Author's note: So, the moment of truth is approaching… *dun-da-dun*
Okay, so he really is having an audience with an alien space god. The single thought keeps running on repeat through his head as he trails after Thor's sweeping, red cape, Loki walking another step behind.
An alien space god who is Stalin and Genghis Khan and Snake Plissken all in one.
After what feels like an eternity of wandering through long corridors and gilded halls, Thor finally comes to a halt before a pair of massive oaken doors, ensorcelled with long, meandering bands of silver runes. Tony almost crashes into him face first, not prepared for the sudden stop.
There are two guards with crossed spears standing in front of the doors, as unmoving and still as the statues they've passed during their walk. But as Thor approaches, they smartly retract their spears in one smooth, synchronized motion, allowing him entrance.
"The way to the throne room," Thor informs him curtly, a hand raised to the gate to push it open. Before he does, though, he turns around to look at Tony, jaws tight and with lines of concern written into his face.
"Please act respectful and courteous. This is the king of Asgard, the Allfather, and he should be approached accordingly." The warning in Thor's voice is clear as the sky on a blazing summer's day and Tony grimaces. Yeah, he gets it already.
"Don't worry, I'll be on my best behaviour," he waves the Thunderer's concerns away, flashing him what he hopes is a comforting grin.
Thor only nods once in confirmation, and then, with a mighty shove, pushes the creaking doors open and steps inside, Tony and Loki tight on his heels.
The gates open up into another corridor that branches off into several directions. Thor leads them down the first one to the right, and soon they're standing in front of a second set of looming doors, even more ominous-looking than the first.
And Tony can feel something squirm inside his stomach, like a frightened animal desperately scratching and clawing to get out.
"Loki will have to stay here," Thor says. "I will follow you inside, and then I will take my leave and wait here with Loki until you are finished. I am not allowed to stay during the audience, only the Allfather and his Council are to be present."
At Tony's displeased look, he quickly continues. "But do not worry. No one else is allowed beyond the gates we just passed for the duration of the audience, so Loki is safe here."
"Fine," Tony says, knowing it's pointless to argue. Besides, it's not like he's fond of the idea of having Loki in there among the very people who sentenced him to spend a life-time in slavery anyway.
"Are you ready?" Thor says, a note of nervous strain in his voice, so unlike the mighty Thunderer.
"I guess," Tony says, throwing one long look at Loki. The god is pale and his face taut, jaws clenched tight, looking like he hasn't slept in days.
And Tony thinks he should say something appropriate before going inside to face whatever is coming, but no bold or fancy statements come to him, so instead, he merely reaches out and squeezes Loki's arm, hoping to convey some amount of reassurance, no matter how tiny. Perhaps instil whatever confidence and certainty in the god that Tony wishes he himself would be feeling right now.
"Hey, I'm sure it will work out fine," he manages as Loki meets his gaze, the god's eyes wide with worry and concern.
And most of all, he wants to stroke his hand down that face, or, better yet, take the god into his arms to comfort him, but instead, he settles for merely patting the tense arm. "Well then, see you in a bit, Bambi."
There is the faintest hint of a smile on Loki's face at that, and that is probably all Tony can ask for right now.
With a sigh, he turns to Thor who nods and pushes the majestic doors open, and they step inside.
The hall opening up before them is spacious with a ceiling disappearing somewhere far above Tony's head, but not all that different from the other halls he's seen so far. Perhaps the ornamentations are a bit more elegant and maybe the gold inlays slightly shinier, but the major difference is the dais at the far end of the room, holding a large, impressive throne fit for a god. Two massive spears are crossed behind the backrest, and even from where Tony is standing he can see how the edges of the blades sticking out to either side glint menacingly in the light. Too few pointy ends to be the Iron Throne, but still a great Management by Fear tactic.
There is a figure perched on that throne, and though he can't make out any details from this distance, there is no doubt who that is. Yup, the one and only Allfather himself.
There are two rows of grandiose chairs lining the space right before the throne to each side, six to the right and seven to the left, each one occupied by what must be a member of the Council. They are conversing mutedly among themselves, but the sound of their hushed voices dies off as Tony and Thor approach, their footsteps echoing between the walls.
And he can feel all eyes turning onto him as they're making their way towards the dais, and even though being at the centre of attention normally comes to him as natural as breathing, he still feels a strange nervousness at being in the spotlight that he hasn't felt in many years, if ever.
As they walk, Tony tries to take in as much information about the situation and the surroundings as possible. First and foremost in his line of vision is the tall, commanding figure – Odin himself – perched upon the lumbering throne, his bearings royal and haughty. Radiating from him is a powerful and dangerous aura reminding Tony of a lion waiting to strike more than anything else.
Furtively, he glances to the sides and the assembled Council members, wondering which one of these guys is Njord. The medallion hanging around his neck is cold against his skin, its chill penetrating even through the shirt, and he suppresses a shiver.
From the extravagant way they're dressed, it's clear that they're all nobles, and as stuck-up as they come. Stiff postures and blank faces, they regard him without even a hint of emotion as he approaches. His gaze sweeps over the expressionless masks poised above the ram-rod backs, wondering if they're planning on remaining like that during the entire audience or actually act as if they're living beings.
Out of the corner of his eye he notices that one of the figures is sitting a note more relaxed than the rest, not quite as statuesque with the way he's leaning back slightly in his seat with legs spread a little wider than what seems to be the accepted standard among the assembly. Not much by any stretch of the imagination, but still enough to stand out in this crowd and give off a faint air of nonchalance.
He gives the figure a closer look and then his eyes go wide for a split second as he recognizes the face.
Frey.
The man offers him a tiny knowing smile as their eyes meet, winking discreetly. Tony ignores it, looking away, more out of surprise than anything else.
So Frey is here. He should have been prepared for that. But seeing him here makes a disturbing thought rise inside of him, and he can't believe that he's never considered it before – was Frey one of those who had a hand in sentencing Loki to slavery? Did he actually approve of this? And does he still think that it's a proper sentence that shouldn't be changed in the first place?
The medallion against his chest suddenly feels several degrees colder, and he's not at all certain whether he made the right decision to wear it, but he's not sure if he can back out of it now, or if he even should.
Before he can consider this any further, Thor comes to a halt before the steps leading up to the dais and respectfully falls to one knee, his right armed crossed over his chest in salute.
Tony isn't really the kneeling type, but the old adage about Rome and Romans seems quite apt in this situation, so he adapts a similar pose, swearing he can see the some of the tenseness ease off from Thor's taut shoulders at the dull thud of Tony's knee making contact with the marble floor.
"Allfather," Thor acknowledges, voice respectful and solemn. "I have brought Man of Iron here to speak before you and your Council."
"Thor. Man of Iron," Odin acknowledges, his voice less thunderous than that of his son, but certainly no less commanding. "Rise."
They obey, Tony with a heady sense of relief that he won't have to remain in such an uncomfortable position until the audience is over, because his knees might have had something to say about that.
"Wait outside, my son," Odin intones, and Tony winces inwardly; from now on, he'll be on his own with no ally to smooth over any social blunders that might unintentionally or intentionally slip from his mouth. He can't help but glance upward in unease – the blades of those spears do look pretty freaking sharp.
"As you wish, Allfather," Thor acquiesces, turning away but stopping for the tiniest fraction of a second as he walks past Tony, the silent plea in his eyes impossible to misinterpret. Please don't step out of line, for Loki's sake.
As the thunder god walks back out, Odin's hands grab the imposing armrests as he raises himself up from the throne, standing to his full, impressive height. Like everyone else of importance in this realm, he's wearing a long fluttering cloak, dark grey as the rest of his outfit. His long beard and hair are grey as well, though a few shades lighter. Despite the lines on his face marking him as an old man, there are no signs of the god's age in his bearings. Instead, his movements are characterized by strength and power, and Tony finds himself wondering whether even Thor would be a match for this guy in a fair fight, be it with or without weapons.
There are vambraces covering his wrists and lower arms, adorned with sets of runes in symmetric patterns, but something about the markings makes Tony suspect they are not only there for decoration. Perhaps they're imbued with some sort of magic that affords the wearer protection against enemy weapons. If so, he'd really like a pair himself.
The single eye staring down at him is as steely as those of the god's oldest son, although there is more grey than blue in it. And the eye keeps staring as if it is looking straight through Tony, rummaging through all his inner secrets and memories and thoughts, turning each and everyone over for consideration and evaluation. And Tony isn't sure he wants to know the final verdict.
"Well then," Odin finally says, raising a hand as if for calling for silence, despite how no one but him out of all those assembled in the throne room is speaking a word. "We are all gathered. Let the Council's hearing on the sentence of Loki Laufeyson begin."
Please review. :)