Author's note: Well, what can I say expect for… picnic in Asgard! :D
The breakfast is every bit as delicious as it looks, fresh and juicy and crisp in all the right places. Still, he can't help but to think that the best part of it is not the food in itself, but the way it's being partaken.
It's not particularly comfortable, of course, nor is it very practical, sitting here cross-legged on the bed cover, balancing a plate on his lap, but it doesn't matter. To be honest, he wouldn't have cared that much even if he'd had to eat the bland gruel intended for him.
Coming here, he'd been fully aware that he'd be expected to take his meals sitting on the floor rather than being seated at a table, and he had not been looking forward to the humiliation of it. And yet, Tony has managed to make a mockery out of that practice with the way they're sitting here, like little children, eating breakfast on the make-shift blanket, throwing proper etiquette right out the window.
He can only imagine the reaction of any of the Aesir should they happen to come across the little scene. A master sitting on the floor together with his slave, lowering himself to his level, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Even he, despite having spent all these months slowly getting used to Tony's behaviours and ideas, all of them so contrary to what he once took for granted, can't help but marvel at the notion.
A master bringing a slave up to his level would be astonishing enough in itself, but for him to willingly lower himself to his slave's level when the first option is unpractical is on a different magnitude altogether.
He basks in the feeling. Even if this can obviously not last – even Tony has realized that now – it will make it easier to submit to whatever is still awaiting during their stay here. Then he can at least indulge in the memory of this little moment of a breakfast shared together like equals, a cool oasis in a scorching desert.
"How come most of you guys manage to look so damn fit when you eat like this every day?" Tony suddenly inquires as he grabs another leg of chicken. "Heck, you even have beer with your breakfast!"
"Most Aesir men, except for the servants, engage in long and hard weapons training during a large part of the day," Loki explains. "Any breakfast they've eaten, they work off soon enough."
"Yeah well, remind me to get on the treadmill once we get back home, or I'm going to be looking more like a bag of blubber than the muscular and well-toned hero I'm supposed to be," Tony says between chews, chicken leg in one hand and mug of beer in the other.
Well, there's hardly any risk of that happening, not for someone with Tony's… pleasing physique. He feels a sting of heat as he remembers the night before, the arm wrapped around him, the muscular body pressing into him, to say nothing of the big-
"So what do you think big brother is up to?" Tony interrupts his ponderings, continuing on another trail of thoughts entirely. "I mean, what could possibly be more important than spending quality time with the two of us?"
Loki lets go of his little mental indulgence, somewhat unwillingly. But there will surely be more time for that later, he tells himself. Perhaps even tonight?
"Most likely a dispute between noble families about land or inheritance or rights of some sort," he says with a shrug. "It happens quite often and can quickly escalate into more serious hostilities unless there is some timely royal intervention. You'd think noblemen have better things to do than squabble like little children."
"Yeah, but I guess rich people need something to pass the time as well, huh?" Tony shrugs, discarding the neatly clean-picked chicken leg onto his plate with a flick of his wrist and then nails Loki's gaze with his own. "So, you think what Thunderboy said is advisable? I mean, with us going around prowling the Halls, where there might be like, you know, other people?"
And while Loki has to admit that he doesn't look forward to running into anyone in his current station, the idea of spending the day locked up in here doesn't sit well with him either. Besides, the prospect of giving Tony a tour of the Halls is appealing to him. He knows the man would enjoy it, and so would he. Even if he has to bow and scrape, it's just a show, nothing but a game he's playing. What's real is what's between him and Tony, like sharing breakfast on a blanket on the floor. What does he care about the others here?
"It will not be a problem," he says. "While… expected behaviour is advisable, no one would dare to hurt anyone of us unless we have first given them good cause to. You are the honoured guest of the crown prince, and, provided that I act accordingly, that protection also extends to me since I'm… your slave." He can't help but notice how discrepant those words suddenly sound in his ears. Not that they're technically untrue, of course, but the statement just feels so off.
"Well, that sure didn't stop Conan from smacking you yesterday." A crease of anger mars Tony's forehead at that, and Loki can see his knuckles turning white as his fists clench.
"Yes, after I had thrown beer into his face. That would count as 'good cause'. Not even Fjalar would have dared doing something like that unprovoked, or he could have been in serious trouble."
"Then what about that Arnulf incident? That didn't seem like a very pleasant situation if you ask me. I was worried they were going to have you fucking lynched or something," Tony counters, still not sounding convinced.
Loki sighs. "I should have apologized immediately after dropping that flagon of beer. That would have been the expected course of action." Yes, he obviously should have done that, but he'd been too incensed, too angry at Arnulf because of the man's behaviour and comments. "But no one would have dared to hurt me for such a lapse, that would have been up to the discretion of the master."
Tony's face twitches a little at that, but he doesn't offer any further protests, something that Loki is glad for; as much as he dreaded going to Asgard knowing how many people here resent him and that he would be forced to act like a proper slave, the worst of those concerns have faded into the background by now. After all, he'd rather walk those familiar Halls again than being coped up here like a scared little rabbit hiding in a hole.
"Alright," Tony acquiesces as he nabs the last slice of apple. "But if there's any trouble or other shit brewing again, we'll head back here and don't stick our heads out again until big brother gets back, okay?"
Walking through the Halls with Loki as his guide is quite the experience. The god is weaving a rich tapestry of words as he tells about the long history of Asgard that has played itself out in these halls, vivid myths and legends and sagas filled with more action than the average Van Damme movie. Sure it's not the first time he's been on guided tours like this at whatever fancy tourist attraction, but instead of having to listen to the usual regurgitations of some college history student trying to make a little extra cash, his guide is actually someone who has personally seen and lived through the very history he's talking about.
It's amazing, really, all the things hidden in seemingly insignificant details that he would have overlooked if Loki hadn't pointed them out to him – a different-coloured rock in the floor marking the interred bones of the artist that painted the magnificent ceiling, a jack in a door telling of a failed assassination attempt, a runic inscription hiding a powerful ward that makes Tony's fingers tingle when he touches it. Small things, so easy to overlook but exciting nevertheless.
And then there are the big things, of course. The ones that are impossible to overlook.
He eyes the humongous mural painting spanning the far wall in a room so big it would probably have taken him almost a minute to stroll from one end to the other at a leisurely pace. The colours are vibrant and the artwork seems eerily real, like the people in it are about to jump out any minute and crack his skull open with whatever weapon they're brandishing. Though, from the looks of it, they're too busy fighting each other to have time for any of the sorts.
It's obvious that one of the warring parties is supposed to be the Aesir – warriors strong and bold, with bulging muscles and flowing mantles, gleaming weapons and determined faces. Some of them are quite reminiscent of Thor, especially one of the guys right to Tony's left with his flowing red cape and-
Wait just a minute.
"Hey," he blurts out, pointing to the familiar hammer clasped tightly in the figure's grip. "Is that Thor?"
Loki turns to where he's pointing, and then nods, a corner of his lips tugging slightly upwards. "It is indeed."
He eyes the painting again, taking in the dramatic pose of the two-dimensional Thor, the enemies closest to him who are falling theatrically to the ground like card houses in a storm, and the none-too-subtle awe in the eyes of his comrades as the Thunderer saves the day.
Wow. Maybe he should hire an artist to draw a huge-ass painting of himself in his Iron Man suit fighting a horde of doom-bots right on the wall of his living room, wouldn't that be something? With Captain Spandex and the Hulk gaping at him in admiration, of course.
Then again, maybe not.
"Did Thor have this ordered?" he can't help but asking. He just has to know.
Loki laughs. "No, not even Thor was ever that conceited. Actually, he was quite embarrassed about it at first, even taking detours around the Halls as to not have to see this thing. I suppose I can understand him – it's not exactly subtle."
"Heh, that would be the understatement of the day," Tony agrees, throwing one final long look on the almost hilariously obvious hero-worship covering the wall.
They continue on through one of the corridors to their left, Loki resuming his stories and expositions. And as fascinating as the alien history lessons are, Tony has to admit that the part he finds the most interesting is actually Loki recounting his own memories from his life here. Everything from how he would use to sneak through the supposedly secret door hidden right under the staircase when trying to shirk some unpleasant chore as a child, to how the missing earlobe on a lumbering statue is the result of one of his spells misfiring in his youth.
He's glad they're not encountering very many people as they wander through the corridors and chambers, and those they do run into are content to merely offer him a polite nod or verbal greeting, though they all ignore Loki as if he were nothing more than Tony's shadow silently trailing after him.
That's also one of the things he's noticing – that whenever someone else is near, Loki falls behind, leaving Tony's side to instead walk a couple of paces behind.
Because it's expected.
And as much as he hates it, there's nothing he can do about it, because he most certainly doesn't want to do anything that might risk jeopardizing Loki's safety again.
But he makes no comment on it, somehow sensing that Loki prefers it that way. It's almost like they're playing some kind of game – Loki turning silent and falling behind whenever there are people within eyesight and earshot, only to then walk up at Tony's side and continue talking just where he broke the sentence off, as if nothing has happened.
And he can't help but feel some satisfaction in the way they're picking up their conversation right where they left off after whoever has passed them by. Like it's all beneath their notice, not worthy of even a comment, something to merely shrug off rather than letting it interfere with their day, like a temporary inconvenience. In the end, just a play for the rabble they have to keep up, but nothing more than that.
They turn a corner and continue on into a wider corridor – or maybe it's actually a room, Tony isn't sure which definition is more suitable. Three long columns of pillars extend through the corridor-room and it's impossible to discern the point where they come to an end. For all he knows, the forest of pillars might stretch on forever.
He eyes the structures with interest – each one is broad enough to need the arms of at least five men to fully encircle it, and as most everything else here, ornamented with runes and meandering lines. Probably, the things are there for a decorative purpose rather than offering necessary support, given that he's passed through rooms bigger than New York Square fully lacking similar reinforcements. Again, it's probably magic responsible for keeping the ceilings from caving in.
"Well," Tony says as he pats one of the grey stone pillars, the rock cool against his palm. "I guess this place would be the perfect spot for playing tag if you're a kid."
Loki glances at him from the corner of his eye. "Actually, that's exactly what me and Thor used to do during our childhood." Another little tug of lips. "Though, he didn't think it was very fun anymore after I started to learn the art of teleporting."
"Ha! Isn't that cheating?" Tony inquires, taking a few steps around the pillar, trailing his finger along its circumference. The other side looks exactly the same. Well, who would have guessed.
Loki merely offers an innocent shrug to that.
They've walked past maybe ten identical such rows of massive stone, and Tony is just about to ask if there's any purpose to them, when there is suddenly a flash of movement, and a tall and athletic man steps out from the dark shadow cast by the rightmost pillar just a few rows ahead of them.
And as a chill passes through his body, the first thought on Tony's mind is – was the guy standing there waiting for them?
Please review. :)