Author's note: So, let's hope that Tony will be able to come to the rescue once more…
The corridor is more or less like the stairwell, just without the stairs. The moist walls are made of the same grey stones, and so is the floor, and the torches still intersperse the darkness at regular intervals.
He swallows down a wave of disgust at the stench of rotten straw and other things reaching his nostrils, much stronger down here. The chill is more pronounced as well; he can see the guard sweeping his coat a little tighter around him, and he finds himself missing the cloak he had worn at Hallgrim's dinner just yesterday.
Damn, Loki must be freezing down here in his thin clothes…
He suppresses a shiver as he eyes the doors suddenly coming into view on either side of him. They are heavy and bolted and solid expect for a small window with bars covering the opening. He has no idea if there are people behind those doors or if the cells are empty, and frankly, he finds that it is best not to know. At least there is silence, for which he is suddenly grateful; he's not sure he could have taken any moaning and pleading and cursing from the unlucky souls trapped in here.
A few steps further ahead of them, an obviously bored guard is leaning against the wall; he barely even looks up to acknowledge them from where he's busying himself picking his nails with a knife. Apparently, working in a dungeon environment does nothing to improve one's social competence or politeness.
"Arne, go find Ulfgrimm. Our newest guest has a visitor," the first guard says, and the guy apparently named Arne scampers off with a huff, clearly not pleased with having his important pastime interrupted like this.
They stand around waiting in a silence broken only by the soft hiss of burning torches, Tony struggling to get a hold of his nervousness. After what feels like a small eternity, there are footsteps approaching, two sets of them. Apparently, Arne has found his man and brought him back as ordered.
Tony suppresses a grimace as the new man comes into view; he's built like a brick house and his face looks like he got hit with one, and more than once to boot. He's dressed entirely in
differently coloured leathers that have been roughly sewn together, making out a patchwork kind of garb fit for someone in the starring role of some bad horror flick containing either the word 'butcher' or 'massacre'.
"Man of Iron," he greets, making a small incline of his head, but forgoing the polite bow Tony's seen from most other people around here. "I am Ulfgrimm, the dungeon master. What a shame you should have to mar your stay in our realm with a visit down here."
"Yeah, I'm not too fond of it myself, but here I am," Tony says in a forced display of casualness to hide his discomfort about the man before him who could probably strangle a pig with those ham-like hands of his. And he's just about to put fourth a no-nonsense demand to see Loki this instant, but Ulfgrimm pre-empts him with a wave of his huge hand.
"Come on, then. Your slave is in a cell not far from here."
Not having to be told twice, he follows Ulfgrimm, trepidation stirring inside of him. He has to get Loki out of here, he can't leave him in a shitty place like this.
They turn a corner, and find themselves in a larger room, a number of dingy cells to the right-hand side without the bolted steel doors of the previous cells, but with bars instead, providing full insight to what lies within.
And in the first one, there is a well-known figure huddled up against the wall, chin resting on his drawn-up knees and arms wrapped around himself in what seems to be a futile effort to preserve body heat. There are chains around his ankles and wrists, and even from where Tony is standing in the duskiness he can see that they are too tight for comfort. There is no furniture in the cell, not even a bench to lie down on; the only thing protecting from the cold stone floor is a paltry amount of dirty straw raked together into the corner that Loki is sitting in.
Ulfgrimm bangs a fist against the bars, making them clang and rattle in an awful cacophony of sound. "Hey, slave, your master is here for you," he roars, as if Loki isn't sitting just a couple of yards away.
The figure on the ground startles and looks up, green eyes meeting with Tony's.
And Tony wants to say something right there, run up to the bars and reassure Loki that he's going to get him out, but the careful, pointed look on Loki's face is telling him that he needs to play this right, he can't show any concern or things might spiral further downwards. So he remains where he is, quiet and unmoving.
"So," Ulfgrimm says, turning towards Tony again. "It would seem that your slave has committed theft." He digs around in his pocket, pulling out a very familiar object dangling from a leather string. The medallion looks tiny in Ulfgrimm's giant fist, like a child's toy.
"Does this item – apparently of a magical nature – belong to your possession?" he says, obvious doubt shining through in every word.
Tony dares a quick look at Loki; surely the best option here would be to say 'yes' and absolve Loki of any suspicions, regardless of what uncomfortable questions might follow. But the god gives a tiny, almost imperceptive shake of his head, his eyes never leaving Tony's.
He hesitates, unsure, but Loki repeats the minute movement and he realizes that there's really no other option than to trust him in this. After all, he has very little clue about how anything works here, so he'd better follow whatever advice he can get.
"No," he says, hoping he didn't misinterpret Loki, but the god seems to relax slightly at this answer.
"I thought so," Ulfgrimm says with a knowing nod, as if he hadn't even considered there might have been another answer. "That clarifies the guilt question, and we have a motive too. Of course a former sorcerer divested of his powers would want to get his hands on a magical item like this in lieu of the powers he no longer has access to. Now, Man of Iron, do you know who this object belongs to?"
Another quick glance at Loki, taking in the faint bobbing of his head.
"Yeah," he says, trying to sound confident. At least it's not a lie, providing that Frey didn't steal the damn thing in turn. "I do."
"Good," Ulfgrimm says, to Tony's surprise holding the medallion out to him for taking. "Then I trust you will settle this with the owner of this item and have your slave punished appropriately." His eyes drift over to where Loki is still huddling in the corner of his cell, and Tony follows his gaze.
And Loki curls up further in his corner at the mention of punishment, giving a soft whimper that makes Ulfgrimm laugh. "Yeah, you'll get yours alight, you little traitor," he snorts gleefully, his ugly face crinkling up with an even uglier smile. "Your master will no doubt take really good care of you after this."
Tony clenches his jaws as bile rises in his throat, but he realizes exactly what is required of him here – just play along. Play the part of the angry master as to not arouse any of Ulfgrimm's suspicions so they can get the hell out of here.
"Be quiet," he forces himself to say in what he hopes is a properly incensed tone of voice. "You'll have plenty of reasons to snivel later once I'm done with you."
He can see the huddled form of Loki giving a shiver, and he likes to think that it's the god suppressing a bout of laughter at the stupid little scene they're acting out, but it makes him uncomfortable nevertheless.
Licking his lips in uneasiness, he watches as Ulfgrimm opens the door with one of the keys hanging at his belt and then enters the cell to bend down over Loki and undo the locks around his wrists and ankles as well. Loki feebly rubs his hands over his freed wrists, but otherwise doesn't move.
Ulfgrimm turns to Tony, who is still standing outside, unsure of whether he should remain where he is or enter the cell as well. "If you should want to, you're free to have him punished here. It might be less… messy for you. We have all the necessary implements you could possibly ask for," he says, sounding hopeful.
Bastard.
"Thanks for the offer, but I'd rather handle this in private," Tony replies, having to bite his cheek as to not add a very creative insult involving pigs after that.
Ulfgrimm merely shrugs. "As you wish," he says, a note of disappointment in his voice, but he makes no further insistences.
Loki is still cowering in the corner, having not stood up despite the chains lying on the floor next to him. Maybe he, Tony, is expected to do something here.
Sensing what it is, he walks into the cell and positions himself resolutely before Loki. "Get up," he says with as much command as he can muster, reaching down to grab hold of Loki's arm. "Or you're going to make things even worse for yourself."
At that, Loki looks up, a perfect mask of terror plastered on his face as he tries to dig himself further into the wall behind him. "No, I'm sorry," he whimpers, "please, Master, don't…"
"Shut up," he says, pulling Loki up to his feet, hating the display before him but glad to have a firm grip of the god. It makes him feel marginally better, holding him securely like that.
A quick glance towards the pleased face of Ulfgrimm is enough to tell him that the show is convincing enough, and he feels himself relax a few notches.
"Well, then. I will leave him into your no doubt capable hands," the man says with a dismissive nod, then turning to the guard still lounging nearby who has watched everything play out with a clear look of boredom on his face. "Hadar, escort Man of Iron back, will you."
The man offers no answer, merely turns on his heel and Tony follows quickly, still clutching Loki's arm tight in pretence of dragging his fearful slave along to be punished, determined not to let go of the god before they have made it safely out of here.
Loki lets himself be pulled along as they make it up the winding stairs, even though he lets slip the occasional whimper and soft pleading that he's sorry, so sorry. And damn, even if Tony knows it's just an act they have to keep up, it makes him feel almost nauseous. How often do similar scenes play out here in Asgard, with defenceless slaves cowering in fear before whatever punishment their masters are about to meet out? He prefers not to think about it at all, instead muttering another muffled 'shut up'.
The guard doesn't turn around even once as they're making their way back, but Tony keeps the god close at his side anyway, never letting go off his arm. At least Loki looks largely unhurt, though he can see a number of bruises on his arm and marks from where the heavy shackles have already chafed red lines against his wrists. His skin is cold and clammy against Tony's and he looks a couple of shades paler than usual, though it's hard to tell in the dusky light of the torches.
So that's what the dungeons of Asgard are like. And, he realizes, what Loki had saved him from the other day. There's a little sting of something inside of him at that, and even though he's still not convinced it was worth it, he can't say that he doesn't appreciate the thought nonetheless.
When they reach the final door to the outside, it feels like an eternity before the guard has gotten his three keys into their respective locks and turned them, and Tony nearly groans in relief as the door slides open and the painfully bright light of the room outside assaults his eyes.
The guard doesn't say a word as the door closes behind them, merely resumes his place next to his remaining colleague, and Tony is glad for it. Speeding his steps up slightly, afraid that someone will call at them to stop at the last minute, he pulls an ostensibly reluctant Loki with him, the god limping half a step behind with his head bowed as if in dread of the fate awaiting him.
And Tony doesn't care where they are going, as long as they get away from here and out of sight of the guards and they can put this deplorable charade to rest. He makes for the nearest door and flings it open, half-pushing, half-showing the god through the doorway. Loki makes a final pitiful whimper, and then the door closes blissfully behind them.
All strain going out of him with the fore of a steam hammer, Tony's legs give way beneath him and he slides down to the floor, back against the wall and hands going to his head as he lets slip one of the biggest sighs ever. Fuck, that must have taken at least a year off his life.
"You… alright?" he hears Loki's voice above him, devoid of the scared and pathetic note it held only a moment ago, having returned to its usual timbre.
And he can't help it, he just laughs.
"You're asking me, Loki?" he manages between shuddering paroxysms. "You just got locked up into a fucking shithole with a bunch of asshole guards, and you're asking me if I'm okay?"
Loki makes a little shrug. "It wasn't my first stint in the dungeons. I'll live. It's not like I'm badly hurt or anything. It's just a few bruises from rough handling, nothing worse."
At that, Tony stops laughing, taking in the sight of the pale god and the purple marks on his arms visible beneath his sleeves. Eyes narrowing, he gestures angrily at them.
"Why did they do that shit to you when they didn't even know if you were guilty or not?" he asks, feeling hot anger well up inside of him to replace the heady waves of relief.
Loki's shoulders bob upwards in another shrug. "It doesn't matter. The guards down there are free to run things as they like, within certain limits."
Urgh. He doesn't even want to know.
"So what happened?" he asks, hand going to his pocket to fish out the medallion, twirling the ill-fated thing between his fingers. "A guard found you with this when I was busy with nature's call and assumed you had stolen it?"
"Yes," Loki nods. "I had taken it out to study the runes again, and was surprised by a guard. My timing could not have been worse."
"Why didn't you just say it belonged to me? It would have saved us both a lot of trouble."
"Or gotten us into further trouble. The guard would surely have wanted to know from where you had gotten this kind of magical object, and there would be questions you might not be able to answer without either implicating yourself or revealing the truth, one way or the other. And if Frey was telling the truth about the amulet and his father… that could have unfortunate repercussions, if Njord's alleged plans came to light."
And even though Tony doesn't really believe it – because it doesn't make any sense – he still has to ask. "You think Frey set this up in any way? To hand us his bling and then accuse you of having stolen it to smash your chances of getting a parole by having you end up in court for another crime?"
Loki is only quite for a heartbeat before he shakes his head. "No. No one is going to care about a slave steeling some necklace other than his master and the person that it was stolen from; it is entirely a matter to be settled between them. Free men would have been taken to court for it, but a slave only so if the victim of that theft couldn't agree with the master on a sufficient punishment. Besides, there would be no way for Frey to know I was the one carrying it and not you, would there?"
Yeah, his line of thought exactly.
"So…" he says, feeling he has to ask. "Could you really have done anything with a magical object like Mr Scary down there claimed, even if you have no magic powers of your own?"
Loki looks wistful for a few seconds, but then sighs, looking away. "I wish. Ulfgrimm knows nothing about magic. Such artefacts are of no more use for a sorcerer divested of his powers than for someone who never had any magic in the first place, regardless of what some might think."
And Tony doesn't really know what to say after all this crap, nor is he sure he could handle another scarce like this. But one thing's certain – he can't fucking wait to get back home to Earth again.
And damn, he can't believe that Loki is standing there looking so unperturbed after what just happened, even if he had known from the very start that he'd be let off with having Tony 'punish' him for his 'crime', while he is sitting here leaning against the wall for support, all sweaty and shaky.
He clutches at the stones behind him to prop himself up, making a feeble attempt at standing but not really succeeding, and lets himself fall back again. "Weren't you worried at all while waiting down there?" he asks instead, the nastiness of the dungeons still lingering in his mind.
Not missing a beat, Loki reaches out a hand to Tony to pull him to his feet, shaking his head.
"No," he says. "I knew you'd come for me."
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