And then, the day that Jarvis once promised him finally comes.
"Master Stark would like you down in the lab," the now familiar voice rings out from the ceiling. Compliantly, Loki puts the book aside that he's been reading and heads to the elevator. He likes it when he can help out, even if his assistance so far has been more passive than active, Stark being the one doing most of the actual work.
He expects to be placed beneath that scanner again, or one of the other couple of devices that apparently collect useful readings from his person, but this time, it turns out to be about something else.
"Hey," Stark says as Loki approaches, about to sit down in his usual chair, the one without armrests for easier access and measuring. "I need you to help me with something."
Loki's eyebrows perk up a little at that. This sounds different from Stark's usual requests, like something that might perhaps require a bit more active participation from his side. At least he hopes it does. He would have liked that.
Stark swivels around in his movable chair to face Loki. In his hand, there are several sheets of papers with finely printed text on them. The man waves them around for emphasis as he speaks. "So I've been reading those books I brought back – well, or at least the translation Jarvis made of them – and it's some interesting stuff right there. Though some of it is rather ambiguous, or, to put it more clearly, straight out incomprehensible." He gestures again with the wad of paper. "So I've collected a bunch of question on the source material and how to interpret it. I figured that you might be able to answer at least some of them, with your centuries of magical acquaintance and all."
Loki feels his heart make a little leap at that. Of course, his own field of specialty has always been Aesir magic and not the Vanir brand, but the general principles are still the same, no matter from which branch of Yggdrasil the power is drawn.
He nods. "I will answer your questions to the best of my abilities," he promises.
"Cool," Stark says, handing the sheets over to Loki. "Just work at your own pace, there's no immediate hurry for now." He points towards the table where the books from Vanaheim are lying in heaps on top of each other. "And if you need to access the original material, feel free to go ahead."
Loki can hear the choked but still audible gasp emanating from his own mouth at that, but Stark doesn't seem to notice as he returns to tapping away on the keyboard in front of him, seemingly unaware of the momentous words he has just spoken.
Stark has just given him permission to read the Vanir books. Books whose texts most likely no sorcerer from Asgard has ever laid his eyes on, save for a few excerpts.
But the most significant part of it isn't that Loki can now access knowledge previously as unavailable to him as a mountain to a deep-water fish. As much as he still thirsts for the knowledge contained within those tomes, if for no other reason now than to slake the curiosity that has been burning inside of him for centuries, he is of course no longer able to make use of it in his magic-less state. Instead, there is another aspect that now looms larger, more significant.
He looks down at the list in his hands. It's a long one. There must be over a hundred questions printed on those sheets, perhaps closer to two hundred. Stark must have been compiling that list for quite some time, adding questions as he worked through the translations, in preparation for a day that might perhaps never come.
Only now, that day has come. The day that Stark has decided that he can trust Loki with those books. That Loki won't misuse the privilege granted him, that he won't find a way to turn the arcane knowledge against Stark or otherwise deceive him. And that feels more important than the opportunity to sate his own private curiosity after so many centuries.
He straightens a little where he stands, eyes skimming the impressive collection of questions. Stark's trust in him makes him feel honoured, and the last thing he wants is to let the man down. Silently, he resolves to do his utmost to give as useful and detailed answers to each and every question as he can manage.
And so, they both settle down to focus on their own respective work, Stark at his screen and Loki in front of his papers and the Vanir books. As tempting as it is to leaf through them and gorge himself on the enticing knowledge written on those pages, he decides not to do any reading merely for his own interest until he has worked through at least half of the list he's been provided with.
He starts with jotting down a reply to the topmost question, an easy one that he could have answered after merely a couple of years of magic studies. The next one is trickier, though, and he has to think for several minutes before being able to formulate an answer that will make sense to a non-seidr user. His handwriting looks strange to him written in Midgard's alphabet instead of the elegant runes he's used to, but at least he feels confident enough to write in that foreign script now that he has read several of the books in Stark's library.
And the work is quite enjoyable. Most questions have more to do with magic in general and not with anything that's specific to the Vanir texts in front of him, but sometimes he does need to look something up to understand what Stark is referring to. And every time, he feels a stir of excitement inside of him as he allows himself to open one of those books and come face to face with its well-kept secrets.
But even when he can easily answer the question asked by utilizing only the knowledge contained in his own mind, he still finds the task rewarding. The answer might be obvious and simple to him, but it remains a challenge to translate it into something that will be useful and understandable to Stark whose frame of reference is an entirely different one.
It's a very welcome change, working with his head as opposed to his body. Time flies, and the tip of the pen in his hand almost seems to glow as it rapidly fills sheet after sheet with explanations and clarifications.
Then comes a question that he doesn't quite understand, despite how he twists and turns its wording around in his head. Stark is still occupied at his screen, intensely focused, but Loki decides to ask him anyway. He doesn't want to risk forgetting the question if he saves it for later and then handing Stark an incomplete assignment.
"Stark?" he says. The address feels strange in his mouth, unaccustomed. "I'm not quite sure I understand this question." There seems to be something missing at the end of his sentence, a specific word left unspoken.
But despite the strangeness, he likes it, getting to address Stark so… casually.
Almost as if-
He quenches the thought before it can fully form in his head, instead pointing to the relevant unclarity as Stark turns around to look at the list held out before him.
"Your inquiry about the Astral Plane," he says by way of clarification. "It's not situated on any of the branches of the World Tree, so it means there are no-"
Stark waves a hand. "Meh, just skip it if it doesn't make any sense. A lot of the questions I sort of just made up on the spot anyway, before I really knew what I was asking."
"As you wish, Mast- Stark," he corrects, almost forgetting himself and what Stark told him just the other day.
But the man seems not to notice his slip-up. Or at least not care.
Returning to his list, he can't help but finding it strange that Stark does not wish for the respectful title that he's fully entitled to, but he has no doubt that he will quickly grow used to it, just like he has grown used to all the other unexpected things that turned out to await him here in Midgard.
He still remembers the words Stark had spoken, the ones where he had told Loki that he wasn't a slave. At least not by Midgard's standards. Or, perhaps more importantly, by Stark's standards.
But one unanswered question still remains – what is he by his own standards? Until that particular conversation, he had of course thought of himself as Stark's slave, albeit a very pampered and favoured slave, more like one in name rather than in practice. But, still a slave.
And now?
He has no answer.
For a long time, he ponders that question and its implications instead of the ones he should be focusing on, the ones printed on the papers before him. In the end, he can come up with no better answer than the one Stark had offered when asked the very same question.
He's here.
And perhaps that is the best, most relevant answer. He's here, and what happens from here on will at least to some extent depend on himself and what he decides to make of his situation. He can choose to be useful or not. To be resentful or not. Helpful or not. There are still a lot of choices for him to make; neither Stark nor anyone else will be making them for him. Of course he won't have the range of choices available to him that he had in another life, but while Vanaheim had offered him none, at least now he has some.
And perhaps that's the best answer he will be able to find for himself.
He flinches slightly at the sound of the door to the lab closing with a curt thud, interrupting his musings. Looking up, he expects to see Stark gone, but the situation turns out to be the opposite; the man has just entered. Apparently Loki had been so deeply entrenched in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when Stark left and closed the door behind him the first time.
There's a big plastic bowl in the man's hand; from the smell emanating from it Loki can tell that it contains something edible, though to him unidentifiable.
"I brought us some popcorn," Stark says as he proceeds to put the bowl down on the table and then grab a fistful of its whitish contents. He chews a few times, the food crunching audibly between his teeth. "Try some, they're really good!"
Hesitantly, Loki reaches out to sample this new, unfamiliar foodstuff. There are still so many new types of food encountering him here; Midgard seems to have an endless supply of culinary inventions.
The white, puffy shapes don't taste like much, though, mostly salt and not much else.
But these… popcorns are still special, not because of their taste – which is rather bland – but because of another reason entirely. He can still recall the first time he and Stark had eaten a meal together, that one time the man had told Loki to sit on the chair opposite from him. That in itself had been amazing enough, of course, but there had still had been two separate boxes of food.
But now there are not. Now they're eating out of the same bowl. Stark is sharing his food with Loki, like one might share with an equal.
And that feels special. So he takes another handful of the bulbous shapes, enjoying every chew, despite the decidedly unimpressive taste.
"They're really good, huh?" Stark asks, his own mouth full.
Loki merely nods. Perhaps his response is not entirely truthful to the question as Stark intended it, but he still doesn't consider it a lie – barring the taste, the popcorns are much better than just good.
He can recall how he had stood before the bathroom mirror staring at his own reflection after Stark had cut his hair, secretly thinking to himself that he looked like a free man.
But sharing Stark's food like this, he can't stop the odd stirring inside of him, can't stop how it's now making him also feel like a free man.
Well, not entirely free, of course, he still doubts that Stark would let him walk out of here if he wanted to, but it's close enough. And besides, it's not like that little detail matters when he has nowhere to go anyway.
The feeling stirring inside of him again, he grabs another handful of the bland and yet strangely sparkling popcorns.