Author's note: Well, this is more of a filler chapter, I suppose, but we'll have more stuff happening in a bit…
"Who goes there?" The voice booms across the bridge, carried as easily as sound across a still water surface on a quiet evening, and it makes Tony wonder if all Aesir voices ever do anything else than boom.
Thor stops in his tracks and holds up a hand, indicating for Tony to remain where he is. Loki has already stopped, arms crossed defensively.
"Greetings Heimdall," the Thunderer exclaims. "It is I, Thor, son of Odin, along with my brother Loki and Man of Iron, a well-renowned warrior and hero of Midgard."
Well, that's one introduction Tony's sure never heard before and a fresh breath of air given all the endless billionaire genius superstar variations he's gotten over the years. Though, he sure hopes no one in Asgard will want to test the validity of the whole 'well-renowned warrior and hero' thing, not when his suit is still hanging in his workshop somewhere on the other side of the universe.
"Welcome, Thor." Heimdall steps aside to admit them entrance to the splendid realm behind him. "Your arrival is expected by the Allfather, and so are those of your companions. You may enter."
"Thank you, my friend." With that, Thor waves them forward again, as he resumes his own regal striding, like a crown prince on his way to his coronation.
Heimdall eyes them impassively as they pass, silent and unmoving like a statue. Long red braids are sticking out from under his helmet on either side of his face. Tony can only barely make out where the hair ends and the beard takes over, but the eyes looking out from all that red fuzz are piercing blue steel, not unlike Thor's own. He makes a mental note to ask Thor if the two of them are related; maybe he is the Thunderer's half-uncle twice removed or something.
Tony offers the rainbow guardian a friendly smile as they pass him by. Heimdall makes no sign of acknowledgement, but only stands there like a pillar of the Earth with his spear in one hand, its butt resting firmly against the ground.
Pleasant guy. Then again, if Tony had been forced to stand around guarding the same bridge century after century, he would probably have been feeling pretty crusty too. The guy obviously hasn't gotten the best gig; when job descriptions were handed out Heimdall clearly wasn't far enough ahead in line to snatch himself one of the cool ones like God of Thunder or God of War. Instead, he got stuck with a rainbow.
Though, Tony soon gets other things on his mind as the walls of Asgard loom in closer, the city breathtaking in its beauty. As they pass through the gates, he can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed that no severed heads of the slain enemies of Asgard are adorning them.
He notices out of the corner of his eye that even though Loki has been dragging his feet so far, once they pass the gates he quickly inches up closer to Thor, as if the thunder god has a magic aura around him whose protection will extend to anyone standing close enough.
Which, Tony supposes, might not be all that far from the truth in Loki's case. He's sure glad to have Thor as company to make sure that Loki stays safe.
Inside the walls, the wide square stretching out before them is bustling with activity and Tony has to quickly side-step to avoid getting trampled by a column of Einherjers marching resolutely by, armour and weapons clinking in unison. On his other side, a bleating goat runs past him, a torn rope hanging from around its neck, and maybe twenty yards ahead, two deadly-looking warriors are locked in a round of mock-sword fighting, their weapons gleaming in the sun as they strike at each other, grunting and groaning. Or at least Tony thinks they're mock-fighting, but he's just guessing here.
And it truly is the kingdom of the gods, he realizes, straight out of the most pompous, overblown fantasy saga ever imagined. Everyone here milling around in the square is bold, beautiful and proud. Men and women both, they're moving with confidence and grace, some with a touch more refinement, others with more brawniness, like they've all spent a life-time being worshipped and honoured, and have learnt to act according to their station. Regality in their bearings, pride shining in their eyes and faces, these Aesir are truly beings of myth and legend.
Then, from behind a corner, suddenly come two creatures that mar the dashing perfection like stains of red wine on a white tablecloth. It's a man and a woman, though that's not immediately obvious, given their hunched postures and carefully bowed heads. Whereas the other Aesir are clad in shining armour and fine fabrics, these two are dressed in rags, ill-fitting and fraying at the seams. Tony stares at them, not sure what to believe, even though no one else seems to notice the tattered beings, so unlike the proud and mighty Aesir he's seen until now. The man and the woman move like silent shadows, as if they don't want to be noticed, eyes directed towards the ground like they think someone will slap them were they to raise their gazes from the cobblestones even for a brief second.
It is only when the two wretched creatures have turned another corner and disappeared from view that the grinding realization dawns on Tony. These two are slaves.
Damn.
There's a strange lump forming in his throat as he stares after their no longer visible forms. Suddenly, Asgard doesn't seem like Shangri-La any longer, but more like something straight out of Planet of the Apes.
Revulsion churning inside of him, he casts a look at Loki; even though the god's back is turned towards him, it looks like his shoulders are more tense, more drawn-up than usual.
Then Thor's voice is calling to him. "Come on, friend, don't drag your feet or I might lose you in the crowd."
And Tony obeys. He most certainly doesn't want to end up separated from Thor, because who knows what might happen if he does. Maybe some of these Aesir will snatch the weird alien in their midst off the street and sell him on some slave auction for some stuck-up noble's amusement, if he's unlucky.
"The Royal Halls are not far from here," Thor says after a brief look on Tony's face, totally misreading him. "I'm sure you must find this experience very overwhelming and exhausting, but once we are in my chambers you will have an opportunity to rest undisturbed."
For once, Tony doesn't really have much to say; the sight of the ragged couple still haunting his inner eye.
He has to admit, though, that the Royal Halls are indeed impressive. The jewel in the crown that is Asgard, gleaming even brighter and reaching even further towards the sky than the rest. Golden shields are lining the façade, as are inscriptions and runes in tasteful, thought-out patterns. Clearly, the Aesir have a penchant for dragons, judging by the meticulously carved representations of long, slithering serpents adorning the massive doors and windows.
And the inside of the halls is equally breathtaking. The St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican and all those other fancy places he's never visited got nothing on this.
"Damn, you guys hired some really spiffy interior decorators for this job, didn't you?" Tony breathes, eyes glancing over the life-like majestic statues of long-dead warriors and kings and heroes standing in long lines, each one wearing a full suit of armour and weapons. He sure hopes that these guys don't come alive at night and compensate for being dead by going berserk in the halls. If so, he's totally going to ask for a room with a bolted steel door.
"These are all mighty ancestors of the Aesir," Thor explains, his face shining as he enthusiastically points to one of the statues with a brutal battle axe clasped in both hands. "This is Karl the Bloodaxe. He was a warrior who led many successful campaigns against both Jotunheim and Svartalfheim, heaping the realm of Asgard with much glory. And this," he waves his hand towards the equally ferocious-looking statue next in line, "is Hjalmar the Ironbeard. It is said that-"
"I would think your guest has little interest in Asgardian history lessons," Loki's voice drawls to his right, but it sounds more tired and weary than anything. It's the first words he's spoken in a long time, having spent most of the journey in brooding solitude.
Thor's face falls a little, but he acquiesces.
"Follow me, then. My chambers are not far from here."
Tony and Loki fall in behind the blond god yet again, through meandering corridors and gilded halls with ceilings so high that ten men could stand on each other's shoulders and still not be able to touch the beautiful runic inscriptions that someone somehow managed to place up there.
Thor's definition of 'not far from here' soon turns out to be rather different from Tony's, but that's alright, the surroundings are breathtaking enough to make up for it. He can't help but feeling like a tourist from Hicksville going on his first trip abroad, gaping and gawking at the magnificent sights presented before him. Just all those Japanese tourists with their ever-present cameras missing, or the picture would have been complete.
And the place just breathes magic and ancientness and mysteries. As they enter through some of the doorways, Tony can swear there is an odd prickle on his skin or a fleeting moment of dizziness, and he wonders if there are enchantment and spells that have been woven into the very structure of the building. As if old and powerful magic is brimming just under the surface, like a living entity that has been forced into servitude, bound to offer its protection to the ones entering these sacred halls.
And people thought that he was being all high and mighty and full of himself when he had the Stark Tower erected.
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