[ TONY ]
"Even amongst the vast and beautiful landscape I felt trapped as if I were back in the stone walls of Castle Leoch. Would I have to reconcile myself to live the rest of my life amongst strangers two hundred years in the past?" –Claire, Outlander
As suspected, Tony did not have a great deal of fun traveling the old-fashioned way.
Mere hours in, he was sore from riding the horse. He couldn't relax while atop it—the thing was, like, a thousand pounds of live animal that could just bolt and kill him at any second, and he'd never liked the damn things, and God, this was such a nightmare.
The company's progress was incredibly slow. A couple hundred people trekking across meadows, through forests and rivers, were slow on their own. Never mind that those people were toting dismantled huts and shelters, and dozens and dozens of animals (goats, pigs, chickens, and more). Then, all the supplies required to feed those animals and people for the solid week-plus that they needed to get where they were going.
Luckily, at least, Tony didn't have to drag his suit around, as he and Alric had shoved it into the swamp first thing in the morning. It hadn't been easy but with their combined strength, they got it in. The armour was quickly swallowed by the mud and mire and Tony brushed his hands together, satisfied if feeling the loss. The suit was sure to sink down deep, and the chances of it being found were basically nil. He'd joined the knight in preparations for the company's journey after that.
Alric, Dommal, and a group of knights and soldiers led the way, and Tony stayed up the front with them. Periodically, a few of the knights would ride back down the wide, meandering throng to check in and make sure things were going okay, all the way to where the rest of the knights were on rear guard. Then they would return to the front and report anything important or call for the travelers to take a break.
Tony hated the first night they slept out under the stars—he was cold, the ground was too hard under the ridiculously thin rolled hay "cot" Dommal had procured for him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't wake up again. It was completely irrational, but it was dark and it was the 1100s and Tony didn't want to take his chances. He fought off another panic attack over his messed up situation, determined not to completely freak out again (justified or not). After a fitful, thoroughly unrestful sleep, Tony woke to find his scratchy clothes damp with morning dew.
Great, he thought irritably, standing up and wincing at the sharp kink in his back and neck. He shouldn't have cursed the dew, however; a few short hours after dawn, it started pouring rain. He tried to put on the leathery poncho-like cloak Alric had given him, but Dommal caught sight and laughed.
"Sir Tony, 'tis merely a bit of rain!" He grinned and turned his round face towards the sky. Big fat droplets splashed down the younger boy's cheeks.
Tony scowled and pulled the cloak on anyways. "Yeah, well, I don't like being wet."
Dommal laughed harder at this, his green eyes glittering with mirth. "Then you should not have come to Scotland!"
The rain let up by late afternoon, so Tony supposed it could have been worse. The company stopped for yet another break. They ate coarse bread, cheese, cold meat leftovers (well, the others did—Tony wasn't hungry enough to eat meat from a sack that'd been sitting in the sun and rain for two days), and washed it down with ale. Tony's head was pounding from lack of caffeine, so he tried to drink a little extra ale in hopes of countering it with a bit of a buzz. The ale was too weak and didn't help at all.
Later, Dommal took Tony to a small forested area off to the side of where the company had settled. He brought along a set of wooden practice swords and went over the basics of swordplay. They circled each other beneath the dappled sunlight, trampling sprigs of white wildflowers.
Tony found he wasn't completely hopeless with a sword, but he also wasn't very good. He hadn't done any fencing since a handful of lessons with Jarvis when he was young. Still, he was a fast learner, and could more or less parry simple blows after a good hour. It was a hell of a workout regardless, and Tony was sweating up a storm while Dommal hardly perspired at all. Practicing also would've been easier, Tony decided, if his thighs weren't already killing him from riding.
"Clearly you have not ridden in a very long while, my friend," said Dommal. He observed the way Tony limped around the grass, painfully and bow-legged. "Did they not have horses in Winterfell either?" he teased.
"Sure they do, I just don't ride them," Tony smirked and lunged at the young knight, who dodged and parried the strike without effort.
"We will have to remedy that as well." Dommal swung his wooden sword in a wide arc.
Tony stumbled out of the way. He clumsily blocked a slowed down hit from the younger knight.
"You know," Tony panted. "You don't...have to go...so easy on me. I can take it."
Dommal shook his head. "I mean this kindly, Sir Tony, but you've no more skill than our stable boy who's never held a sword in all his life."
Well, that's 'cause I've never held a sword in all my life, Tony thought ruefully. He assumed foam ones didn't count.
"I should…probably be offended…by that, but...it's kinda true...isn't it?" Tony slumped to the green ground, completely spent. The trees surrounding him and Dommal blocked direct beams from the late afternoon sun, but it was still muggy and hot; the humidity from the rain earlier hadn't dissipated.
Dommal laughed merrily and settled down beside him. "Fear not—you will simply have to relearn what your mind has forgotten. Your body may remember faster than you think."
Tony sighed. "Tell me the horse thing gets better too?" He gestured to his legs. "That it stops hurting?"
The knight bowed his curly-haired head, amused but not mocking. "Yes, indeed, Sir Tony. Your body will grow used to the horse and its movements. Though you would do well not to ride so… stiffly." This time he was mocking. He clenched his teeth together, tensed his arms to his ribs, and his shoulders to his ears, then mimed swaying back and forth with jerky motions.
"I don't ride the horse like that," Tony protested, but Dommal continued, his eyes bulging. "I do not ride like that!"
Alric came striding through the trees and across the clearing towards them, a small smile on his lips.
Tony gestured to Dommal. "Do I ride like that? I don't ride like that."
"I believe that is why your limbs troubled you so this morning," Alric said matter-of-factly.
Tony huffed while Dommal laughed again, giving Tony a jovial slap on the shoulder.
"The horse I selected for you is a fair one, Sir Tony," Alric assured him. "She listens well, runs sure and swift, and you need not fear her."
Tony frowned, unconvinced. His friend's words were hardly comforting. He doubted they'd get any more understanding if he tried to explain that the beasts had always made him nervous. He'd had a total of one riding lesson in his life and it had ended in tears—he'd been like six or seven at the time, granted, but he had never gone back.
"It is time we pressed on," Alric informed them, gesturing back at the company.
Dommal was on his feet first and helped Tony to his. He clapped him on the back again and thanked him for a fun bout of sword practice. Tony in turn thanked him for his tutoring and mentally prepared himself to get back on that damn horse. Dommal headed away, but Alric stopped Tony from following.
"A word, if you wouldn't mind, Sir Tony?" asked the knight.
Tony nodded, suddenly apprehensive. "Sure, what's up?"
Alric's brow wrinkled and he looked uncomfortable and unsure. "I do not wish to… question your character. But I must ask—I must know. Sir Tony, where are you from, truly?"
He watched Tony with those sharp gray-blue eyes of his, while Tony silently fumbled for something to say.
"No one has heard of Winterfell," Alric continued. "And while it is not unusual for many to have not heard tell of far-off lands, it is extraordinarily strange that no one has heard the slightest word pertaining to your land—including Anselm, who has travelled farther than most of us can imagine. The world is a very large place, I grant you, but…"
The knight trailed off. He was normally so sure and precise when he spoke, but now he was uncertain.
Tony clenched his jaw and his pulse raced. Now what? he thought. Yes, you're right, I made it up—it's from a TV show. I'm from the future, sent back here by a crazy guy with an even crazier bomb. And I've battled aliens and fire soldiers in my flying suit! Now, shall I get the wood for the stake-burning, or will you?
At least Alric was uncomfortable enough with this conversation that he fell silent, leaving Tony a few breaths to figure out a way to answer without ending up dead. They killed crazy people outright in those—these days for crap like this, didn't they?
"I believe that you are unfamiliar with knightly activities, but I am no longer certain it is because of a great injury—you are too sure of yourself otherwise," said Alric. "Are you a knight at all? Are you…are you a nobleman in disguise? Scholar? A fugitive? Did you truly lose companions in a terrible event? I mostly wish to know…why you feel required to perpetuate falsehoods?"
Would being a fake noble dude on the run from a fake conspiracy get me out of this? Tony wondered, his heartbeat pulsing in his temples. He dug his nails into his palm.
After a long pause where Alric watched and waited, Tony realized he had to speak. He swallowed hard.
"Alric, if I explained it all to you, you would think I was—that my mind was broken...and you'd probably want to chop my head off or something."
"Why would—"
"Trust me on this. I promise you that I mean no harm to you or anyone here. I am just a guy, very, very far away from home," said Tony carefully, but earnestly. "I did lose my close friends—my companions. But they're not here—searching for them won't do me any good. For all intents and purposes, they're gone." He took a breath. "And no, I'm… I'm not a knight."
Tony waited for Alric to be angry or shocked, but the knight reached for Tony's arm. He flinched in alarm.
"I mean you no harm either, Sir Tony," Alric assured him. He grasped Tony's elbow, lifting, and pushed Tony's sleeve out of the way. He gently laid his hand on Tony's bare forearm.
What the hell? Tony's eyes darted from his arm to Alric's eyes, which watched Tony without blinking.
"Repeat yourself, Sir Tony," he instructed.
Tony stared. "I…what?"
Alric's face was as expressionless as a slab of stone. "Are you a knight?"
"...no?" The hand on his arm was warmer than it should've been—almost too hot.
"Are you from a faraway land?"
"Well, technically, yeah, but it's less about where and more…seriously, what are you doing?"
The knight tilted his head to the side with a slight smile and released Tony's arm.
"You speak truth," he remarked. Tony couldn't tell if he was surprised or not.
"Yeah—what did you just do to me?" He rubbed at the spot where Alric had held him. It still was too hot and sorta prickly, like pins and needles.
"Since you are not a knight, then why introduce yourself as such?"
Was the guy dodging him on purpose? What the crap was that arm thing all about?
Because I thought you were nerds in costume, not honest-to-God knights, Tony didn't say. Instead he went with, "Because I was worried you would…" What had Dommal said when Tony had first met them in the forest? "I was scared you'd think I was a Scottish pig. Or spy. Or something. But I'm not."
"You know that impersonating a knight is a treasonous act," Alric stated and Tony's heart rate climbed again.
Oh God, he thought. Here it comes—execution for introducing myself as 'Sir'.
The knight surprised him again, however, and that small, amused smile was pulling at his lips. "Fortunately, I've grown fond of you, Sir Tony, and would rather not see you hanged for… shall we say, a moment of weakness?"
Tony thought he was taking this pretty well but was too thankful to dwell on it. "Thanks," he exhaled.
Alric's features washed with genuine empathy for a moment. "I understand what it is to be fresh from battle, alone, and faced with strangers. I do not blame you for your lies, Sir Tony. Nor do I blame you for continuing it; once we accepted you, how could you reject your own proclamations?"
"Pretty much, yeah," said Tony with a shrug.
"Would you not tell me the truth, instead?" the knight pressed gently. "The full breadth. Your history, and where you truly hail from?"
Tony wanted to, he really did. But he didn't want to see the friendship and acceptance on Alric's face turn to fear and scorn and confusion. He didn't want to be strung up for being a heretic or a demon or whatever they'd call him if started spouting off about time travel and motorized cars and a team of superheroes who saved the world once a week (give or take). He had to survive here as long as possible—until Bruce could get him out and back home, however long that would be.
So he dodged the other's man gaze and mumbled, "I can't."
Alric studied Tony. "Perhaps another time?"
Yeah, totally, Tony thought sarcastically. He was still weirded out by whatever-the-hell the arm thing was, but he sensed a way out of this conversation, so he took it. Aloud, he agreed, "Yeah, another time."
Alric nodded. On the edge of the forest, Hugh was shouting for them; it was time to leave. Alric shot Tony another smile.
"I shall not reveal your secret, Sir Tony," he promised, meaning it.
Tony thanked him, more relieved than he could possibly describe, and trailed after the knight as they left the clearing.
Tony did his best to ride in a more relaxed manner when the journey resumed, and to not clutch the reins with the white-knuckled grip that had made his hands ache. He attempted to flow with the horse, like Alric instructed, as the animal calmly plodded after the other knights' horses.
By nightfall, he decided he'd made progress. He still hurt like hell, he had all kinds of wonderful chafing on his inner thighs, and the kink in his neck from sleeping on the ground still wouldn't go away—but he did feel a little more relaxed on the horse. He supposed enough uneventful hours of tedious riding would do that eventually.
He didn't sleep much better the second night—he swore he heard wolves howling in the distance and then he had nightmares about a gnarly pack of them attacking him—or the third night, which followed another thoroughly uneventful day, and more caffeine-withdrawal headaches.
Not that Tony was complaining, exactly. It was just that he was freaking bored. Somehow, he'd thought being in the company of honest-to-God knights would be a lot more exciting than escorting a couple hundred townspeople and their stuff. At least he'd gotten his on-the-verge-of-another-panic-attack feeling under control. Maybe enough uneventful hours of tedious riding had done that, too.
He hadn't had any contact from Bruce since that first day and he found himself surreptitiously watching the stream's surface when they stopped to wash things or refill casks. Was the connection only water-related or was it any reflective surface? Tony wondered if one day he'd be sipping ale from a tankard and see Bruce in his cup.
Then he wondered, with an uncomfortable twinge, if it was that specific lake and Tony would have to get back there if he ever wanted to talk to his friend again. He forced the thought away—if Bruce had news, he would find a way. He already had once.
By the fifth day of the journey, Tony took to riding with the knights who went down the line to check on the company's progress, just for something to do. On one ride-by, Renfred the blacksmith called to him to say that the aqua regia from Godwin had done its work and that there was nothing left of Tony's things.
Tony smiled. Score one for chemistry.
Riding with Charles, William, and Dommal up and down the winding mass of people broke up the ride and gave him something else to focus on. Soon, Tony chose to ride with whichever group of knights went to check on the column, several times a day.
This only served to reinforce how real it all was—and at times, how deadly real.
There was the wagon that blew one of its wooden wheels and needed repairs, and the wagon that tipped into one of the deeper, rushing rivers they crossed. They lost several bags of grain, one donkey, and nearly two men—the one driving the wagon and the one rescuing him.
Then there was the young woman with her screaming baby; Alric said the babe had a fever and likely to die before they reached Dunfe. Tony's insides twisted with helplessness. What he wouldn't give for some real medicine right about now.
There was the chicken that Dommal casually asked him to kill to eat for food the next night. When Tony sputtered out an uneasy, mumbled excuse, Mad John angrily snatched the squawking bird from Dommal's hands and snapped its neck right in front of them.
Tony very reluctantly helped Dommal de-feather it by a stream afterwards. Yes, okay, he knew where the nice boneless, skinless chicken breasts in his freezer came from, he wasn't an idiot, but grabbing a Styrofoam package from his freezer that Pepper had someone buy for him and cracking open a warm, bloody, dead bird with his own shaking hands in freaking medieval Scotland were two massively different things. After that little incident, Dommal probably thought Tony was as weak as John did, but Tony didn't care.
Another day, there was the little boy with the infected eye (Godwin kept applying foul-smelling salves and bandages, while one of the women muttered that the boy was cursed) and the little blind girl who was far too skinny and rode an equally starved-looking goat (Tony sought her out and gave her his portion of rabbit a few hours later when he couldn't stop thinking about her empty eyes and hollow cheeks).
There was the woman who died of sickness—no one seemed to know specifically what—and the man who needed a pair of sticks to walk after he tumbled off his horse and twisted his ankle and, and, and…
Tony rubbed his hands over his eyes. It was a lot. It was a lot to see and experience in a week, and most of it just made him incredibly thankful he was not born in this century. Or that he'd been born like ten centuries after this one, because the ones in between probably didn't suck much less than this one, if his shaky memories of history class were anything to go by.
Tony sighed and let his head tilt back against the tree he was leaning against. It was still dark out, and chilly, though the cold didn't bother him as much. A thick blanket of fog hung across the land, muffling the soft noises of the nature surrounding him. It was strange—the fog was thick and he knew how disorienting that could be, having flown through it in the suit on occasion. But it was also strangely comforting, oddly peaceful.
Though he didn't feel sleepy (he was getting better at sleeping on the ground, but it was still uncomfortable), he closed his eyes for a moment or two, simply to listen to the quiet enveloping him.
He opened his eyes again and stared out at the land, obscured and opaque with fog. Dim shapes were suggested here and there in the distance, where earlier the sun had shone down on rocky ridges, winding rivers, rolling green hills, and expansive forests. A faint, vague glow low in the misty sky indicated where the moon was setting.
Dawn was coming soon.
When the first hues of blue began to lighten the world around Tony, Dommal made his way up the hill from the camp to his friend lounging against the tree.
"Good morning," he greeted. "I trust you slept well?"
Tony shook his head. "The usual." His smile was small and tired. He scratched at his face; his beard was growing out and itched something fierce.
"You'll grow used to it soon enough," Dommal assured him, as he always did.
Tony highly doubted that—he didn't particularly want to grow used to it. He wanted to get the hell home to his real bed and coffee and a razor—but he didn't say that. He shoved away any feelings of homesickness before they took root. He was finally doing okay here and wanted to keep doing okay.
Dommal settled down in the grass beside Tony. They sat in companionable silence, watching the sun slowly emerge from behind distant mountains. The fog dissipated a little at a time as the sun burned it away, like a painter unveiling a masterpiece with his brush. The forests and hills, the ridges and rivers took concrete form once again.
Tony had never been particularly outdoorsy. He could certainly appreciate nature on occasion if he had to, but given the choice, he'd rather spend the weekend in his shop tinkering (God, he missed fiddling with something, anything, mechanical) or maybe at a party, rather than in the bush—something he and Clint disagreed on.
The archer was a big fan of nature, of trees and wilderness, camping and hiking, the whole nine yards. Barton liked to say that "enjoying nature" was more than a silly camping trip in the woods at the edge of a city, that it was "something real special". Tony had always scoffed. Watching the fog melt, Tony finally understood what his friend meant by that.
Damn, he thought. This really is gorgeous.
The sight even made Tony a little breathless. It was pure, untouched. He watched the sun peek over the horizon, sending brilliant gold rays fanning over the untouched landscape. The moment in a movie where some schmuck got teary-eyed over a sunrise had always seemed cheesy and false to Tony, but now he kinda got it.
It wasn't like this was his first sunrise or anything—he'd seen plenty and from some pretty spectacular vantage points courtesy of his money and his suits. Most of those sunrises, admittedly, he'd seen because he forgot to go to bed and had worked through the night (or, back in the day, partied until it was morning). They'd been nice, sure.
But he hadn't seen any like this.
"Clint should be here," Tony mumbled aloud. He would really appreciate this view.
"Is he one of your lost comrades?" Dommal asked softly.
Tony nodded and a pang of loss hit his chest. He wondered if would ever see any of them again. The day of the bomb already felt like a lifetime ago.
He buried thoughts of Pepper the moment her face appeared in his mind—there was no point in getting homesick. But, God , he missed her so much. He still felt like he couldn't properly function without her. The only way he was making it through this was by very, very stubbornly not thinking about her at all. Or Rhodey, or Happy, or his team. He would just keep riding that damn horse and hope Bruce would get him out of here somehow, sooner rather than later.
Tony swallowed and blinked away the moisture trying to gather in his eyes.
Not long after dawn, it was time for breakfast. Tony nibbled on bread, cheese, and salted mystery meat (Dommal claimed it was hedgehog, but Tony chose to pretend otherwise). He washed it down with some ale. He still wasn't a big fan of the stuff, but it still seemed to be the only thing they ever drank—the casks they filled with water were for the animals' benefit only. He missed coffee, soda, and good clean water.
And, shit, did he ever miss coffee. He'd literally take anything right now. He didn't care what kind—the fancy stuff JARVIS made him, the crap Steve liked, the sugary stuff from the coffee shop beside the Tower…anything.
Before the sun was much higher in the sky, the company was off again, bound at last for the village of Dunfe. They plodded over yet more hills and streams, through forests and meadows, finally coming upon the town by about midday.
Once they delivered the spices to the local merchants and apothecaries, it was time to continue on to Dunkeld. Much of the massive company Tony had so far travelled with dispersed to corners of the town and to the nearby country. Many people with their weighed-down wagons moved on to farms and fifes to the west and east. Some returned to their homes, while others took shelter at inns. The majority of the soldiers and knights, including Dommal, Alric, Mad John, William, and Clerebold, continued north and west. Tony, with nowhere else to go, followed.
As they left Dunfe behind, Tony realized he'd had the option to stay there if he wanted. It wasn't like he was bound to these guys, nor bound to their quest of helping out their lord or whatever. But what would he do if he did stay?
He really had no place to be (Alric, for one, knew he had no "lost companions" to search for, though they both continued the lie to Dommal or anyone who asked). He had no plan, no particular direction, and he was still waiting for more contact from Bruce. Though the longer he went without hearing from the scientist, the less hopeful he was that he was ever going to speak to him again or get back to when he belonged.
In the end, he figured he was better off continuing to ride with the knights bound for Dunkeld. Honestly, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.
A/n: Fun fact: when I very, very initially began working on this fic, I wrote a few openings for the characters figuring out where they were, and then the scene with Tony watching dawn arrive and feeling homesick. It remains largely unchanged since I first wrote it so long ago and that brings me weird joy. XD