Author's note: YAY I GOT FANART! :D
For those of you wanting to check it out (and you know you do!), just head over to archiveofourown and check out the profile of LePeru. Featuring absolutely lovely artwork of Loki and toothbrush. ;)
Thanks to LePeru for drawing and KYH_bc for commissioning! :)
Tony would be the first to admit that he has next to no clue about Asgardian ranks and titles and status, and yet he's immediately struck by one thought almost bordering on certainty – this guy is a noble.
Even from a distance, he can tell that the clothes the man is wearing are expensive and exquisite, or at least what is visible of them from beneath the well-polished armour covering large parts of his body. Tony's eyes linger on the sword hanging at his belt for a couple of seconds – despite its shortness, it's no doubt an effective and deadly melee weapon, and from the way the guy is handling himself, he clearly knows how to use it. He tries to take a small amount of comfort in the fact that the man's hands have not yet made any obvious grab for it.
And Tony finds himself painfully aware of just how vulnerable and exposed they are here. There are no windows in the room-corridor, despite the dusky light somehow still flooding it, and there is no one else in sight. Sure, this is far from the first person they've encountered during their little sightseeing, but all the others have been ordinary servants or workers – and even Tony has to admit that he's sort of stopped paying much attention to them after a while.
Heck, even Fjalar the Snake-dick and Geir the Pervert had, as far as he could tell, been ordinary warriors without any obviously special rank or status, their get-ups looking like they had been designed merely with the practicality and usefulness in the field of battle in mind. Not so this guy. Even from where he's standing, Tony can see the artful ornamentations and insignia on the armour plates, though he has no idea if they're meant to show the status of their bearer or if they're actually some kind of magical protection. There are fine gold inlays in the metal as well, which even Tony in his Midgardian ignorance can tell are merely there to look pretty and don't serve any practical function.
The man himself is handsome with long and slightly curled, blond hair, and looks like he's in his late twenties, though he's probably older than dirt. From his shoulders flows a blue-grey cape that appears as if it has been imbued with the same ever-billowing spell as Thor's, judging by the way it dramatically sweeps around the man's body as he moves.
And of course, Tony is hoping that the imposing stranger is going to turn the other way and walk off, because while petty servants might let their dislike for Loki manifest itself in some sour glares and up-turned noses, a guy like this equipped with a possible grudge and a fancy title and an ego to match might deicide to… well, who knows.
But of course – no such luck.
As the man leisurely starts walking up to them, lithe and agile like a panther, his leather boots soundless against the marble floor, Tony turns to Loki, hissing as to not be overheard. "Who's that guy?"
"That's Lord Frey," comes Loki's whispered answer.
Lord Frey. Well, that doesn't tell him anything, expect confirming his suspicion that the guy is indeed a noble like he had first assumed. Still, he'd been hoping for a much more useful answer – like, is this guy a hostile, did Loki ever do anything to piss him off, should they be running screaming down the corridor-room back the way they came, or what?
And he's about to whisper to Loki to offer some instructions on how to handle the situation, or at least give him fair warning if there is any danger lurking, but before he can get a word out, Loki is no longer where Tony expects him to be, instead having sunken down to his knees on the floor.
Tony's stomach twists into a hard knot at that, worry and resentment churning in equal amounts. Worry at the unnerving uncertainties – he doesn't know what proper protocol is for dealing with nobles and who knows if Loki might somehow be the one who will suffer for it, and neither he can't gauge how dangerous the situation is, if this guy bears a grudge against Loki and is now sniffing out an opportunity to get revenge; resentment at seeing Loki kneeling on the ground like the slave Asgard expects him to be, the first time he's ever seen the god assume that position for anyone else than him. Despite their having agreed that Loki would act as expected to stay out of trouble, Tony still wants to shout at him to get up on his two feet, but the god just might decide to obey him and give this nobleman what counts as 'good cause' to have Loki punished for not showing him the respect he's due, so he holds his tongue.
Instead, he merely glances towards Loki again, hoping to be able to pick up some clue what to do, but the god's head is bowed and his eyes directed towards the floor, not meeting with Tony's.
And Tony is on his own, fervently wishing he had his Iron Man suit at the ready. Now he doesn't have even a butter knife to defend against that sword blade that for all he knows might come swooping down any second to send Loki's head flying.
The man comes to a halt right in front of them, giving Tony a courteous and flowery bow, his fist going up to his chest in salute. "Greetings, Man of Iron," he says as he straightens up again, the long blond curtains of his hair parting to reveal a handsome face with a short-clipped beard.
And why can't these guys just shake hands like normal people? Is he supposed to reciprocate the bow with one of his own? He resents the idea, but maybe refusing to bow to a noble is punishable by having to pay some kind of fine, and the only coin he has here that is worth anything would be… yeah. His eyes travel down to Loki, who hasn't moved an inch, his gaze still at the floor. Who knows, maybe that was the guy's plan all along – look, the insolent mortal refused to pay me proper respect, so now I am entitled to claim his slave for myself as compensation.
Even he can hear how ridiculously paranoid he's sounding, but already after his first day here, he can't help it.
What makes him relent in the end, though, isn't his brain's paranoid ramblings, but the sight of Loki from out the corner of his eye. Because if Loki has to demean himself like that, what is a measly bow in comparison?
Pushing aside the little voice inside of him telling him that he's looking like a moron, he imitates the flowery bow presented to him moments ago as passably he can manage, though in comparison to the well-practiced elegance of Chris Jericho here, he probably looks about as graceful as a baby seal attempting ballet.
"Greetings… uh, Lord Frey," he says, hoping that is the appropriate address.
"I'd like to wish you a belated welcome to Asgard, my friend," Frey says with a smile showing two rows of perfectly white teeth. If he finds Tony's attempts at politeness poorly executed, he makes no mention of it. "I heard you arrived here just yesterday. So, please do tell me, how do you find your stay in our realm so far?"
Oh, he could write a doctor's thesis on that.
"It's been… interesting," he says curtly. At least that's not an outright lie. "Though, I was not quite prepared for the culture clashes that I'd encounter along the way."
The smile widens slightly. "I can imagine. Surely there are many differences between our two realms, and it has been a long time since a mortal last visited us," Frey remarks casually as he leans back against one of the ubiquitous pillars in a borderline arrogant pose, crossing his arms while regarding Tony with cool blue eyes.
And if this guy is about to make the same proposal as Geir, Tony can only pray that he will remain in control of himself enough not to send a fist flying into that pretty face.
But Frey's eyes remain on Tony, not having deigned to give the kneeling figure on the ground more than a brief, passing glance, and maybe even that was entirely coincidental. Still, Tony moves a step to his right, not caring that it probably doesn't look casual in the slightest, resolutely placing himself between Loki and Frey. Of course, it's no protection at all if Frey decides he wants to hurt Loki, but it makes him feel marginally better, and he likes to think that maybe it will have the same effect on Loki too.
Frey can't have missed Tony's highly unsubtle movement, but he makes no comment on it. "Of course, not very many mortals have business in Asgard, to say nothing of having been called upon by the Allfather himself," he simply continues, as if he hasn't noticed Tony's suspicion.
"Yeah, since the Allfather didn't fancy making a trip to my place, I had to traipse over here instead, though it wouldn't have been my first choice of vacation destination," Tony replies, then sensing how Loki shifts slightly behind him.
Perhaps he was being too crude to speak of Odin like that, and he bites his tongue belatedly. Mr Handsome here might be one of the royal lackeys, after all, and any disrespect Tony shows towards Odin Almighty might influence the chances of procuring any leniency on Loki's behalf.
"Well, I mean, not that I actually mind," he quickly back-pedals. "You have some… uh, really awesome beer in this place."
Frey's mouth curls minutely upward, but other than that his face betrays nothing. "So, I understand you are here to speak on Loki's behalf?" he says matter-of-factly, making it sound like a question though he no doubt knows the answer already.
"Yeah, I am," Tony replies, unable to let a little note of challenge creep into his voice. What of it?
One of Frey's hands goes up to sweep a strand of blond locks out of his face, the motion accompanied by soft clinking of armour. "I must admit I am intrigued. Not very many people here in Asgard would be willing to speak in Loki's favour, and having a Midgardian do so is… quite surprising."
Tony doesn't like the direction this conversation is going, and even less so the way it's being carried out as if Loki isn't hearing every word of it, and he wonders if there'd be trouble if he'd ignore Frey and walk out of here with Loki in tow. Perhaps he'd get impaled by that sword or something. In any case, the idea of turning his back against someone with both an unknown agenda and a blank weapon doesn't appeal to him in the slightest, so he remains where he is.
As if hearing Tony's thoughts, Frey turns slightly away. "Walk with me, Man of Iron," he indicates with a wave of his hand. "I'd prefer if we'd continue our talk in somewhat more privacy."
"I'm not leaving Loki out of sight," Tony counters a bit harsher than he had intended. Right, as if he's going to traipse off with some stranger, leaving Loki to fend for himself.
Frey arches an elegant, perfect eyebrow; Tony wouldn't be surprised if the guy plucks them every morning. Then his face splits into another friendly – perhaps a bit too friendly – smile. "Oh, I didn't mean we have to go far. Just a little way down the hall, where you would still be perfectly able to keep an eye on Loki."
Reluctantly, Tony acquiesces and follows the graceful figure as Frey turns on his heel and strides off, steps lithe but powerful. True to his word, he doesn't go far, just past a few rows of pillars, out of earshot from Loki, before coming to a halt, one elbow resting in his hand, the other thoughtfully stroking his bearded chin.
Decisively, Tony positions himself so that Loki is well within his line of sight. The god is standing up again now that Frey is out of his immediate presence, and that makes Tony feel a little bit better, though not much.
"I hope this is an acceptable distance?" Frey says with what sounds like a tinge of amusement, and Tony isn't sure if there's some condescension in there as well, so he only gives a brief nod in reply.
"What do you want?" he blurts out, feeling slightly braver now that Loki is out of beheading distance.
"Well, as I'm sure has come to your attention by now, Loki is not exactly well liked here in Asgard," Frey says without preamble as he once more leans back against the nearest pillar, his cape fluttering from the movement. "Not everyone is happy with you coming here to speak in favour of leniency before Odin and his court. And, I daresay, there might be those who will try to… unjustly influence that," the man continues in a voice a few notes more hushed than before.
Tony can feel a chill creep over his skin at that. Should he be expecting an assassination attempt lurking in the shadows? And to think that Asgard wouldn't even let him bring his suit along in defence…
"So what you're saying is that I better watch my back unless I want a knife in it, huh?" he asks, clenching his fists as he keeps a steady eye on Frey. He's seen far too many movies featuring some villain offering the hero a solemn and seemingly heartfelt warning regarding the advisability of being careful, only to be the one to pull a gun on him an instant later.
But Frey only throws his head back and laughs, the silvery sound echoing eerily as it's being reflected back and forth between the pillars. "No, no, nothing as drastic as that, I assure you," he says as his laughter has died down. "You have no need to fear for your safety. Harming a guest invited by the Allfather himself is too serious a crime to be worth the risk."
Then, Frey leans in over Tony, a bit too close for comfort. "No, I'm talking about much subtler means. As in, magic."
And that's another M-word right there that Tony doesn't like one bit.
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