"You didn't have to come all this way, Ambassador. I made sure some complimentary sample platters were sent to the royal table," says Tony as he points with the tilt of his chin and smiles upon seeing the delight on both the royal siblings' faces, "See?"

The Ambassador didn't bother to confirm this even as he parked his keester down on the bench opposite him. The old elf had already taken a slice of combo pizza and began chewing with an expression of such bliss. How Larien manage all that gooeyness without messing up his white Fu Manchu Tony would like to know. He's been thinking about growing a mustache or even a goatee himself just to buck the trend of clean shaven Omegas.

The Ambassador swallows audibly before gesturing with his handful of half-eaten pizza down the table and spoke with mock horror, "And miss out on all the fun?"

He then takes another bite, chews and moans with exaggerated enjoyment before continuing, "My compliments to Cook in replicating such fares. The crust is a tad too crispy for my taste but the toppings are a delightful attempt considering what is available on Alfheim. I believe tis a successful merger of the two realms. If only politics be as easy as culinary arts."

"You should have been at the initial taste test," Tony mock shudders and gestures with his hand, "I was this close to request King Frey in allowing me to make an inter-realm order from Lombardi's."

Larien snorts in return, "King Frey may think it amusing but I doubt Heimdall would appreciate the Bifrost to be reduce to a delivery service."

Tony caught himself mid-laugh, "Wait, Heimdall is an actual person and not just a codename to activate the Bifrost transporter?"

Finishing off the last couple of bites, the Ambassador simply shrugs before answering, "Aye. I suppose tis a signal in a way. Most need only call for his attention since he is Heimdall, the All-Seeing Gatekeeper of Asgard; the wielder of Hofund— "

Tony decidedly cuts him off, knowing how long these lengthy titles can get, "Yeah. I was warned all those Norse gods mumbo jumbo business were all myths wasn't it? That whole spiel is making it sound more legit by the minute."

"The fact of the matter is, such fictionalization told and retold by mere mortals over a millennia ago about beings they once revered as gods are oftentimes embellished and holds little knowledge beyond exaggeration in one breath while predicting our demise by another. Is it not best, Prince Anthony, to witness for one self? Surely, none of these stories you have read alluded to the current state of affairs: of Thor, the God of Thunder, to wed Anthony Stark of Midgard?"

Larien raises a brow to punctate his argument and let it linger between them. Tony couldn't agree more, since the beginning he was adamant the source materials were flawed. It didn't mean he should concede without comment however, "Point, point, and one more point for prosperity. Sheesh, you definitely weren't kidding about being a Master Word-smith, huh?"

By now, the Ambassador had place a hamburger slider and two slices of meat lover's pizza on his plate. As much as Tony would like to dive in with equal fervor as the guests at his table are doing, except for Tanna who's standing sentinel behind him somewhere per usual, he's already full from the earlier taste test. It didn't mean he didn't enjoy watching them (especially Kip and Pip) go to town with some of his favorite foods while having a bit of good ol' intellectual conversation with the Ambassador. Tony gestures the old elf to have at it before grabbing two nutty gingersnap cookies for himself.

After polishing his plate off, Larien took a swig of his wine then gave a hardy belch in compliments to the chef before continuing their conversation not without following Tony's example and snatch up two cookies too.

"Tis not an envious profession I assure you. No matter the species or distinction, although some worse than others, people learn not to trust a Word-smith on principle. They expect our every other word to be filled with traps and allurements. As young Prince Loki can attest, the Asgardians are the worst of the lot since they perceive action to be more honest than words."

Brawns over brains, oh what a pity. Tony is beginning to dislike Asgard more and more despite not having step foot on his future home yet. At least he would have a natural ally in Loki to look forward to.

"Yet they have no reservation to send you in for negotiations?"

"Ah, your estimation of me is commendable, my Lord, however tis false in your assumption. Make no mistake: in this game of war, tis much like your Midgardian chess, the All-Father knows his rooks from his pawns. I am merely another chess piece on the board. When words fail, the Asgardians takes great pleasure in holding back none of the action."

In other words: expendable. Tony wonders briefly what value he has on Odin's chessboard and frankly lost his appetite altogether. He pushed the half eaten cookie away and signals for Tanna to pour him his watered down wine combo instead.

"If you were trying to recruit me as a student, your sales pitch needs a bit of work."

"My apologies, your Highness. Tis not my intention to be a party pooper, so to speak. In fact, I was looking forward to spending the last night of my vacation with a charming Omega such as your lovely self. It has been many years since my late wife exacted a vow from me to never remarry. Otherwise, I am tempted to challenge Prince Thor with what you Midgardian's would say the droit du seigneur."

Tony did a spit take then, promptly wiping his mouth with his sleeves as he coughed up the rest up. Thankfully, it wasn't a huge mess like last night. The young elf sitting next to Tony shook his head and offers him a cloth napkin in sympathy. It took a few dabs to get the rest of the liquid off his person before Tony finally lifts his head and glares at the Ambassador with amuse annoyance.

"I think you meant droit de défier since the former would get you a big fat 'ew' whereas the latter would be 'aw, you would do that for me.' Besides, you're a bit old for me, don't you think? Creepy much?"

"I would not demur at both options," says Larien with a devilish glint in his eyes before remarking offhandedly, "Indeed, Prince Thor would be a bit old for you, I am thrice his age."

After quickly taking a gulp before the old elf says something else inappropriate, Tony decides to give the Word-smith a taste of his own medicine, "You know, you're the second old fart to come on to me, somewhat. Do I look like jailbait to you?"

Choking just a bit, Larien splutters cookie fragments at his word choice and Tony couldn't widen his grin far enough. The old elf dusts off his Fu Manchu before admonishing him with a shake of his head, "Age is relative between species, what matters is the physical maturation are compatible. You would attract any Alpha regardless of age who would enjoy a mate with a bit more wit. Tis common in Alfheim, Asgardians are a different lot altogether."

Tony shrugs, "I don't know, if Thor wasn't such a cock block, I think Fandral would have jumped me the first chance he gets."

"Fandral would lie with any who would spread their legs," scoffs the Ambassador before taking on a much more serious tone than Tony has ever heard the other addressed him with, "I would advise you not to encourage Fandral. His conquest once complete, the scoundrel flees the trap of a marriage bower most hastily."

"Woah there. You know I wasn't serious in considering him as an option, right?"

Instead of reverting back to their earlier banter, Larien continues to warn him, "Serious attachment or not, I caution you to lend your good will needlessly. In these realms, any sign of affection from an unmated Omega is consider an invitation for carte blanche."

Okay. Oddly enough, Tony is beginning to feel like he's in another fairytale where his hairy god elf is warning him of some evil portends of doom. He tries laughing it off, but it comes out awkward. So he tries a different tactic, "Seriously, I am envious of you being able to use French, Latin and even modern slangs so easily."

"Tis no more easier than yourself are capable of understanding me," quips the old elf in return.

There. That did seem to do the trick. So he continues in this vein, "True. I guess after two weeks of watching my words almost all the time and having to explain myself more than once—"

Tony takes a moment to look over his shoulder pointedly at Tanna, who he knows for damn sure has been eavesdropping, before completing his observation, "I find it refreshing that's all. So back to carte blanche, well?"

The glint of humor was back in those all too knowing eyes, Larien merely shrugs one shoulder in return, "Tis the best description I can think of at the moment. I suppose, one can say is similar to droit de défier, except the challenger may commit the act of bride stealing and not suffer any legal repercussions for it."

Huh. Bride stealing is a thing. For that brief moment, everything clicked. He's gone back in time and entered a sci-fi fantasy Omega novel.

Tony hopes his effort to look less dumbstruck was not in vain, "So I'm confined here until Thor and I do the deed? Glad to know."

Again, probably seeing more than he ought to comment, Tony is grateful that Larien chose not to, "Crudely put, but aye."

"Duly noted," and Tony winks with a kitschy click of his tongue for good measure, "And no flirting, gotcha."

Shaking his head at Tony's contradicting behavior, the old elf declares in delight, "Tis affection you must withheld, not flirtation, sir. You may practice with me for I am quite harmless."

With a roll of his eyes, Tony mocks with a deadpan, "I'll believe that when you lose your tongue and can't communicate."

As Tony soon finds out, Larien was not above committing theatrics with his words. The old elf place a hand over his heart as if wounded before vacating his seat altogether to brandish a nice little attention getting bow, "I will gladly give up my livelihood for a smidgeon of your affections. However since I am no match for Prince Thor, I shall accept any platonic platitudes you may have for me, my Lord."

Awkward silence ensues.

Oh, crap.

Knowing that all eyes at his table (and perhaps the entire dining hall maybe) were on them, Tony blinks a few times to think up something witty to say. In all honesty, everything came up blank until a snort of laughter bubbles up and before he knows it, a full onset chortle takes over him. Whether it was the politically correct thing to do, the hall suddenly fills with laughter as everyone follows suit.

One look at the Ambassador's overacted affront has Tony feeling all kinds of relief. By the time the laughter dies down and the usual chattering noise resumes, Larien sits back down and flashes a broad smile for Tony's benefit.

"Well met, my Lord."


Hours later, Tony couldn't imagine a more entertaining night since he landed on Alfheim. After the Ambassador's little outburst, the rest of the elves at his table took jibes at Larien and somehow turn to discussions on culture, language, food, and fashion of all things. Tony loved it. It gave him hope to be able to explore other topics once he's more familiar with Alfheim and the other realms.

By the time both Royal siblings had left the dining hall, Tony felt a strange sense of loss for the night to come to a close. He said goodnight to the few remaining elves on his table and caught sight of Larien approaching from his peripheral, probably returning to say goodbye. Tony pivots around and meet the old elf half way.

"Do you really have to leave so soon? We barely touched on all the subjects I wanted to talk about."

"You flatter me, my Lord," began Larien with such sincerity that soon turn false, "I thought you would be delighted to be rid of me especially after you gave me the cut direct in front of all my kinfolks."

It wasn't wholly unexpected, by now Tony was use to the old elf's quirks.

"I'm serious. What's the rush anyways?"

"Rejoice, my Lord," the Ambassador nodded in acquiescence and obliges Tony in cutting the bullshit, "I am to depart on your behalf amongst other duties. It would seem Queen Frigga has taken the task upon herself to champion your cause. She has spoken with the All-Father directly and enlisted King Frey in sponsoring your old pack mates to attend the ceremony. Her plea was most impressive and has succeeded in granting you the choice of three pack mates. Choose wisely, your Highness, in light of what you now know."

Speechless, Tony could scarcely form words for the whole of a minute. His mouth gapes open and probably made a good imitation of a fish out of water before he finds himself instead of being excited, exasperation was the forefront of all his emotions, "Y— y— you waited until now to tell me? I could have been packing to go back with you."

Larien was already shaking his head in negation before Tony could further his complaint. His demeanor now reflects more of the title of wise Ambassador than the bantering mentor he's been so familiar with.

"You are mistaken, my Lord. The stipulation from the Proclamation still stands. You are to remain here. As for the lateness of the hour, that is out of my control. The Queen, you see, had only receive the permission herself via messenger a moment ago. She intercepted me just now and gave me leave to tell you. Tis not our intention to delay your gratification."

"Oh." And now Tony feels like an entitled ass. Dipping his head to hide his embarrassment, Tony shuffles his feet before he scrounges up what's left of his good manners and apologize, "I'm sorry. I am happy. More than I can express. I miss all of them and the thought… that I could go back…"

Thankfully, the silence that stretch between them isn't as awkward as earlier in the evening. After a moment, Tony finds his courage again, "Can you give my Uncle Steve a message?"

"It will be my pleasure, your Highness."

"First thing, tell him that I trust his judgment, but he has to be one of them and, um—" Tony pauses briefly until all the previous gloom left him for good and his cheeky self finally exerts its ugly head, "that way he can be blame for favoring one pack mate over the other. Second thing is, um, can he bring me a copy of a dictionary and a cookbook to Alfheim? Would it go against some sort of 'Prime Directive' or something? Or would it be consider smuggling cultural goods through custom?"

"Knowledge has always been welcome on Alfheim."

Well then, Tony didn't just try his luck, he shot for the moon.

"In that case, would my Iron Man suit qualify as a learning tool? There's an artificial intelligence called J.A.R.V.I.S. built in."

The twinkle was back in Larien's eyes as he shook his head in negation, "Now you are pushing it, my Lord. You will come to learn in time. Until then, such exchanges must be embrace gradually."

"I guess," Tony was not the least repentant and flashes a toothy smile instead, "Wait, will you be escorting them back with you?"

"Aye, in a few days if all goes accordingly."

In most things, one can say Tony catches on pretty quick. However, one can't blame the genius when the truth of the matter finally sinks in: Christmas was definitely coming early on Alfheim.

"Awesome!"


Early next morning, Tony waits anxiously for what he now brand (to Tanna's dismay) his 'dirty dozen' to assemble. Everything was all set. The makeshift chalkboard on the inside of the barn door has completely dried and is ready for use. Tanna has positioned some benches before it for seating arrangements and all his drawings and blueprints were accounted for the presentation.

It felt like forever before everyone began to trickle in. Well everyone that Tony expected except for Pip and Kip. Their predecessors strode into his territory chatting with a few of the elves and sat down as if they have all rights to be there. He knows plenty of people like them who don't pull their weight but expects to reap the benefits afterward.

Nonchalantly folding his hands behind his back, Tony signals with a curl of his index finger for Tanna to come over. When she didn't show up, he did it again. Still nothing. Either she didn't see his gesture or she doesn't understand his meaning. Losing his impatience entirely, he foregoes all subtlety, does a complete turnabout, and stalks right up to her. His expression must have been something fierce since Tanna actually takes a few steps back in alarm. What Tony wants, Tony gets and right now he has no time for riffraff he told himself.

Not caring if he sounded like a brat, Tony whispers in a rush, "I don't remember inviting them to the party. What gives?"

Tanna takes a moment to scan the crowd and realization dawns on her face before she ventures a guess, "They must have spoken to one of your dirty dozen and are…curious, perhaps?"

Tony is quick to mutter in return, "If they are—" and raised two hands up for air quotes, "just curious," before crossing his arms over his chest and grouses, "then it means I'm short two helpers."

He could tell that Tanna was having an obvious crisis since she's doing that wobbly lip thing that looks like a smile but is trying to be serious. So he purposely intensifies his glare and she quickly picks, unfortunately it was tinge with humor, "What would you have me do, my Lord?"

"Tell them to piss off."

Tanna blinks twice then deadpans, "I beg your pardon?"

"You know, get their hoity-toity arses off my bench and bring back the teacup elves."

He receives two more blinks before his assistant (and yes, he's referring Tanna to that from now on) sniffs and deals with his demand in her oh so efficient way, "As you wish, sir."

True to her word, while Tony walks back to address his dirty dozen minus two, Tanna flags down a passing servant to whisper some instructions before she discretely signals the twins to have a private word with them. The pair seem reluctant to go, but thankfully doesn't raise a stink as they slip away. The trio walks back towards the open arch leading down to the stables but still within sight. Making a point to ignore the brewing hostility on their pimpled faces, Tont begins by welcoming the group and waste no time to elaborate on the type of projects he had in mind.

By the time Pip and Kip joins the group Tony has either impress the whole lot of them or was speaking in a foreign tongue. There was nothing but blank stares. Obviously this AllSpeak application needs an update. His eyes automatically went in search of his handy translator slash assistant and discovers not only has the twin not left, they had lingered and listen in on his little keynote. And judging by the asshole grins on their faces, gladly pissing on his parade. While standing a bit way off from the nasty duo, Tanna shrugs in apology.

Mentally flipping the birdie to the peanut gallery, Tony steels his spine and flashes the smug grin he reserves for the public and resolves to treat this small group like he's hosting the annual Stark Expo. It's bedazzle time.

Taking one of his more simplistic but fun designs in hand, Tony rolls it out with a flourish and tacks the blueprint onto the barn door.

"I call it a skateboard."

Nothing like a pair of wheels to get the crowd up and oohing.