Author's note: Well, I'm back! :D I never got around to responding to most of your reviews for last chapter, since I figured you guys would rather prefer to have a new chapter up as soon as possible, so this time I'll just offer a general thank you for all your lovely comments and feedback. ^^
"Man of Iron wishes to see his slave," the servant boy says timidly to the two men clad to their teeth in armour who are standing outside a door that looks exactly like Tony imagines a door leading to the dungeons would.
"Very well," the guard to the left rumbles, and with an inscrutable look at Tony reaches down to unhook a huge ring of keys hanging at his belt. If the situation hadn't been so serious, he would have snickered at the cliché-like image.
Three keys turned in as many different keyholes as Tony impatiently taps his foot, wishing he could speed up the process somehow but suspecting that any such efforts will only have the opposite effect, so he keeps silent. He only barely notices as the servant boy quietly excuses himself and sneaks off, probably eager to leave in case Tony is about to ask him to accompany him any further.
As with most doors in this place, its hinges squeak loudly as it swings open, having obviously not been oiled in a long time. And as anxious as he is to proceed, he still takes a step back and recoils from the unpleasant smell that is filtering out from below.
Damn, did they really have to make the whole dungeon scenario that classic?
"Follow me," the guard says curtly.
Taking a deep breath, Tony obeys, feeling his stomach churn as he watches the staircase stretching out before them, spiralling off into the darkness and continuing for who knows how far.
The door closes behind them with a sharp bang, and he tries not to feel apprehension at the knowledge that he's currently locked inside some prison in an alien realm so far from home that he can't even begin to comprehend it. The steps are slippery beneath his feet, but there is no railing to hold onto, so he walks as carefully as he can. The guard, clearly used to this route, is marching on as unperturbed as if he were taking a Sunday stroll in the park, and Tony has to make an effort to keep up with him.
They walk in silence, the dusk interspersed by torches placed into holders bolted to the walls with regular intervals. The flickering flames are casting huge, eerie shadows across the stone, giving the illusions that their descent is being followed by monsters lurking in the dark. His foot slipping on something wet, Tony's hand goes up to the wall for support, but he immediately yanks his fingers away as they sink into some kind of slime, and he rubs his hand against his jeans with a disgusted grimace.
The temperature is dropping as they continue to descend, the chill working its way beneath his clothes and his skin and he suppresses a shudder. He has no idea how far underground they are, and he isn't sure he wants to know; he can already feel the weight of the rock above pressing down on him enough as it is.
The sound of their footsteps are echoing between the walls, and he tries to focus on that regular rhythm as his own swirling thoughts are pounding a much more frenzied beat inside of his head. When the servant boy had informed him that Loki had been put into the dungeons for theft, he had been flabbergasted. There was no way that Loki could have stolen anything – would have stolen anything – surely there had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
He had pressed the servant for more information, perhaps a bit harsher than he should have, but he had quickly assured Tony that he didn't know anything more than what he had already told him – his slave had been taken to the dungeons for stealing, and the boy had been sent off to deliver the message to their Midgardian guest.
And perhaps it would have been better to send for Thor and wait for him to arrive, but he didn't have the luxury of wasting any time. What if Loki was being fucking tortured down there or something? There's no way he would sit in his room and fiddle his thumbs while waiting for Thor to come back and handle things. So instead, he had simply demanded to be taken to the dungeons immediately, and the young servant had acquiesced, hurrying off on quick feet as Tony followed on his heels.
The steps suddenly come to a halt before another lumbering door with several keyholes, and Tony holds his breath as the guard tinkers with his key ring, half expecting to see the prone figure of Loki lying on the floor as the door swings open. But there is only another staircase slowly spiralling further downwards, and he can do nothing but quench a sigh of exasperation as he follows the guard through the doorway and on through the darkness.
Not long after, they enter through another pair of heavy bolted doors, and Tony is starting to wonder if there is at all an end to the staircase before them, or if it just continues on for all eternity. Maybe these Asgardians are just playing him for fun and laughs, betting among themselves how long he will last before finally giving up.
He has still not made any sense of the charges of theft levelled against Loki. There must have been some sort of misunderstanding or, worse, a set-up. There is no way that Loki would have stolen anything. He has no reason to.
Then it hits him – the medallion. Could that be it? It is only now that he remembers that he had left the thing in Loki's care; since the god had been busying himself trying to make sense out of the runes, it had seemed like the natural thing to do. So maybe Frey had sent some guards, telling them that Loki had stolen that necklace from him? Maybe it was all just a ruse to get Loki accused of a crime, to besmear him and paint him as an unrepentant criminal to make sure there would be no leniency for him?
But it makes little sense; Tony would of course refute the accusations with the truth and it would be his word against Frey's. Furthermore, how would Frey even know that Tony had entrusted the thing to Loki instead of keeping it in his own pocket?
"Exactly what is it that Lo- my slave is supposed to have stolen?" he finally asks, his words ringing hollowly in the stone chambers.
"Dunno," the guard grumbles, three steps ahead of Tony. "I only stand guard; it's not my job to keep track of the misdeeds of whoever gets sent to the dungeons."
Friendly guy.
"Are we there yet?" he asks instead, unnerved by the silence.
"Soon," comes the clipped answer.
Whatever that means. He resigns himself as the guard opens another heavy door, expecting another staircase to stretch out before him.
But this time, there are no more stairs, but instead a blissfully flat corridor ahead of him.
He feels a swirl of dread as he follows the burly man in front of him, trying not to think too much about what might have happened to Loki. They wouldn't hurt someone without a trial, would they? They still do consider Loki his property, so that should stop them from doing anything bad to him, right?
He tries to comfort himself with that thought, but his mouth is as dry as sawdust and his nails are digging into his palms as he follows the guard into the corridor.
He hugs his drawn-up legs tighter to his chest, trying to preserve what little warmth he still has left, but it does little to stop the shivers racking his body. The moist and dripping walls seem to be drawing every ounce of heat out of the cell, leaving it dank and dreary and drafty. He had never thought he would find himself back here again, in the very place where he awaited his trial all that time ago, but the dungeons are every bit as unpleasant as he remembers them.
And so are the guards.
"Never expected that we would get to see your pretty face in here again," a burly, brutish man leers at him through the bars, obviously finding great enjoyment in the situation. His fingers are gripping the steel, and Loki is glad the man is still on the outside, not having deigned to open the door yet to torment him in a more physical way, like how they used to do during his previous stint here.
He merely looks away, not bothering to offer any answer to that. Provoking the guards will only make things worse, and he has been on the receiving end of their wrath more times than he cares to remember during his last time here.
"So the Silvertongue is quiet," the man drawls, leaning against the bars as he takes in the sight of the prisoner. "Perhaps your Midgardian master has truly managed to tame that sharp tongue of yours, then." He grins. "Wish I could have been there to watch it myself as he taught you your place."
He ignores the taunt, shifting in a futile attempt to make the shackles clamped tightly around his already raw wrists and ankles chafe a little less. They are heavy, even more so than he remembers them, and the chains just barely long enough for him to be able to stand up. The metal clangs ominously as he moves, the sound harsh in his ears.
It had been a stroke of bad luck and unfortunate circumstances landing him in here. As Tony had gone off to relieve himself, Loki had pulled out Frey's medallion, still in his pocket, for further inspection, hoping he might be able to connect some of the foreign runes to a hitherto overlooked piece of magic-related knowledge.
He had been so focused on the inscriptions that he hadn't paid any attention to the clang of a door opening behind him, thinking it was merely Tony coming back out, when there was suddenly an unfamiliar presence behind him and a hard grip on his shoulder and a harsh voice growling in his ear, 'what is that necklace in your hand, slave'?
And he had looked up find himself face to face with one of the palace guards staring him down, catching him in just the wrong moment. What were the chances of that, really? But perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised. The guards always had an eerie knack for doing just that; even when he was a child, they would often show up at the most inappropriate times, catching him right in whatever mischief he was up to.
Some things never did change.
'I said, what is that necklace doing in your hand?' the man had growled at him again, giving him a rough shake. It was obvious what he was assuming – Loki had stolen it.
And of course, he could have protested that, provided the obvious answer – it belongs to my master, I'm merely keeping it for him – but the guard would surely have wanted to verify that with Tony. And there would have been some uncomfortable questions arising – why would a Midgardian be in possession of this kind of magical object clearly not of a Midgardian nature?
Tony might be quick enough to make something up, or he might not. If the man had found himself in a similar situation on Midgard, Loki doesn't doubt that he would have managed to talk his way out of it with a well-spun lie, but being in an unfamiliar realm with unknown customs, he could easily trip up and make it obvious he was being untruthful. In the worst case, Tony might even implicate himself as a thief.
Besides, the ever-cold metal of the necklace was a tell-tale sign that the object was magical in nature, something the guard would be sure to recognize, and Tony would have a very hard time making up a believable lie how he would have come across such an item. Sure, there was always the age-old 'I just found it lying here on the floor and merely picked it up', but magical artefacts were never handled with such carelessness; the lie would be far too thinly veiled to be believed by a jaded guard who had no doubt already heard all possible excuses and evasions from wrong-doers in his line of work.
And of course, the truth was no good either; if it would be furthered investigated into, the whole deal with Frey and Njord might come into light, and things could spiral very quickly downhill from there. Besides, the medallion might not even belong to Frey personally, but to his family, and he had merely 'borrowed' it for the occasion, which wouldn't exactly simplify matters.
No, better then to have the guard believe that he really did steel the necklace; in that case it would be up to Tony, his master, to deal an appropriate punishment. Which, of course, would not even have to be carried out.
So he had not protested as the guard had resolutely dragged him off to the dungeons; sure, he had told him that his master was in the privy beneath the staircase and suggested that they wait for him, but the guard had only told him to shut up. Clearly, he thought that it was only fair that Tony would have to suffer the inconvenience of having to pick up his slave in the dungeons, seeing as how he, as the master, was to some extent to blame for Loki's actions.
And as unpleasant as it is down here, at least he knows that someone will make sure that word is sent about his predicament, and Tony will come for him.
Yes, Tony will be here for him soon. He lets that thought comfort him, and he is only half-aware that one of his hands has slid over to his opposite wrist, his fingers trailing the thin band of metal circling it – the tracker bracelet that Tony had placed on him before taking him outside for the first time. In what feels like another lifetime, now, it used to be an automatic gesture he'd taken to, to remind himself that there was at least the promise of outside, there was still something good in his life he could look forward to. Not all was bleak and lost, despite his situation. It used to be what carried him through the day, the prospect of getting to go outside again.
And even though it's been a while since he's relied on that promise to make it through another day without being overcome by hopelessness and apathy, he realizes that the bracelet still serves as a reminder, even down here. Not of the blue sky or of lush trees or of the wind against his skin, but of Tony. Of the man himself.
Perhaps he ought to view the band of metal as merely another layer in the objective of keeping him constrained and confined, but he can't really bring himself to, because the ultimate reason why Tony had made it in the first place had not been as a means to keep track of him and ensure he didn't escape, but to alleviate the distress he had been suffering from while being locked up, thinking he would never be allowed outside again. In the end, Tony had done that purely for his benefit, the man himself had stood nothing to gain from the arrangement.
And he knows that Tony will be here soon, he will come for him. He will not leave him here.
So as the guard outside the bars is throwing another jab his way, annoyed by his prisoner's lack of reaction, he lets the taunt fade into the distance, along with the chill and the painful chafing of his chains and the stench of rot and the throbbing of his bruises. He doesn't even feel the cold hardness of the rock against his head as he leans back against the wall, closing his eyes. Even the distressing memories from his last stay here that are gathering on the edges of his consciousness, trying to inch their way inside, are kept at bay as he lets his fingers close around the thin metal.
Yes, Tony will be here for him.
This chapter was inspired by a review from sasuke34 who suggested that Loki and Tony get separated and Loki would use his tracking bracelet as a reminder of Tony and that he will be there to save him. :) I didn't intend for them to get separated at first, but the more I thought about it, the more appealing the idea got, so this is the result…
Please review. :)