipated this and my friend prepared disguises for you," Heimdall carried on, then extended his hand in waiting. Bruce approached and gingerly grabbed the burlap-wrapped sack and undid the ropes that held it together. He spilled the contents onto a couch.

Inside, there were clothes. Simple shirts and pants in neutral, earthy colors, woven out of natural fabrics, with ribbons or laces where buttons would be normally. It was similar in style to the under-armor tunic Loki had been wearing on the island.

"Is this what people of Asgard wear?" Bruce asked as he examined the shirt he was holding through narrowed eyes. "It looks so plain. You know, in comparison."

"Yes, my friend," Thor interjected. "This is what common folk prefers."

"I'm pretty sure preference has nothing to do with this," Natasha muttered under her breath and reached onto the pile.

"There's a dress for you as well, Lady Romanoff," Heimdall said, just as Thor dug for the tangle of pale blue fabric at the bottom of the heap.

Natasha took it and examined it critically. The gown was sewn from a similar material as the rest of the clothes, but had a frilly collar and was long enough for the hem to drag on the floor once she put it on. "You're joking, right? How am I supposed to fight in this?"

"You're not," Thor provided. "Women's clothing in Asgard is made for modesty, not for battle."

"The disguise is not to make you look like warriors. It's to make you blend in."

Natasha groaned "Fine." She tossed the gown on a chair and pulled off her shirt.

Thor blushed and turned away and she chortled, then put the dress on and laced it around her waist. It was dragging on the floor like that.

"This is a piece of woman's attire as well," Thor said, picking up a piece of white cloth and handing it to Natasha. "No respectable maiden would wear her hair short like you do."

She swallowed the growl that rose in her chest, picked the bonnet and put it on.

"What is this, a renaissance fair?" came Stark's voice from the door. She looked up and choked on a laugh.

"What the fuck, Stark?" Clint uttered, dumbfounded.

"What, you don't like the new paint job?"

"I kind of expected it to be a bit less… golden," Bruce supplied, putting Natasha's thoughts into words for her. "We were supposed to blend in."

"I am blending in," Stark said with a smirk, then went over to stand by Heimdall's side. Even with the armor, the Asgardian was still an inch taller than Tony, and that was disregarding the horns. But Tony was right, the shade of gold was very similar. "See?"

"It looks ridiculous," Clint judged, then turned his eyes to Heimdall. "Then again…"

"Are you done bickering?" Heimdall said, unamused. "Time is of the essence."

That, she had to agree with.

The negotiations didn't help and in the end, Tony folded the armor back into its suitcase form, wrapped it in the burlap sack the clothes came in and put on the rough shirt and linen pants he was provided. He even stopped himself from complaining he looked like a medieval farm-hand. Which he still rocked in style, thank you very much.

At least they were allowed to keep their shoes.

When they stood on the roof, under the darkening sky, with the lights of New York coming on one by one, the realization finally struck.

Tony was going to travel to a different planet.

Then the air glistened and the flood of energy swallowed him whole. The gravity shifted, the world turned into streaks of multicolored light and he was sent tumbling through space towards the stars.

He landed on a solid surface with a loud thud, the force of the impact enough for his knees to buckle. He stayed down for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to stop his head from swimming and his stomach from revolting from the sudden changes in gravity.

The floor underneath his feet was made out of polished gold.

"First-timers," Natasha scoffed beside him and sprung up, then straightened out the gown. If what they said about a dress making a person was true, the Asgardian robes were making Romanoff pissed off.

Bruce came over and offered Tony a hand. Tony pulled himself up to his feet and looked around. They were inside a dome made of an intricate pattern of overlapping gears. As they moved, the cupola rotated around them, slower and slower, until it ground to a halt with a metallic thump that reverberated in the golden floor under their feet.

Heimdall walked up a few – golden, as everything here seemed to be – stairs to a raised platform. There was a woman standing there, Tony just now realized. She was tall and had a square jaw, broad shoulders and, despite what Thor had told them about the Aesir customs, her blonde, wavy hair didn't even reach the level of her chin. The dress she was wearing was similar to Natasha's in design, but less ornate and had a high collar that covered most of the neck.

"Thank you, Vetka," Heimdall said and reached for the sword, sticking out from the middle of the platform. "Take the mortals to the meeting point."

Vetka bowed, a deep, sweeping curtsy.

"You're not coming?" Clint asked and there was suspicion in his voice.

"I still have my duties to attend to," Heimdall said dryly. "I'll join in later. Go, now, before you're spotted. I might be the only person in Asgard with my gift, but people do have eyes." He turned to Tony. "You can leave your armor here. I'll have it delivered later, when you need it."

"I'd rather keep it with myself, thanks," Tony said and hauled the wrapped suitcase up. It was heavy, but Tony would rather carry it around than leave himself completely unprotected.

"You have half a city to cross. Your mortal…"

"I'll carry it, Heimdall," said Thor, grabbed the package, and placed it onto his shoulder, like it was nothing. Even in his weakened form, Thor was still an absolute unit.

"Thanks, Triple H."

The woman waved her hand at them to follow and walked towards the gate.

Behind it, at the other end of the long, crystal bridge, laid a city. The distance made it hard for Tony to make out the details, but the blurry outlines of glistening domes and soaring towers against the darkened, starry sky alone left an impression.

Then they walked out of the dome. The full image of Asgard unfolded in front of their eyes and Tony stopped and just gaped.

It took him a moment to remember he needed to move his legs to go forth, his mind still busy with wrapping around the sheer impossibility of the place.

The shard of rock shouldn't have any sort of significant gravity or magnetic field strong enough to keep an atmosphere. Yet Tony was standing on his two own feet and the air was perfectly breathable, rich with salty moisture rising from the bay, the same that floated unobstructed right to the edge of the world, then tumbled and fell into the void, where the rising mist shined and twisted, illuminated by the light from Asgard's star, now hidden beyond the horizon.

He hated the feeling of not knowing how that was even possible.

Even in its deactivated form, the suit sensors registered and painstakingly catalogued all sorts of data, including the strength and variation in magnetic and gravitational force, atmosphere composition, low level and ionizing radiation levels. But the internal computer wasn't powerful enough to interpret all received input on the spot, let alone create a working model, so Tony wouldn't be able to dig deeper for the answers before he reached home.

If he ever did. They were the intruders here and the All-Daddy had already shown he had no qualms beating the living shit out of them. And that was when they had been on their own turf. There was no telling what would happen if they were found out.

At least the company in the dungeons would be interesting.

Vetka led them across the bridge and towards the city and the castle towering above it. Then, just when they reached the bank and the crystal path gave way to a wide, cobblestone road, Vetka made a sharp turn, down the narrow, slippery stairs and into a shadowy alley, twisting between tenements.

This area looked less like the wild dream of a drunken CGI artist and more like a back road in some medieval town in Europe, one of those that would be advertised as "hidden gems" that never failed to disappoint.

The further they went, the less well-kept the streets grew, and the pleasant aroma of the sea gave way to the more lowbrow ones: rotting food and poor plumbing.

Even the golden city of Asgard had its slums.

There was something else unnerving Tony as they walked and it took him a moment to realize what it was. The city was eerily silent. They had yet to see any Asgardian wandering the streets, even at a distance, and there were no other sounds that would be inherent for a place like this on Earth, no music, no dogs barking, no dishes clinking, no kids crying. Nothing. Just silence and above that the distant hum of waves crashing against the rocky shore.

It was haunting.

There had to be people living here. If anything, Asgard had an army, that much he knew for sure and the palace had guards and various staff. They had to have their merchants, their craftsmen, doctors, lawyers... Okay, maybe not that last one, seeing as the law was decided by a single dude on a case-by-case basis, but still.

He had asked Loki once about the populace of Asgard and Loki said that it was a few orders of magnitude smaller than that of Earth, due to limited resources and space, but he had never given Tony a number. Could it be so small that they weren't able to fill even this one city?

They reached a small plaza, surrounded by crumbling tenements, their shutters closed and dark. There was a dried-up fountain in the middle, with yellowing grass growing out of its basin and a weathered statue of a woman as a centerpiece, the details lost to time.

Vetka stopped, then pointed at a gate, leading into an enclosed courtyard, then pushed the double grate open. The hinges whined, the sound echoing over and over through the empty streets.

There was a wooden sign hanging above. The inscription was made with a couple of that sharp, runic symbols Loki sometimes used in his notes that Tony assumed were the Aesir script. Yet, when his eyes slid over it, the meaning trickled into his mind. „The Jolly Fishmonger Tavern," it said. Tony blinked and read it again. Yep. Fucking magic. Great.

Before he could formulate his misgivings into a question, Vetka urged them on. She still hadn't said a word since they had met her.

The courtyard was filled with wooden tables and benches, all empty and dark.

As they passed the main entrance, Vetka turned and headed to the far corner of the yard. There was a low, wooden door and she pushed it open when they approached. Just like the gate, it wasn't locked and Tony started wondering whether locking stuff was just not a thing in Asgard. Unless it was people.

Past the door, there was a rickety, wooden stairway leading up, at least that much Tony managed to notice before the door closed and the faint light of the starry sky that lit their way before was cut off, drowning them in darkness.

"Uhm, Lady?" Tony called. "Mortals here? We can't exactly see in the dark."

There was a rustle of fabric, and a grunt that sounded much like Natasha's, but no answer. Then a light came on.

Natasha pulled down her dress and aimed her phone's flashlight at the stairs. Right, she still had the luxury of goddamned pockets. Seriously, how could a civilization evolve to this point and not think of pockets?

Vetka stood on the upper landing, her arms crossed at her chest, eyeing them with an expression one usually reserves for staring at a bunch of blind kittens – cute and harmless, but otherwise not of much use. Still not a word though.

Tony sighed and climbed the stairs.

The first floor hallway was just as dark. There were no lamps and the window at the end had the shutters closed. Also, no glass pane, it seemed like that was another thing Asgardians were not fond of. There were crates and boxes strewn along the walls and they had to maneuver between them as Vetka led them to the door at the end.

She knocked, following a pattern. Two, pause, three, double pause, one, Tony's brain needlessly registered. There was a shuffle of steps on the other side and the door cracked open with a creak. A round, bearded face of a middle-aged man – or whatever the equivalent would be for an Asgardian – appeared in the opening. His gaze slipped over the faces of the gathered people, until it landed on Thor.

The door opened, revealing the rest of the man, just as round. He beamed. "My prince. It's an honor." He bowed and made a broad, welcoming gesture.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Bjorn," Thor said and went inside. He had to bend his neck to not hit his head on the door-frame.

As Thor entered, Lord Bjorn encouraged the rest to come in, a lot less jovially, then closed and latched the door behind them.

Thor unloaded Tony's armor into a corner and for a moment Tony expected it to just go through the floor and he would have to go downstairs to collect it again. The wooden boards creaked and held though.

Besides Bjorn, there were just two other people in the room, a young boy with a pale, open face and a wispy mustache, and an older man. Ancient, really, with a wrinkly face, a long white beard and a balding head.

Thor apparently knew them all.

"Elder Njal," he said with a small bow, to which the guy responded alike, then moved to the boy, shaking his hand "Fjolfrin! Friend! How fares your father?"

"My father is well, my prince," the boy said and even in the dim light of the lanterns, Tony could see his cheeks flush.

Thor went on to introduce them, but, instead of starting with Natasha, as would be proper according to Midgardian savoir-vivre, he started with Tony. Tony went for courteous bows. There seemed to be some rules as to whose hands one could shake and Tony didn't feel like figuring it out. Bruce and Clint apparently came to similar conclusions.

"And this is Lady Natasha," Thor said and Romanoff smiled nicely and bowed her head.

Instead of returning it, Njal frowned. "Is it wise to bring women into this, my prince?"

Thor grinned. "Do not let appearances fool you, Elder Njal. Lady Natasha is a shield-maiden and a capable warrior," he said.

Njal's frown faded away. "My apologies, Lady Natasha," he said. "Welcome."

Tony could almost hear the intensity with which she was gritting her teeth and he couldn't agree more. This was some world-class bullshit. Space-class?

They were invited to sit around the table, so they did.

"Vetka!" Njal called.

The woman, who didn't move from her position by the door since they entered the room, tilted her head up and scampered to bring herself in front of the man. She stopped a foot away and bowed, then knelt before him.

"You did good," Njal said and reached up to her throat. She quickly undid the laces then pulled the cloth down.

Under the collar of her dress, wrapped around her neck, sat a thin, metal band.

Njal touched it briefly and she gasped.

"Thank you, Master," she said and bowed her head.

"She is… a slave," Natasha muttered in a hollow tone, staring at the woman.

"Aye," Thor said, "and a well-trained and loyal one, too." He gave Njal a congratulatory smile and Tony felt sick.

"You're too kind, my prince," Njal said, smiling back, then his gaze fell to Vetka. "Go on, serve our guests."

"Yes, Master," the woman said, gathering the skirt of her dress. She got up and hurried to the other end of the room, where a table with some flagons and something that might have been food was set up.

Bruce's face was hidden in his hands and Tony wondered how close they were to a Hulk episode. Pretty damn close, from the looks of things. At least he packed the tranquilizer, so they might not all die by being smashed before Odin found them and threw them into a dungeon. And right now, that was the preferable outcome.

Bjorn's gaze surveyed them closely. "Is something amiss?" he asked.

There was a moment of silence, before Clint spoke.

"Yeah, I'd say so. Your buddy is keeping a person as property."

Bjorn gaped at Clint for a while, then laughed. "Oh, she might look Aesir with her fair hair, but trust me, she is just some Vanir bastard."

Like that made it any better?

"Excuse my friends, Lord Bjorn. It's not the human custom to keep slaves anymore," Thor explained. "Midgard has changed since our people frequented it in the past. They have all kinds of, uhm, technology now, to perform menial tasks in their stead."

Tony met Natasha's eyes, hard and determined. She knew, just as well as he did, that they couldn't fix it. Not right now. Not like this.

"Oh well, cultural differences, I suppose," he remarked lightly. It only made him feel even sicker.

Clint sighed and Natasha gave him a small nod. Bruce didn't move his hand from his forehead.

Vetka returned, carrying a tray with goblets, and set them on the table, then brought up a silver flagon. "Wine, my Liege?"

Thor nodded then grabbed the goblet as soon as she poured it, and drained it in one go. "Ah, I missed Asgardian liquor," he exclaimed. "Midgard offers fine fare, but they have yet a lot to learn in the art of winemaking."

The Asgardians laughed and Vetka refilled his cup, then went around the table, starting with her Master – fuck, the very thought riled Tony up beyond belief – then Lord Bjorn, then the kid and only then continuing on to the humans, thus giving off a rather precise idea of the hierarchy at the table. Tony was never big on his regard for social protocol and often even made a show of disregarding it openly, but this… This just felt abhorrent.

He raised his hand when Vetka approached him. "Thank you, Lady Vetka, but I'd rather keep a clear head for what's to come."

She bowed and moved away. The bow might not have been as deep as the one she had offered to Njal, but it was there. Even Tony – a mortal – held a higher position in Asgard than she did.

He made it until Vetka started serving appetizers before he couldn't take the show anymore. "We're here for a purpose, are we not? It's a great talk and all, but it might be the high time to get to the point."

"Aren't we waiting for Lord Heimdall?" the kid – whose name completely escaped Tony's memory – asked.

"We can catch him up on the details later," Tony said, "So, what's the big plan?"

"There's a group of the citizens of Asgard who have grown concerned with the All-Father's actions."

"Yeah, yeah, we got that part," Tony waved his hand then grinned when Njal pursed his lips, taking offense. "Take us straight to the point where we bring the Mad King down. Because that's what needs to happen, right? For Thor to be able to take the throne?"

"Yes," Njal snarled.

"Do we just go all Brutus versus Caesar on him?"

Njal stared at him blankly.

"I mean assassinate," Tony clarified. The All-Speak must've stumbled upon his flowery references.

"Yes," Njal said.

Thor let out a low, keening sound.

"My prince," Bjorn placated, "there's no other way. Asgard may follow you, but the other realms of the Nine will never recognize your authority if Odin and the vision of his wrath are still alive."

"I… I don't know if I can do it," Thor admitted. "He might be beyond reason, but he is still my father."

"We don't ask you to," Njal said. "More so, we think you shouldn't. It would make… a wrong impression. The son killing the father for power. No, it would only bring instability and further weaken the crown. It has to be someone else."

Thor frowned. He didn't get it yet.

"You want Loki to do it," Natasha said, matter-of-factly.

Njal nodded. "He is perfect for the role. An estranged Jotnar ward, with a history of violent outbursts and obstinance, killing the All-Father in a fit of rage, after being rightfully imprisoned."

There was so much wrong with the sentence Tony didn't even know where to start. And yet, nothing he could say would change a thing, so he just kept his mouth shut, as hard as it was.

"Okay, so what do you need us for then?" Clint, as always, was the one to come up with a good question at a right time.

"Plausible deniability," Tony said numbly. "They can't just cut Loki loose. People will figure it out. They need an external force. A group of gullible mortals Loki wrapped around his finger in his exile? People who he might have even enabled to sneak into Asgard, maybe?"

Njal raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Son of Stark."

"It's just Stark, Njal. It's not that hard to figure out," Tony snapped.

Njal bristled, stood up – he was surprisingly spry for an older fellow – and brought his fist on the table. "I will not have a mortal disrespect me!"

"Yes, you will. You wanna know why? Because you need us! We wouldn't be here if you didn't. You just showed your hand and there's no backtracking. So, if you want our help, sit on your ass and keep your supremacist bullshit to yourself."

For a moment Njal looked like he was considering striking Tony where he stood, then he sat down.

"What happens to Loki? I mean, if we do this? If he agrees?" Natasha asked.

Njal stared at her, dumbfounded. The old fool didn't even consider that Loki might say no.

"Once Thor becomes the All-Father, the power to decide the fate of the culprits would be in his hands," Bjorn interjected. "I'm sure he could be swayed to show some lenience." He gave Thor a curt nod.

Clint scoffed. "Lenience how?"

"Of course, the killer of Odin couldn't go unpunished, but… and please excuse my imposition, my prince, perhaps the sentence could be altered to banishment?"

Thor nodded, slowly. He wasn't too big on the idea.

"Loki would be barred from ever entering Asgard, but he could be allowed to remain on Midgard. Should that suggestion satisfy you, of course."

"Aye," Thor said and his expression made it abundantly clear that it didn't.

"And the human collaborators might never be captured, escaped the realm before their involvement became known," Bjorn added. "It is known that it's not possible to find a particular mortal on Midgard, given how many there are."

Tony rolled his eyes. They had it figured out, it seemed.

"One thing I don't get," Bruce spoke, for the first time since they've arrived. "Thor has been kicked out. Stripped of his title. How do things go from that to him being the king, even without Odin in the picture?"

"The All-Father has no heirs as of now, not of his own blood, nor appointed," Njal said. "In such circumstances, the choice lays in the hands of the Council of the Elders."

"So?"

"I'm leading the Council," he said in a tone suggesting this was such a fundamental knowledge he shouldn't even have to mention it. "It's been… discussed. While most are not willing to openly support a coup, they agree prince Thor should be the next king. He is the only obvious choice. He would be king already, if not for the traitor's meddling."

Natasha huffed out an unhappy laugh and murmured, "Yeah, right."

The kid perked up and raised his hand to silence them. Soon, Tony heard it as well. The door creaked and there was a sound of quick footsteps on the stairs, then in the hallway. It could be Heimdall, but it didn't sound like him, those weren't the footsteps of someone wearing two hundred pounds of armor and carrying a big ass sword that looked like it weighed another hundred.

There was a knock. A regular one.

Clint sprung up, pulling his shirt up and reaching for the holster he kept concealed under his arm. Natasha retrieved Loki's dagger from its hiding place on her ankle. Thor just stood up and squared his shoulders.

There was another knock and it eased Tony's nerves a bit. If Earth's standards applied to any degree, no one would come alone and knock twice if they came to arrest them. But that could be just bait and the real force waited for them outside.

Njal urged the kid with a tilt of his head and he went to open the door.

There was a man standing in the doorway and a quick look at the collar on his neck was enough to tell Tony it was another slave. Fuck you, Asgard.

The man lowered his head and stood there, panting.

"Speak," Njal ordered.

"My Master sent me to bring you the urgent news, my Lord. Lord Heimdall has been summoned by the king."

Njal dismissed the man with a wave of his hand and the slave bowed, turned on his heel, and left.

"This cannot be good, this far into the night," Bjorn pointed out.

"It might be just one of the All-Father's fits of paranoia. He sees traitors and liars in everyone these days," Njal countered. It wasn't too convincing.

"You don't trust Heimdall to not rat you out?" Natasha asked. "He seems important to the whole plot."

"No one can tell where Heimdall's allegiances lie," Bjorn said with a shrug. "Or when he might be watching. And who. But it's been decided. We need to proceed, whether we have the Watcher on our side or not."

"Don't you think there's one person you forgot to ask?" Tony pointed out, then, seeing Bjorn's frown, he added, "I'll give you a hint. It's Loki. From what I gathered he plays kinda an important part, right?"

"Why would he say no?" Thor said and Natasha's hands curled into fists. "He holds the most bitter grudge against the All-Father."

"All those hundreds of years," she mused, "and you still know shit about your brother."

"We need to assume he could be persuaded," Bjorn said.

"Or we could, I don't know, ask him?"

"He is in the old dungeons, guarded by the most loyal Einherjar."

"So?"

"He needs to remain there until the last moment, else the whole plan lies in ruin," Bjorn said. "And that is still days off."

"Nope," Tony said. "It's not. If you're not ready, I hope you're good at improvisation, cause we're doing it today."

"Today?!" the kid exclaimed. "That's insane. And dangerous. We still need more people! We haven't even begun to plan the actual…"

"Insane and dangerous are like my middle and third name," Tony jeered. "We are not going to sit here on our asses waiting for you to figure it all out while our friend rots in jail. If you're chickening out, we can do it ourselves."

Bjorn scoffed. "You're deluded. You can't truly hope to succeed on your own. You're but mortals in the land of the gods!"

Natasha rolled her eyes and got up. "That's it, I guess. Thanks for the talk. It's been very informative."

Clint stood up as well, then Bruce, so Tony did too.

"You're asking for your own demise!" the kid groveled, "You don't even know where to go!"

"I do," Thor said, getting up.

"Fine!" Bjorn yielded, just like Tony was sure he would. They were too deep into that shit to step out now and once they saw Thor turn their plan down, they had to agree or risk his rage. "We will help."