A/n: Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you are all having wonderful holidays. :D Apologies this is getting posted so late - I'm in the middle of surviving copious family visits/visiting. XD Hopefully Friday's chapter will go up quicker! ;D In the meantime, here's some more Tony...
[ TONY ]
Donnie: "Where did you come from?"
Frank: "Do you believe in time travel?"
– Donnie Darko
The first time Tony woke, his head bumped painfully against something hard. He moaned, and it took longer than it should've for him to put together that the sensation meant he was moving. A rumbling noise filled his ears. He was in a wagon, or something like one, going who-knew-where.
He hurt everywhere and his head pounded like the Hulk was battering his skull over and over. He thought he heard a voice murmuring and tried to open his eyes. He caught a glimpse of dust and darkness, maybe a shadowed figure, a face, but the effort was too much. He passed out again.
The second time went a little better. Tony didn't know how much time had passed, but now the darkness was more thorough; night must have fallen. He wasn't moving anymore, or the wagon wasn't. Or maybe he wasn't in a wagon anymore, because it didn't feel like he was lying on wood. Straw and something harder underneath—stone, maybe? He was too fuzzy to tell just yet, but his body ached worse than before and he cried out involuntarily when he tried to move.
"Sir Tony?" someone whispered.
Tony forced his eyes open. The act made his head swim, and he fought off the sharp wave of nausea that burned in his throat. He breathed in through his nose and tried to focus on taking stock of the situation.
Above him was more darkness—a roof, maybe more stone. There wasn't a limb on his body that wasn't bruised and battered. An invisible fist still thumped his head from the inside. And something scratchy held his wrists together. Cold fear trickled into his gut.
"Sir Tony?" the voice tried again, louder this time. It sounded like Alric.
"Wh…" Tony started. He fought against his sandpaper throat and a tongue too big and sluggish to form words. How long had he been out?
"We are prisoners of war," Alric told him, guessing Tony's unspoken question. "At least, I believe we are."
Tony slowly turned his head to the side. He waited for the dizziness to subside and his view to stabilize. He could barely see Alric—only a hint of moonlight shone into the cramped room through a slit high in the wall. It lent the clarity to differ between the shadow of the room's walls and the shadow of Alric's sitting-up silhouette.
"What…happened?" Tony managed. He remembered a lot of blood and screaming. And getting smashed in the head.
"Most were killed," said Alric. His voice was quiet and tearing at the seams. "The rest taken prisoner."
That trickle of fear turned into a flood, filling Tony's torso and shooting through every vein.
"Everyone?" he asked. He hauled in a shaky breath.
Alric's voice was unsteady as he softly replied, "Yes. We were captured and…I know not what they intend to do with us next. They split us apart—only the three of us are here in this cell."
"Three?"
"You and I," Alric said emotionally. "And Anselm. But I don't believe he shall survive the night."
He was supposed to be glad that he'd survived, that his friend had made it, but what about the others? What about Dommal? And losing that many men? Being prisoners? Tony's gut turned over. It was pretty grim, to say the least. He pressed his bound hands to his forehead, struggling not to let hopelessness consume him.
Tony let himself wallow for a few minutes about the utterly craptastic situation he'd found himself in before he got his feet and tried to work out a way to escape their cell. The whole situation crept under his skin and brought back vivid memories of his time in that cave in Afghanistan, sharp and painful. He'd done the prisoner thing—damned if he was going to do it again.
God, what I wouldn't give for a suit right now. Hell, a piece of a suit would be good. He inhaled deep and pressed his fingernails into his palms. He kinda regretted following Bruce's orders right about now.
The room was small, and every wall was good stone—no sizeable flaws to exploit. The window was high up, even if he stood on someone else's shoulders to reach it, and too tiny for Tony to get his head through anyway. He thought about drawing up a message of some description and tossing it out the window, but he didn't exactly have the materials to do so. Even then, the only ones likely to find it were more Scots.
He stepped over Anselm's unmoving form to inspect the door. It was thick, heavy wood with a small barred window near the top and a narrow slit at the base to push food through. Tony ran his hands over every nook and cranny, searching for something he could use, for anything but came up empty. Tony frowned—the hinges were on the outside and the door was sturdy and void of holes or rotten spots.
Tony sighed through his nose and settled back down onto his meagre, uncomfortable cot. He fought off another wave of dizziness. He wasn't going to admit it was hopeless yet, but it was certainly feeling that way. He'd figure a way out of this, though. He had to.
He gingerly reached up to try to inspect his head. Dried blood, sweat, and grime crusted his hair. Though he'd been hit damn solidly, he didn't think much of the blood was his. Certainly had a giant, tender goose egg he could brushed against with the inside of his wrists, but nothing too major, thankfully.
Tony rested his bound hands in his lap. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, determination and grief and anger and homesickness swelling and clashing in his chest. He was so sick of this medieval crap. He just wanted to go home.
"I am sorry, Sir Tony," said Alric softly. "It would seem that we are at the mercy of our captors for the time being."
"Yeah, about that."
Tony opened his eyes and forced himself to focus on logic instead of emotion, to shove everything else away. Moonlight slowly changed to dawn, the light sifting through their tiny window. Tony kept his gaze turned away from Anselm's still body on the floor.
"What do they want with us? What are they going to do to us?"
Alric fell quiet for a few long, unsettling moments. "It varies from clan to clan."
"Ballpark it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. I mean, just…guess. Give me an idea." Tony steeled himself for whatever his friend was about to reveal.
"Death, most likely," the knight answered. He spoke quietly as if he was concerned about waking Anselm. Tony wondered if he was even still alive but couldn't bring himself to check. "Teaching the English usurpers a lesson and so forth. Humiliation and torture. Perhaps they may require us as slaves to aid them—building structures, digging trenches, menial tasks, and the like."
Perfect. Tony closed his eyes again.
For a couple hours, Tony and Alric didn't speak much, aside from idle, pointless small talk to puncture the silent room and keep them sane. When the sun was higher in the sky, Tony could see more detail in their little cell. Alric was as filthy-looking as Tony felt, covered in dirt, dried blood, and who-knew-what-else. Unmoving on the floor, Anselm's skin was gray, mottled with bruises and blood. He didn't move a muscle in the several minutes Tony stared at him. The longer he looked, the more he was sure the guy was dead.
Tony turned away, bile rising in his throat. His mouth was horribly dry and his stomach gave an ungainly rumble. How many hours since they'd been captured? Would they give them food and water, or force them to starve?
The hours dragged on. Tony restlessly got up to pace, just for something to do, but there wasn't much floor to move on. He laid down on the scratchy cot to try to sleep, but there was no point. He wasn't tired and his head still hurt like hell. Alric stood to stretch his legs for a bit and Tony took the floor so Alric could lay on the cot. Maybe mid-afternoon or so, Alric finally reached for a topic that was more substantial.
"Sir Tony?" said Alric, dragging Tony from his frustrated thoughts. "Since it might be helpful in passing the time, perhaps we could speak about who you are and how you came to be here."
Tony snorted. He had no idea where to start.
"And if I may, while this may sound a strange a request, please understand I request this for a reason: tell me your story at my side so that I may lay my hand across your arm."
Tony stared. Okaaay…
Alric awkwardly settled onto the cold ground beside Tony. Like he had back in the forest that day, the knight pushed aside Tony's sleeve and placed his hands on Tony's arm, as best as he could with his wrists tied together.
Alric nodded. "Begin."
Tony still had no idea where to start, but he said what he could. At first, he tried to keep it simple—he talked slowly, working hard to speak in Thor-esque tones and skirt the full truth. After a little while, he gave up. He and Alric were probably going to die or Tony was going to disappear when his team found him and took him back to the future, so what did he have to lose? They were prisoners in a Scottish camp—Alric was in no position to order an execution for Tony for being too crazy, nor would the Scots care if Alric ended up ranting about mechanical suits and aliens.
So Tony spilled. He told Alric about being from the future. About Hector Lazarus and his wacky bomb, how after it went off, Tony found himself trapped in medieval Scotland. About his team of super-friends and how he was stranded here until those friends in another time, somewhere far in the future, could devise a way to get him home.
Alric's features rippled with shock. The place where the knight's hands rested on Tony grew hot, almost uncomfortably so, the entire time Tony spoke. When he had finished, Alric let go and Tony's skin was left feeling prickly and too cool.
"I believe you," the knight whispered, sounding surprised by his own words.
"What? You can't—seriously?"
Alric shook his head. "You shared your story, Sir Tony, and 'tis only fair I share mine." He held up his bound hands. "I can sense truth from lies with my touch. I have had this ability since I can remember—perhaps from birth. I know not how or why, only that it is. It has never failed me."
So that's how he knew I meant what I said back in the woods, Tony thought with a jolt. The information probably should have surprised him. After experiencing black holes in space, demi-gods, actual aliens, Extremis-infused soldiers, and freaking time travel, actual superpowers shouldn't didn't faze him.
Huh. An 'enhanced' of yore. Whodathunk?
"While…while I cannot fathom much of what you spoke, you are, impossibly, speaking true." Alric shook his head again in utter disbelief. He let out a startled chuckle. "No wonder you know nothing of swords and horses. Is the world so very different from where you hail?"
Tony thought about his lab, JARVIS, his suits, S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers. "You have no idea, pal."
He couldn't stop a burst of laughter from spilling forth. Not only because of how insane this all had to be for Alric, but also because of how insane the entire thing really was, and because he was honestly out of other emotions to feel. In fact, once the laughter started, he couldn't seem to stop, and then Alric was laughing too in some sort of contagious insanity neither of them could control.
The laughter subsided and they caught their breath when a harsh banging sounded on their cell door. Tony admitted he was possibly delirious and spent, but after the rollercoaster that had been the past several hours, let alone weeks, he couldn't help himself.
"What the hell do you want?" he shouted.
A round of indiscernible yells followed and Tony rolled his eyes.
He was exhausted. Hungry, thirsty. Tired of this, tired of this life and crap, tired of fucking everything. So what if they knocked him around for mouthing off? He couldn't bring himself to care, especially if they were about to kill him. They could march him to their little planned execution but they couldn't make him play nice about it.
"Yeah, come in here and say that to my face," he shot back.
"Sir Tony," Alric said in warning, the mirth from a few seconds ago dissolving fast.
And that's when Tony had a great, totally reckless, idiotic idea.
There was another round of demands and barks from the men outside their door, not enough of it in English for Tony to understand.
"Your mother is a hamster!" Tony called out and giggled. It was so stupid.
"Tony!" Alric hissed.
"No, listen," said the genius in a hasty undertone. "I'm going to piss them off and you be ready to jump them when they open the door." Loudly to their captors, Tony hollered, "And your father smells of elderberries!"
Alric stared, his expression a blend of incredulity and amusement.
"Okay, I know, lamest insults ever. I'm too tired—all I can think of is Monty Python."
"Bastard Scottish pigs!" Alric yelled.
Tony raised his eyebrows. "Nice one."
"What's goin' on here?" A deep voice sounded at the door, speaking muddled-sounding English.
"Ah, finally," said Tony as he climbed to his feet and readied his stance. "Someone who speaks God's mother tongue!" He shot a wink at his knight friend while the Scotsmen outside cursed.
Alric climbed to his feet. "Your intention to anger them is certainly…"
"Working?"
"Cease and desist!" hollered the English-speaking one, who Tony was dubbing the Leader. "Our good lady won't tolerate ye insolence, even in these dungeons."
"Oh, I know exactly how good your lady is," said Tony, with enough innuendo in his voice to give them exactly the wrong impression. The men roared.
"One might say that." Alric readied himself to tackle the Scots.
Tony grinned and the door swung open.
He and Alric flew into action, barrelling into the men standing just outside their cell. One of the guards charged while the others stayed back. Tony dove forward and caught a meaty fist to the jaw. He tripped over Anselm's dead body, narrowly avoiding another flying fist. He crashed into one of the guard's legs and spun himself to kick out, but another Scot dropped atop Tony to pin him down.
Tony lost sight of Alric and was smacked hard enough in the head to put sparks exploding across his vision. When his eyes cleared, he saw his friend similarly pinned down. Tony groaned. So much for escaping.
"Ye diseased ingrates," one of the men above Tony—Leader—growled. He cuffed Tony in the head again. Tony gasped in pain. "I'll teach ye some respect!"
The other men hauled Tony to his feet and dragged him down the grimy hallway. From other cells came random shouts and Tony thought he heard Dommal's voice before the Scots shoved Tony up the stairs and out a narrow doorway. He blinked against the brilliant sunlight, stumbling over the rough ground. They dragged him forward. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw where they were leading him: the stocks.
"Oh for—shit."
"Enough!" Leader barked, jabbing his fist into Tony's back.
Together with three of his men, they wrestled Tony up onto the small platform and forced his head down into a carved out section of a wooden board. They undid the bindings on his wrists and positioned his arms into two smaller curves on either side of his head. One of the Scots slammed the top piece of the board into place over Tony's neck and attached a lock. They stepped back to admire their work now that their prisoner was secure.
"We'll speak with m'Lady Brae about what to do with the likes o' you," said Leader with a malicious sneer.
"Ye got 'im good there, Myhll!"
The other men lobbed taunts and insults at Tony with a mix of English and what Tony assumed was ancient Scottish or Gaelic. They marched back to the castle, laughing and cat-calling over their shoulders.
Tony let his head hang. Freaking medieval bastards.
A/n: So, what Tony was put in is actually called "the pillory." Stocks are actually where a person is in a sitting position and have their feet locked up. Most people, however, think of the stocks as the standing one, and I figure Tony wouldn't know the difference, so he referred to the pillory as "the stocks." Secondly, the pillory was mostly used for public humiliation on minor crimes, and people were only in them for a few hours at most. I could not find any description of what it's like to be in the stocks/pillory, so what follows in this fic is an imaginative guess. And Tony wildly (understandably) exaggerating how long he actually is in there. ;)