Author's note: In response to Nightalp as to why no one stopped to notice Loki on the way – actually, I think at least some people did notice. Or at least, they would have noticed Thor, and if they had deigned to pay any attention to his companions, they would most likely have recognized Loki as well. But I don't think it counts as polite in Asgard to stare at the crown price or his company, so people were no doubt being discreet about it. ^^ Plus, that part was told from Tony's POV, and he was probably far too busy gawking at his surroundings to notice any attention they might have gotten in turn.
After some further twists and turns through meandering corridors, they're finally standing in what Tony supposes would count as the humongous equivalent of Thor's living room. Not quite as grandiose as the Halls they've just passed, but for a living room it's pretty fancy with pillars ornaments and runic inscriptions all over the place.
And not very private, given the constant trickle of servants passing through, carrying stuff, harrying about, running errands or whatever it is people in their line of profession do.
Tony raises an eyebrow. "Is your place always this busy?"
Thor wrinkles his brow for a few seconds as if he doesn't understand what Tony is referring to, as if the servants busying themselves or passing by on quick and silent feet are all but invisible, mere ghosts or shadows not worthy of notice.
Which, Tony supposes, is probably the truth for someone like the Royal Son of Odin who's grown up with seeing people like this as part of the furnishing.
"You know, all these people running around." Tony gestures to a servant carrying a bucket of water in each hand, striding quickly and briskly towards one of the smaller doors that are no doubt only used by servants and the like.
"Oh," Thor says, blinking, as if he is only seeing them just now. "You mean the servants. Well, you may not realize, Man of Iron, but as the crown prince of Asgard, I have not only a large number of Einherjer warriors in my service, but also skilled people employed in various other trades. It takes many workers and valets and servants to run such a large household, but you will only see but a few of them here. Most have duties that make them occupied elsewhere."
Tony cocks his head to the side. "Sounds like you have quite the little empire running here, buddy. But there's really only one guy I came here to see, and that's your dad. So when are we meeting him?"
"When the Allfather decides to summon you. I will send word to him that we have arrived, in case Huginn or Muninn haven't done so already," Thor says.
"You mean I have to sit around and wait until your daddy feels up for a chat? Don't I at least get a fixed time slot or something?"
Thor frowns slightly. "Odin is a busy ruler. He will send for you when he is ready." And that's final, Tony can hear loud and clear between the lines.
Okay, it's not like he has never made people wait in his lifetime, deliberately or not, so he supposes he doesn't have that much room to talk here.
"Well then," the Thunderer says, happy to take Tony's silence as acceptance. "I am afraid I must take my leave for the time being as I am to meet with a delegation from Alfheim to discuss a trading agreement between our realms." A streak of bad conscience mars Thor's pleasant features, the god clearly having preferred not to leave his recently arrived Midgardian guest to his own devices like this. "However, you shall not lack for anything in my absence; the servants will bring you refreshments while you wait for my return, and if there is anything you should crave, do not hesitate to ask for it. Before my departure to Midgard, I made sure to inform my household of your imminent arrival to our realm, so they all know that you are an honoured guest in my house and that I expect you to be treated as such."
"Well, that's splendid, Thunderboy," Tony grins. "You think I could have one of those pretty Asgardian maidens hand feeding me grapes while I recline on a futon? Preferably a blond, but I'm not picky."
"I am afraid we do not have this thing you call 'grapes' in our realm," Thor says, as usual missing the funny. "However, if there is anything else you should wish for, please feel free to tell the servants here, and they shall provide it if it is within our means."
"Alright, then," Tony agrees. "We'll just wait around here, then, chilling out, until you're back."
"Again, I am sorry I have to take my leave so hastily after your arrival, but a crown prince has many duties to fulfil on behalf of the realm," Thor apologizes once more with that patented wet puppy dog of his.
"No problem, Hercules. I'm a big boy, I think I can manage." He throws the god a friendly don't-you-worry kind of grin. At least he gets to sit around and wait in the coolest space-alien building that he's ever set his foot in.
Thor nods, before turning to Loki with a solemn, serious face, all official business and no play. "Please, remember to behave according to what's expected, or you will invite serious trouble for yourself."
Loki's lips curl at the words, but he doesn't argue. "I already said I will act as appropriate," he mutters, looking none to pleased about Thor's reminder.
The blond god locks gazes with his brother for a moment during which the air between them seems to crackle with intensity, and then Thor draws a sigh, probably realizing that nothing he says will have much of an affect. Instead, he turns and walks out, after having offered a parting, 'Until later, then.'
Tony wrinkles his eyebrows at the little exchange, feeling vaguely uneasy. He glances furtively in Loki's direction, noticing the strain in the rigid figure, the tenseness marring his features, like he'd rather be anywhere but here.
But then, a servant comes along carrying a tray loaded with a couple of mugs, a pitcher of water, and a jug of beer, rich and fluffy foam overflowing from the rim. Probably the beer is meant for him and the water for Loki, but fuck if Tony is going to care about any of that.
The servant nods politely at Tony and unloads his burden on top of the table with a flowery 'please drench your thirst to your behest, Man of Iron', and Tony finds himself grinning again, unease momentarily forgotten. Beer. He can roll with that.
Especially considering that he hasn't had a single drink since yesterday.
So here they are, in Thor's chambers, back in Asgard despite Loki once being sure that he would never set his foot in this realm again. And even if Tony's visit might not turn out to make a difference in the end, it's still a chance, no matter how infinitesimal. His only chance of not having to spend the rest of his life in bonded servitude.
Still, he can't help but feel exposed like a target at an archery practice field, his skin crawling from the disdainful gazes the servants are throwing in his direction as they pass by, though they smile politely at Tony, Thor's honoured guest. And oh, how it's all so obvious in their faces as they hurry past, pretending not see him, acting as if he's a shadow, a mere flicker of the imagination – the resentment, the dislike, and the anger. If he'd still had his powers, there would have been fear in those gazes as well, he is certain. Fear of the monster, of the traitor, of enemy of the realm. The one who never belonged here in the first place, who has now committed sins and transgressions too grave to overlook or forget, trespasses against the people who was never his to begin with.
Though he is pointedly ignored by all – who would pay attention to a slave anyway? – he still senses how they privately revel in his degradation, in the humiliation of the punishment brought upon him.
He watches impassively, out of the corner of his eye, as a servant glides up to the table carrying beer, and Tony's pleased reaction as there is alcohol within grabbing distance. Grinning, the man flops himself down on one of the chairs at the table, stretching his limbs as if he's just run a ten-mile race, before reaching for the precious golden nectar and then settling for an arrogant lounge, legs spread wide.
And Loki knows – oh, he knows – that there is only one acceptable position for him. Here, in the Royal Halls, it is the rules and traditions of Asgard that hold sway, and having grown up here he is all too familiar with their dictate. He cannot refuse; his position here is already precarious enough as it already is without compromising it further.
Forgoing the chair, he kneels down beside Tony's seat, the only appropriate place for a slave next to his master, swallowing the sting of degradation burning at the back of his throat. It had been so nice to not have to think about any of this, to forget about the things normally demanded of a slave as he had eventually done back in Midgard, instead acting almost as if his status wasn't that of a slave but rather Tony's equal. But now, having been brought back here, it's like all of that has just been him playing a make-believe game, allowing himself to be caught up in an illusion brought by his own wishful thinking, because here in Asgard, he can no longer ignore the actual state of things.
But nothing can change how real it had all still felt.
And no matter what, he likes to think that the make-believe game, the illusion, is not how he's been acting around Tony in Midgard, but how he has to act here.
Tony's nose is already half-way down into his mug of beer, but as Loki sinks down next to him, the mug stops its slow upwards descent and Loki can sense the man freezing for the split of a second. Then the mug is set down on the table and Tony's head turns to look at him like he just grew a pair of antlers.
"What the heck are you doing down there?" he asks with one eyebrow raised, as if it isn't obvious. "While I agree these fancy chairs are more showy than cosy, there's no way the stone floor can be more comfortable." He pats the seat of the chair to his side, palm tapping insistently against the fabric. "Come on, up you go."
Loki clenches his teeth. This would have been easier to handle if Tony hadn't decided to make a deal out of it; if he'd just accepted things as they are.
"It would be… untoward," Loki says in response, avoiding meeting with Tony's eyes.
"More untoward than crawling around on the ground? I don't think so. Use a freaking chair like normal people." Tony gestures towards the piece of furniture again, sounding as flippant as ever, but there is still a note of strained discomfort in his voice that seeps out between the words.
It is clear that Tony has little concept of how things are done here. But even more untoward than a slave sitting on a chair would be for him to argue his master's order within earshot of other people. So he relents, gingerly seating himself on the chair next to Tony, noticing the displeased looks from two nearby servants at this inappropriate raising of his station.
He sighs as Tony fills the second mug with beer and pushes it into his hands, not really hearing the offhand comment that follows it, clearly an attempt to smooth the situation over, to pretend like what just transpired never happened.
So he takes a sip from the mug as Tony's mouth is running off at top-speed yet again, spilling flippant commentary and diverging into far-fetched speculations, all topped of with absurd questions that he expects no answer to. Loki only listens with half an ear; his attention is focused on the servants and workers passing through, fully aware that most of them would only be too pleased at seeing him degraded, far too eager to see him humbled and demeaned.
And he knows that his stay here is unlikely to be a pleasant one.
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