[ TONY ]

"...the encounter could create a time paradox, the results of which could cause a chain reaction that would unravel the very fabric of the space time continuum and destroy the entire universe! Granted, that's a worst case scenario. The destruction might in fact be very localized, limited to merely our own galaxy." – Doc Brown, Back to the Future 2

Attempting to follow Bruce's advice and not rip a new hole in the space-time continuum, Tony got rid of his tech. He told Dommal and Alric that he needed to melt some objects down. He had ideas about how to get rid of his stuff but decided to start small, just in case. Phone first, armour after.

"This way, Sir Tony," said Alric and led Tony to the camp's smithy. Dommal had other matters to attend to but promised he would see Tony soon.

The blacksmith's forge was a shoddy-looking hut, though bigger than most of the others in the area. Tony followed Alric in the large side door, stepping over a pile of horse dung that had yet to be cleared away. Tony wrinkled his nose in disgust.

The forge's covered windows made it dimly lit inside despite the daylight, and it took a moment for Tony's eyes to adjust. The smell of smoke, horse, and hot metal were thick in the air, and there was a roaring stone furnace surrounded by giant pleated bellows.

Nearby it stood a tall man with bulging arms. He was decked out in a thick leather apron and heavy leather gloves, and he was beating glowing orange iron rods into submission atop a huge metal anvil. His massive hammer clanged loud and sharp with every strike. Tony flinched, flashing back to another dark place where he'd been out of his depth and the one beating metal into submission.

Alric caught the blacksmith's attention and made introductions. The man was Renfred, and he had a bushy, black mustache over wide, frowning lips. He agreed to melt down Tony's peculiar set of items (phone, watch, and his magnetic bracelet). Tony made a mental note to see if he could find the right set of chemicals to destroy the melted metal in its entirety later, as he couldn't re-forge the stuff into something new afterwards—that'd probably still be breaking Bruce's rules, given the alloy's components.

While Alric and Renfred discussed battles and monasteries and pilgrimages or whatever, Tony set about smashing his tech to pieces with a hefty hammer. He frowned at the pile of glass, metal, plastic, and microchips. He'd liked that particular phone.

As Renfred got back to work, Alric led Tony through the maze of huts, tents, stables, and shacks.

"We shall see to finding you some fresh garments, free from the wear of your recent travels and mishaps." The knight smiled. "And perhaps less conspicuous in these lands?"

Tony glanced down at his black tee and dark denim pants and thought they were just fine, thanks very much. But he heard Bruce's warnings in his head again, and simply nodded. He did stick out, admittedly, but he was used to people staring at him, so it hadn't bothered him much before.

The hut was like the others Tony had visited so far: small, dark, smelly, with dirt floors and a thatched roof. He really hoped he wouldn't have to spend the night in one of these things during a rainstorm; he imagined they leaked like a sieve. Tony waited by the small hearth while Alric dug around the "rooms" of the hut (really more of a common area and a bedroom-ish area separated by hanging canvas).

"Here you are," said Alric, handing Tony a pile of thick, folded clothes.

"Thanks," Tony nodded at him again. He held his grateful smile in place as the knight bowed and left to give Tony a moment of privacy.

Tony hated the new clothes immediately, even before he'd pulled them on. Everything was rough—some sort of wool or linen that was itchy as hell—and it was all plain, unremarkable browns and faded greens. The tunic was too long, the belt was just a rope, and the leathery boots felt far too thin to do any serious walking in. Tony glanced down at the uncomfortable looking pants and the obvious lack of underwear provided.

Sorry Bruce, he thought with a frown, pulling the scratchy fabric on one leg at a time. I'm keeping the briefs. The terrible clothing was bad enough—there was no way in hell he was doing it commando-style on top of it all. He gritted his teeth and tried very, very hard to ignore how itchy all the new-old clothes were.

Sighing with disappointment, Tony scooped up his bundle of clothes and crossed the hut's soft, dusty floor. He hesitated by the door and wondered how long he was going to be stuck in these duds—and in this place. He clenched his teeth together and ignored the flutter of panic that zipped down his spine.

"Those garments suit you, Sir Tony," said Alric with a nod of approval once Tony was outside again. The ends of the knight's long bronze hair swished against his shoulders.

Like hell, thought Tony, wishing very much to be back in his t-shirt. "Yeah, thanks," he said absently, his eyes scanning the area.

He spotted a large bonfire that some of the other knights were stoking. Grimacing, Tony headed towards it and threw his twenty-first century garb onto the fire. He turned away and rejoined Alric outside his hut; he couldn't bear to watch his shoes burn. Those had been custom-made, comfy as hell, and damn expensive.

"You needn't have destroyed your old garments," the knight commented, his brow creased with confusion.

"They were…I don't need them anymore. Ever. Never mind."

Back to the melted phone problem, he thought. Luckily, he had a couple of ideas. It was just a matter of whether he could get the right ingredients or not—he had no clue when certain chemicals had been invented or discovered in history.

Out loud to Alric, he inquired, "Do you guys have a chemist, or…alchemist or something, by any chance?"

Alric inclined his head. "As it happens, we do indeed. He is our healer and travels with us. May I ask what it is you require?"

Tony didn't have the energy to come up with something creative on this one. "Look, it's not going to make sense for me to explain it to you in full, but I need some, ah…ingredients to help with…getting rid of the remains of those…objects I left with Renfred. Entirely."

Alric raised his eyebrow, curious and skeptical. "Have you not already placed it in Renfred's care to be melted? Is that not enough?"

"It would be, if it wasn't going to get hard again once it's cooled down," replied Tony. He added as an afterthought, "It's a custom from my homeland. To completely destroy all traces of…extremely damaged armour." That could totally be a thing, right?

He'd have to figure out how to dispose of the whole suit later. Even if the local alchemist had the right chemicals to mix up the stuff Tony was thinking of, there was no way he'd have enough to deal with the entire Iron Man get up.

The knight narrowed his eyes a little, but then shrugged and led him to the apothecary. "Your country is very peculiar, Sir Tony. Quite unlike anything I have ever heard of."

"Oh, you have no idea," Tony laughed.

"Mayhap I can aid you with ridding yourself of your armour," Alric said thoughtfully. "Should our alchemist not meet your needs, I know of a vast quagmire just west of here. We've lost livestock to that area numerous times over the years. Would that suffice?"

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek. Barring throwing his suit in Loch Ness, that sounded like as good a plan as any. A big, deep swamp would swallow up the suit nice and permanently.

"That sounds great."

Alric nodded. "Then I shall take you there on the morrow. First, let us seek out Godwin for your other items."

An incredible amount of stuff packed the alchemist's hut to the brim—at first glance, Tony thought the word "hoarder" was applicable. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with bottles and vials of every color and size, placed three or more deep. Ancient, dusty volumes were shoved in gaps between urns and casks, and some laid open atop the boxes piled about the floor. Bags of spices and herbs were stacked haphazardly here and there, with unopened sacks of varying sizes crowded nearby.

There were bowls, spoons, measuring devices, maps, piles of rags, bandages, and more—wherever Tony looked, he saw something new. The air was thick with smoke and strange, strong smells Tony couldn't identify…and probably didn't want to, based on the rows of unsettling jars full of what the hell is that along the back wall. Strange-looking equipment of metal and wood surrounded the table in the middle of the room. At it sat the alchemist, overlooking a spread of powders, liquids, and scales, as he fiddled with a mortar and pestle.

The alchemist turned out to be the crooked, stooping old man Tony had seen earlier—the one who had tended dutifully to Mad John's wounds. And as Tony had earlier suspected, he was deaf. Or, he was so hard of hearing that he might as well have been.

"His name is Godwin Raleigh." Alric picked his way around the crowded room to the table and the old man. Tony followed trying not to knock anything over. "He is quite brilliant, if rather unable to carry much of a conversation. Poor devil had his tongue cut out years ago, and his aged ears do not hear well."

The knight yelled to Godwin, as politely as he could, to make introductions. The alchemist was bothered by and suspicious of Tony, despite Alric's declarations that the newcomer was simply a friend in need of aid. Alric then set up refilling his stores of this herb and that spice, while Tony got to work communicating with Godwin.

There was a lot of yelling, hand gestures, and diagrams and words scratched out on parchment with inked quills, but in the end, Tony was very lucky. Turned out the chemicals he needed were in dusty vials in the alchemist's apothecary after all, and the old coot was even familiar with the solution Tony intended to make.

"Ah, ah-ha!" Godwin held up a crooked finger and smiled unevenly, revealing a mouth full of stained, chipped teeth. "Ah, mm, hmm, mm!"

He hobbled between his stacks of stuff, humming and gathering things as he went and then returned to the table. Godwin scooped up the quill, and in barely-legible writing, scribbled out a pair of words so oddly spelt that it took Tony a good few seconds to understand.

"Ah," said Tony, decrypting what the old man had written: aqua regia1. Tony grinned. "Bingo." He nodded.

So it has been invented, he thought with a sigh of relief. Bruce probably would've known that off the top of his head, but Tony was pretty rusty on his history of chemicals. Score another one for me not effing up the universe!

Godwin promised to make up a batch of aqua regia for Tony, who thanked him heartily. The chemical mixture would be perfect for dissolving his tech into nothing. Tony left the alchemist's hut with Alric.

Tony was at a loss as to what he should be doing next, having dealt with his most immediate concerns, so he followed Alric around, worried that if he sat down and let himself dwell on his situation, he'd freak out again. It was better to keep himself busy.

Alric distributed most of the spices he'd procured from Godwin to the other villagers and made overly formal and polite introductions for Tony. There were way too many strange names and faces for him to keep track of—who the hell named their kid Aberardus anyway?—but he did try. Pepper would've been proud.

By the time Alric had completed his rounds and dropped off the last of his bags at his own hut, the sun was dipping low in the west.

"Come," the knight gestured. "It is time we sup."

Tony's stomach gave a loud grumble—he hadn't noticed he was hungry until Alric had mentioned it, and now he was ravenous. When was the last time he ate? The cupcakes at breakfast? Was that only this morning? God, it felt a whole lot longer than that already.

Tony followed Alric to the biggest hut in the camp. It was as ramshackle and temporary as everything else around here, though three times as long in length. So far the only thing that seemed sturdy and permanent was Renfred's furnace.

Inside the dwelling were a few dozen wooden tables with benches, each crammed with people. At the far end was a large fire, where several women and a few young boys and girls were tending pots and rotating spits. Those featured what looked like rabbits, squirrels, and possibly a chicken or two. At another table set up nearby, women chopped, stirred, and kneaded.

"So this is the mess hall, huh?" Tony quipped, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds. The place was bursting with all three and the billionaire's stomach gave another noisy growl. The scent of roasted meat was tantalizing enough to make his mouth water.

Alric glanced at him quizzically. "This is our hall, yes—where we break our fast and sup together."

He spotted Dommal and Mad John seated at the far end of one table, and the younger man waved them over enthusiastically. Almost the moment Tony had seated himself on the bench across from Dommal and John, the older man berated him.

"Ah, the Man with No Manners," said Mad John, pulling apart a small, speckled loaf of brown bread. "The little green boy who can't stand the sight of blood! Welcome to supper, pup—think you can manage it?" He gave a great belly laugh.

"Ha ha," said Tony humorlessly.

Dommal reached for one of the clay serving platters, intending to load up Tony's bread-plate with warm food. Tony hastily took over, grabbing his own food before Dommal's hands (who knew when those were last washed) touched anything. There were no serving spoons or utensils in sight, so Tony made do. His skin crawled with discomfort over all the handling of the food, to the point that he considered not eating at all, despite the growing rumbles from his stomach.

The younger man gave Tony a nod and filled up his tankard. The pale amber liquid splashed a little bit onto the sticky wooden table. Tony shot Dommal a smile of thanks.

"Don't they fight in Winterfell, hmm?" Mad John continued. Crumbs littered his beard. "Or do the men instead devote their time to the noble arts of needlework and dusting, like a common woman? Perhaps dancing around in their skirts instead of fighting a war like the rest of us?"

Dommal chuckled behind his hand even as he shot Tony sympathetic sorry about him glances.

"You look soft," Mad John snorted and took a big swig from his wooden tankard. "Pale and weak and fogging soft, like a squalling newborn babe. Stark, wasn't it? Should've called you Starkling instead."

"Okay, why don't you give it rest, big man," Tony snapped, thoroughly finished with the insults.

"Oh ho!" John clunked his tankard on the table with several loud thumps. "My lady speaketh!" He made a mock bowing gesture.

Tony clenched his fist under the table and his face grew hot. It wasn't like he was going to pick a fight with this guy—who was ginormous, by the way, and absolutely would kick his ass in a second flat—but the dude was getting under his skin.

"Lay off, pal," Tony grumbled.

Mad John's bushy red brows came to a head above his wide nose. "What was that, pup?"

Before things had the chance to get ugly, Alric stepped in smoothly, calm and soft-spoken. He laid a hand on Tony's shoulder and pierced John with his sharp gray-blue eyes.

"That is enough for now, John," he said evenly. "Our friend has suffered a blow to the head which has tortured his mind and dispelled many of his memories. We must be mindful of that and fair to his character. In addition, we must respect that Sir Tony is from a different land and notably a different culture. Respect, as a chivalrous practice befitting English knights of our standing."

Mad John cackled at this and spat out a few more women-related insults, leaving Tony insulted on behalf of himself as well as on behalf of women everywhere. Alric's tone grew more serious.

"Enough now," he commanded. He didn't raise his voice in the slightest, but there was an edge to it that no one could miss, like frost on a window.

Dommal had stopped laughing, too, and Mad John flushed red at the rebuke. For a moment, Tony thought the big guy was going to leap across the table and throttle Alric, but he simply laughed again, great and booming, and polished off the rest of his tankard. He announced he needed more grub and rose from the table.

"My apologies for our friend, Sir Tony," Alric dipped his head in Tony's direction as Mad John stumbled away, clapping people on the back and sharing apparently riotous jokes. "He is not as…delicate with his words when he ought to be, especially for a knight."

"My apologies as well," Dommal added hastily, his cheeks pink with drink or embarrassment or maybe a bit of both. "I did not mean to laugh at your expense. That was not fair-minded of me. It was meant only in jest on my part."

Tony waved them off, the fight having drained out of him as soon as the big guy had departed. Frankly, he'd been called worse; having the guy right in his face not letting up had been the part that bugged him. Plus, he was still pretty damn upset about the way his day had gone, so there was that, too. Even so, he was going to have to get thicker skin if he was going to be spending any extended amount of time with the dude.

"No, it's fine," Tony said dismissively. "He's not exactly wrong. I don't have battle experience. Hell, I don't even know how to use a sword."

The words were out before he could stop them. Based on his two new friends' reaction, Tony wasn't sure he could have said anything more shocking if he tried. Dommal's jaw practically hit the table and he dropped the chicken leg he'd been holding. Alric stared as though Tony had grown three extra heads.

"I mean, I don't remember—my father never…" Tony attempted to backtrack, flustered and glancing around the room like someone would help him. "I meant that I'm rusty, is all—it's been a long time." Panic spiked in his chest and he battled it back.

"How can you be a knight and not know how to…?" Dommal trailed off.

"Truly," said Alric, and Tony was sure the guy hadn't blinked yet. "What are the requirements for knighthood in Winterfell, if not skill with a sword and battle experience? Among other things, to be sure."

Crap, crap, shit, crap…

"I—I don't remember?" Tony jerked his hand up to his head and scrunched up his face in what he hoped looked like pain and a struggle to think. "Sorry, I, uh…"

So much for respecting my wacky "culture", hey Alric? I guess you can only take so much weirdness.

"Heavenly God," Dommal burst out and gave a startled chuckle. "Whatever you do, do not tell Mad John about this. The man will not let you live it down, Sir Tony."

Tony's stomach uncoiled a little and he offered a hopeful half-smile in the younger man's direction. The panic subsided.

"Sir Tony, I am certain you do know how to wield a weapon," said Dommal confidently. "You are, after all, a knight. Your mind has merely forgotten as a result of your injury. I will help you remember."

"Thanks," said Tony, exhaling with relief. Bullet dodged? Again? Shit, I'm going to be dead before midnight if I don't watch it. "I appreciate it."

Dommal dove back into his supper, shaking his head and laughing to himself. He changed the subject to what he'd done that afternoon, which included loading wagons and preparing horses for the camp's upcoming journey.

Alric returned to his meal too, but there was an air of suspicion now that didn't dissipate, though he was not unfriendly. He tried not to think about it, and he dug back into his own food, once again grateful for Dommal. At least if the kid could teach him how to use a sword and some other "medieval basics," maybe Tony could bullshit his way through this world a little better.

Mad John soon returned, with plates of bread and cheese and more meat, and he refilled their tankards, even Tony's, from a pitcher. He was jovial and loud, and while he mostly stayed away from openly insulting Tony as he had before, he still worked little remarks and snide criticisms into the conversation. Tony did his best to laugh it off like they were all jokes and he wasn't bothered, but it was clear Mad John had zero respect for him. Tony didn't exactly appreciate him back, so he figured they were even. For now.

To say Tony enjoyed the meal was a stretch. It filled his belly, and it wasn't exactly horrible. The meat was greasy—the stuff he got wasn't chicken and he didn't want to know what he was eating instead. He'd eaten a wide variety of exotic things in his life and he wasn't at all above trying new things, but medieval sanitation standards were not high. Or existent.

Thinking too much about it bothered him a lot, so he worked hard at not thinking about it at all. Even so, there was sweat on his forehead from the effort of actively not picturing the number of hands that had touched his food before him.

The bread was harder than Tony liked, full of bits of seeds and coarse flour. The stuff in his cup, the ale, was the only option for a beverage. When Tony asked if he could have some water, Mad John scorned him that water was only good for bathing and horses. Alric much more politely informed him that the water in this area was bad, causing sickness.

Tony guessed that was probably because they didn't yet know to boil the bacteria out of the water to make it safe and drinkable. He decided to keep it simple and stick to the ale, which tasted kinda bitter and kinda weak, like apples gone a little bad and made into lukewarm, vaguely alcoholic tea.

After they were through with the meal, Tony once again trailed after the knights as they left the hall. Darkness had fallen and a sea of brilliant white stars dotted the clear sky. A crisp breeze cut against his scratchy clothes as he walked.

Mad John led the way, grumbling in irritated undertones that the "pup" was about to be included in "matters of great import." They reached their destination (yet another ramshackle hut) and joined a handful of other knights seated around a table covered in maps. Introductions were made: Hugh, William, Charles, Edwin or Edward or something, more weird names, a dude called Clerebold of all things, Ans-something-or-other...

No one else seemed to be terribly bothered by Tony's presence, aside from a few questioning glances, so John was forced to keep his obvious misgivings to himself. Tony fought not to smirk in the big man's direction, lest he get punched in the face with one of those meaty fists.

"We've been summoned back to Dunkeld," announced Alric. "To aid our liege lord in defending his lands against Highlanders encroaching from the west, in Inverness-shire." He unrolled a map and spread it across the table. He pointed out where Dunkeld was, situated roughly halfway between the southern-most border that butted up against England, and the Northern Ocean and Orkney Islands at the northernmost tip.

"And where are we?" Tony inquired.

Alric slid his finger over the parchment towards the south of Scotland, not too far from the English border. "Partway between Lochmaben and Eives."

Tony frowned. While he was no geography whiz, he thought the space between where they were and where they needed to go looked pretty large. It was difficult to determine, however, as the area depicted was pretty different from any modern map Tony had seen.

"Our journey would be shorter if we were able to trek straight north," one of the other men explained. "But we must detour to Dunfe to deliver a shipment of cloves and other precious spices from the far east." He tapped his finger on the area where Dunfe was located, which was about halfway between Dunkeld and Eives, but way to the east coast of Scotland.

"That looks far," Tony mumbled.

"Aye, it'll be a mighty slog," said Mad John, stroking his bushy beard thoughtfully. "What with all the wagons, women, animals, and so on. I wager it'll take us somewhere about two days 'till Dunfe, then another three to Dunkeld. That's if we're hasty, which is not likely with so much cargo—live and otherwise."

Tony hung back as John, Alric, Dommal, and the others discussed the finer details of the journey. It sounded completely laborious in every respect and Tony was not looking forward to a moment of it. Least of all riding a horse for several days straight. The thought of it made him miss his suit—hell, almost anything would be better than a four-legged animal, in his opinion.

After the lengthy meeting (where Tony was completely bored and pretending not to be), the group departed. Dommal promised they'd find a comfortable place for Tony to sleep. He gestured for him to follow while Alric split off to talk further with some of the other knights.

Dommal brought Tony back to the hut that he shared with Alric. When Tony settled down on the pile of uncomfortable, lumpy, compressed hay that was apparently "the good bed", he could barely believe he'd made it through the day.

And that it'd only been one damn day.

A/n: The metal dissolving solution that Tony required is an actual thing, called aqua regia, and it was invented/discovered by a Muslim alchemist, sometime before 815 AD. It's a combo of sulfuric acid, hydrochloric acid, and nitric acid, and apparently will dissolve gold, titanium, platinum, and more. Huh! Science!

Also, apparently your average medieval forge can reach temperatures of 1500–2000 degrees C. All the materials you'd find in a smartphone have melting points easily within that range, so it's totally possible for Tony's stuff to be melted down in a medieval forge. The things you learn while writing…