Poetic Justice Chapter 83, an avengers fanfic

Author's note: To give a short answer to Guest's long comment – No worries, it's all good! :D

And just to prevent possible confusion, the two scenes of this chapter are supposed to take place simultaneously. ^^

As darkness falls, the fire crackling in the hearth paints flickering shadows dancing on the walls, the ephemeral figures growing longer and darker as the sun sets. The leftovers from the grandiose meal they've eaten – in a thankfully much more private chamber than before – have been cleared away, and the entertainment for the evening has been taken over by Thor who is eagerly leaning forward in his chair with his forearms resting on the table, telling a story of an adventurous quest from a time long ago in a place far away. His thunderous laughter rolls across the room as he recounts amusing incidents along the way, and his voice rises to dramatic heights as he describes battling with dangerous monsters in foreign lands, only to lower conspiratorially when the glorious sword fights give way to dramatic suspense.

But Tony barely hears a word of it. Right now there is only one thing on his mind – the image of Loki on the ground before Fjalar, helpless despair shining out of his eyes, about to be subjected to a cruel and unusual punishment for a mere trifle.

He still feels a distinct nausea at this. At how it's okay to treat people like that in Asgard. Or, more precisely, people who are standing low enough on the social ladder.

Loki had acted like a brainless moron back there, of course. Pride and temper aside, he should have known better. Unlike Tony, the god has grown up here, lived as good as his whole life in this realm, and must be well aware of how slaves are expected to behave and the consequences that follow when they don't.

Not that he supports the idea of Loki crawling in the dirt like a worm or an insect, far from it, but there's a difference between that and simply keeping one's mouth shut and swallowing one's pride when the situation calls for it. The god should have had at least that much of a sense of self-preservation. Throwing beer in someone's face is never a good idea, and even a man back home might very well find himself getting beaten up for it; of course the outcome would be considerably worse for slaves doing the same thing in a society that denies them all semblance of basic human rights.

The horror of what would have transpired had Fjalar not accepted that cube has been tearing at the edges of his consciousness ever since. He is still not sure whether he would have been able to go through with it, despite knowing that the consequences would be even more severe if he couldn't bring himself to carry out the demanded punishment.

A part of him is still surprised that he had reacted so strongly in the aftermath when he was alone with Loki, that his anger had risen to such heights once the danger had passed. But there's no way he could have lived with himself if he would have been forced to hurt Loki like that. Or even watch the god get hurt like that, impotent to do anything to stop it.

Because he honestly and sincerely cares about Loki.

And when darkness has fallen and the fire burnt out, and the room left in silence after the closing words of Thor's final heroic tale, the thunder god says the hour is growing late and it's time to retire for the night.

But Loki barely hears a word of it. Right now there is only one thing on his mind – the image of Tony standing before Fjalar, offering the man his little toy to save Loki from the punishment that his reckless actions had brought down on him.

Of course, after all the time spent in Midgard, Loki knows that the colourful cube is as good as worthless, but that's not the point.

The point is that Tony did it for his sake.

It had no doubt been a stubborn, ill-considered choice in the first place to not follow Tony and Thor to the latrines, despite Thor being right in his assessment that no one would have dared harming him here, as long as he didn't step out of line. But after what had recently transpired with Arnulf, it had seemed important to him to stay behind as the others went. As a slave, he might be at the bottom rung of the ladder, but he could at least put up this small show of defiance for the rabble, show everyone that he wasn't afraid of them, that he still dared to sit alone in Thor's chambers without the protection of his master and his royal brother. He would not let himself be cowed or intimidated by them; they had not managed to scare him into submission or take away his pride.

It had all gone southwards, though, when that brutish fool Fjalar sauntered over to where he was sitting and started to heap filthy slurs and insults all over him, even using that hated word argr, goading him in the assumption that Loki wouldn't dare to retort. And then, his nerves still being strung up after the Arnulf incident, something had just snapped inside of him.

Even as his hand made for the jug of beer, he knew that he would end up regretting it. Slaves didn't throw beer into the faces of free men without being severely punished for it. And yet, he was unable to stop himself; it was as if an outer force had taken control of his limbs. His anger was too overpowering, the sting of his wounded pride too painful; it drew the last semblance of conscious thought and reason away from his mind. It was as if the whole world grinded to an almost-halt, then, as his hand moved in a daze, and the beer slowly splashed all over Fjalar, his face contorted in shock and fury that a slave had dared causing him such indignity.

Then the world started revolving at a normal pace again as Fjalar's hand lashed out and struck his cheek, the force of the blow felling him to the ground. An instant later, Tony, with Thor at his heels, came rushing into the room and Loki knew then that he was done for. There would be nothing saving him now, not even Thor's authority would be able to help him, not even a prince was above Asgardian law.

Fjalar would demand punishment for this, only too eager for the chance to get revenge for past slights. And if wouldn't be a mere slap on the wrist, that he knew with gut-churning certainty. The subsequent request of fifty lashes as recompense hadn't surprised Loki in the least; it was expected, and not that much more than anyone else in Fjalar's situation would have demanded.

And barring Thor's futile attempts that were already doomed to fail, nobody would stand up for him or lift a hand to help him out of the hopeless situation that his impulsive rashness and lapse of self-control had landed him in.

Nobody, expect for Tony.

Tony, who refused to do what many in Asgard would no doubt say he should already have done to his misbehaving slave long ago. Instead, he reached down a hand and pulled Loki up from the mile-deep hole that he'd dug for himself.

For once in his life, someone had actually stood up for him. Not like at his trial, when no one would speak a word in his defence, surrounded by uncaring and indifferent faces as he had been. No, Tony had done something that no one in all of Asgard had done during those long days as his trial played out – he had spoken up in Loki's defence.

True, Tony had done something similar when the Einherjers had been about to take him back to Asgard after thinking he had tried to escape, but that had been different, because then he had actually been innocent, had done nothing wrong. This time, however, he had done exactly what he was accused of, and yet, Tony had defended him, despite being a stranger and an alien in this realm with no allies to guard his back except for Thor.

Later, Tony had been furious at him. He'd never seen the man display such anger before, not even that one time when Loki had smashed his living room to pieces in a bout of uncontrolled rage. But this time, the cause was Loki's ill-considered actions almost having forced the man to severely hurt him. And he could tell from the concern so clearly painted in Tony's face just why he was so angry.

It was just like that incident from his childhood when he had been carelessly taunting a straying bilgesnipe, thinking he was at a safe distance, when the vicious animal suddenly came charging straight at him, moving quicker than should be at all possible for such a hulking beast, cornering him against a boulder. Luckily, Frigga had been close enough to come running and in the last moment save him by throwing a rock at the creature's highly sensitive snout, distracting it enough so that Loki could slip away, white-faced and trembling.

And Tony had reminded him of Frigga back then – so terribly angry, yelling and shouting at him what an idiot he was as the hands on his shoulders were shaking him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. And even though her anger had made him cry, he had known why it was there.

Because she cared.

As Tony similarly stood fuming before him, there was no mistaking it – there was true concern in those brown eyes. Concern, whereas no one else in Asgard, save for Thor and Frigga, could have cared less about his fate.

Tony, who had somehow found it in him to show him kindness and compassion, despite all that Loki had done to him and his world. Tony, his erstwhile enemy, who had now even stood up for him despite his past wrongdoings, unlike his fellow Asgardians at his trial, his supposedly own people.

And he realizes, then, that, unlike what he believed when he launched his attack on Midgard, mortals cannot possibly be lesser beings, if they are capable of something like this, if they are able to show kindness to and even to stand up for someone who has so grievously wronged them, something that his own people would not. Weaker, perhaps, but not lesser; how can they ever be when they are capable of such?

No, he knows now that he will never again consider humans to be beneath him.

And paradoxically, the one thing that made him realize that wasn't being disempowered and forced into bondage under a mortal, it wasn't his being a slave, nor was it his being treated like one.

It was Tony's not treating him like one.

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