fossilised | I come from a land of ice and snow

“Have you ever had the porridges that they serve there? They overstewed the apples and the oats into some sort of mush… I should probably address that. I was fed better in the unclaimed village. Babes are fed better. I would have rather eaten the bowls it was served in.” Anthony didn’t presume to sit down or to embrace Loki. He just leaned on the back of his chair as if he couldn’t stand. “You should be nice to me anyway. I faced that great green beast and lived to tell about it. Evidently that makes me protected and blessed by the stars. My value went way up over this.”

He did pause a moment to refill Loki’s cup without being asked. Honestly, Steven was falling down on the job. He shouldn’t have left Loki while he was still nibbling. This cup should never have fallen passed half full. He didn’t know that the blond was taking his time now to give Anthony some privacy with their master. They might come later.

“But anyway, I am up and healed and through with porridge and ready to figure out how that flying armor worked.” If someone else cracked it open without him, he was going to be really annoyed. “Unless you want to keep eating and sitting around and marking off pages in your logs? That sounds fun too. Except not really.”

"The armour you claimed has been stored in the east block of weapon huts, you may take your tools and spend the rest of the day there as reward for your bravery and obedience during the culling."

Loki pulled himself to his feet in one smooth and sinuous motion, pausing ever so briefly to brush a kiss to the side of Anthony's head. A rare and genuine gesture. He had feared to lose his most precious possession, the relief of not having that come to pass was intense.

"But come sundown, you must ready yourself, for we will be taking a skiff to the training grounds to help with weeding out unsuitable slaves, beginning training of the children, and choosing those for breeding."

He gestured for Anthony to go to his little chamber where the new tools awaited him, and dismissed him with a nod.

Few things were more precious to him than that tiny kiss to his temple and Anthony went with the widest grin he’d ever given to a room he barely used and now had to share with Steven only to make a sort of strangled whooping noise once he saw his gift. “Thank you,” he cried, once more running head first into Steven as he returned and headed straight through the halls to the place where his interest lay. Dwarven worked tools would be put to very good use as he crouched over his find and slowly began to pry apart the seams. To discover that there was a person inside, if arms and legs were any indication, left him in more of a rush to remove the armor.

The occupant looked familiar in an eerie way that Anthony couldn’t put his finger on. He was old, perhaps Bruce’s age, and wore a soft shirt, dark thick pants and boots made from unnatural materials that Anthony didn’t like. He had a little gray to his hair and wore his facial hair strangely. Could he be a chieftain? A ruler? Hair in Aesir society often indicated rank.

The man was breathing but unconscious, so Anthony sat back on his heels before he wound up a smack to the other’s face. The crack was hard (he should have pulled the punch a little, whoops) and blood hit his knuckles as the other woke and yelled. It was a familiar voice…his own. Anthony scrambled back, yelling too. “What the hell?!”

“This is Asgard,” Anthony shouted back. Not Hel. “You’re alive!”

It was only after the shock wore off that Anthony realized he was looking at his double just as they had met Steven’s in battle. He called for Loki at once.

Slaves were not allowed to keep themselves anything but clean shaven with short hair for this very reason, though some stubble could be allowed for it was more the length and style of the hair itself that spoke of status. It was why Loki now bore three extra braids in his hair proudly after that campaign, something he wished greatly to show his mother and father when they returned.

He was a true son of Asgard, none could deny that now.

The summons from Anthony was unusual, but he understood his slave well enough to know that he would not simply call for no reason, so he slipped down to the weapon's room and looked down on the strange older version of his possession with interest.

"Silence," he commanded, clearly expecting to be obeyed, though the words of the Midgardian language felt as mush in his mouth. So uncultured and harsh. "You are not where you belong, have you slumbered within this armour the whole time?"

Floundering around in an attempt to sit up, which was impossible considering that he was still locked inside the upper and lower torso segments of his armor, Tony at least managed to kick himself across the floor and konked his head on the wall. Given his concussion, he really wasn’t trying to injure his head further but sometimes that couldn’t be helped. “Damn it… Of course I was sleeping. I need my beauty rest. You should try it.” His younger self pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, which did earn him a grin from Tony, and an added: “It would really do wonders for your skin.”

Anthony glanced at Loki, not sure how to read the prince, and not sure if he should step in here since he wasn’t really needed to defend anyone’s honor against a really pathetic version of himself. Then again, he felt a real need to do it anyway, because he didn’t want to be duplicated. He was one of a kind, he was Loki’s, and another version of himself could really step up and take his place easily enough. Even if he was really old.

“But hey, if I’m not where I belong, how about you direct me to the nearest exist and some batteries and I’ll be out of your crazily pointed hair. Cool?”

Loki was not expecting respect, for this was an unbroken Midgardian, but it was still disgusting. Much like those who kept dogs and did not bother to break them into obedience where both they and their owners could be happy, a free and untrained mortal was an offence and something pitiable.

"We shall take you to the training village when we depart come sunset."

He did not think that this Anthony could be trained. His own was wilful enough even having been brought up as a slave, this one would never work. But he could be used as breeding stock, stimulated and forced to mate with women to produce offspring with intelligent genetics.

"Anthony, fetch some manacles and then extract him from his armour. A poor design that cannot be lifted without its power source."

“H-Hey! It’s not a poor design! Whatever you hit me with locked the joints together.” Evidently, this man was more worried about how his armor was treated, or his own genius, as opposed to where he was suppose to be taken. It didn’t bother him. Training Center sounded a whole lot like Boarding School and that didn’t work out for anyone. Besides, the moment he was out of his armor, he intended to overpower this kid version of himself and escape.

But that didn’t happen. When and Anthony were left alone for the latter to work on getting a chisel between the joints, ignoring his attempt at flattery and at taunting, he ended up laying as still as possible in case that chisel slipped and, after the breastplate was removed from his chest, he sprung into action. Unfortunately, all of his weight thrown up against the younger man did exactly nothing. Anthony reached for his older self and, with one hand, pinned him onto his back.

That was startling. And worrisome. And now his shoulder was smarting. “Okay, so you’ve been eating your Wheaties,” Tony muttered.

“Apples actually,” Anthony replied with a smirk. “Let me see your arms? I have some jewelry you might like.”

“You’re such a smart ass. I’m so proud of myself,” Tony said, and offered his hands. Now, evidently, was not the time for escape. But it would come. “Be careful with the Mark Seven. It’s still just a prototype.”

“You’ve named it Mark Seven? You have six other Marks?”

“Err. Had. I’m hard on my stuff.”

Anthony’s smile widened. “Me too. Now come on. Let’s jingle jangle you back to the hold.”

At sunset, Thor once again came out to bid the skiff farewell. “The moment Odin returns, I will be by your side,” Thor said, making sure that Loki understood. “Do not have too much fun without me.”

Loki clasped his brother by the forearms warmly and bade him to return the moment he was no longer on the throne, and to pass on news of his success to both their parents. He wanted to make them proud, he wanted to know that they saw him as a true son of Asgard once more after the failings of the past year or so.

After that, the skiff left quickly.

Steven, unable to resist the lure of the slave he knew waited below, made sure that Anthony could handle serving Loki by himself so that he could have some free time. Dressed in soft black and green, and no longer ashamed to be wearing it, he slipped down to the hold. Though Prince Loki would never hold his heart as Prince Thor did, he understood now the lessons he had been brought into his service to learn and he respected both those, and how his second prince had conducted himself during the raids.

He held the small tray of bread and water that the older Anthony would be given, holding it out once he had stepped into the small room he had been housed in for the trip.

"This is bizarre," he said, speaking the Aesir tongue for he had not quite remembered that these slaves wouldn't know it yet. "Look at you, so old, so untamed. It's like seeing a wild version of my brother."

Fourteen hours after waking in the shed (or whatever it was), Tony had had ample opportunity to learn a little bit of the language being spoken to him. He’d picked up Mandarin completely in a week and this language was somewhat similar to Scandinavian languages in that the vocabulary was similar enough that anyone who knew one language could more or less understand what another was saying. It helped that Tony had an affinity for language too, seeing it very much like equations and mathematical formulas. His brain just clicked and therefore, this short haired version of his dad’s old science experiment was speaking less nonsense and more like a sister language to know Tony could follow along with him.

“I’m gluten free,” Tony replied, ignoring the offered bread and since he didn’t know the word for gluten in Space Viking, he just said the English. “Fiber not good for feet.” He’d meant body but the guard had been talking about how much his feet ached and Tony just assumed. “Not old. Very attractive— I am a carefree horse and can still have a mellow movement.” What was the word for dance? He tried it in Norwegian but it would translate to Steven as something that sounded a lot like the Asgardian word for toilet. Tony shook his head and made a little attempt at dancing, some strange shoulder and hip movement, before he rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t get it anyway,” he said in English. “Take me to your leader?” He wasn’t too fond of this new language but he tried again. “Idiot,” he said, pointing at Steven, before he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

And that wasn’t easy, since he was manacled.

That gesture, though, in the darkness, focused the shine or glow of something on or under his garment.

This man was an idiot.

Much of what he said was accented strangely and wholly incorrect. Though Steven lacked Anthony's affinity for languages, he had been grounded in All-Speak in order to work so closely with Prince Thor, he had simply forgotten that these mortals would need him to use it. He switched at once, so that he could be properly understood.

"We're not taking you to a leader, you're going to the training village to be bred for future stock, and you're lucky to have survived for that. It's probably only because you look so similar to Anthony."

Steven reached forwards as he spoke to tug at the slave's shirt, ripping it easily to see what created such a glow beneath.

“Woah! Woah, hey, I know I’m irresistible, Peach Fuzz, but hands off!” Well, too late for that one. He’d never been so close to Steve Rogers before and he never wanted to be this close either. He smelled a little bit like fruit and sweat, which was weird and Tony suddenly never wanted to see a strawberry or a melon again in his life. The sudden rip of his shirt was equally horrible, and his hands, shackled, were thrown up as a way to keep this beast of a man at a distance. “If you think this counts as dinner first, you’re sorely mistaken.”

At least he could shout indignantly in English. That made him feel better. Having his back against the wall, literally, did not.

Of course, Tony knew that it was the reactor that Rogers was aiming for, but considering that he couldn’t make another one out of dirt and straw and spit, and he needed it to, you know, live and all, he was protective over the disc of light buried in his chest. “I always took you as a gentleman but I guess even the good boys with the perfect teeth and hair have deep, dark secrets. I bet you’re a boots on kind of guy? Know what? Don’t care. Bad touch! I don't want to be a breeding ground for your alien ass babies!"

This was awkward. Moreso because Tony couldn’t really defend himself like this….and because of what he’d heard on Steve’s radio and now, in person, of what his fate was going to be.

At least Steven had many years with his Anthony to become used to this sort of rapid-fire speaking, it seemed they were more similar than he might have imagined. But where his Anthony had learned wisdom through boundaries, and found happiness in the love of his master; this one was unfettered and worse for it.

"Surely you know that mortals do not produce babies from their anus," he said, mildly confused. "We are not like the Jotnar who are intersex, we must produce with a woman to have offspring. You will be set to breed with females that have been captured, though if you still have energy and desire then you may copulate with the other men if you wish."

Steven didn't want to take him. He viewed Anthony like a brother, to sleep with even his version would be strange. There were lines that even Aesir did not cross.

"What is that in your chest?"

Mouth open and then closed, Tony wasn’t even sure what to say. He sort of wanted to punch Steve Rogers in the face, but if he was anything like the other version of himself, he was going to be impossible to damage. He’d probably punch back and a slap had been enough to leave the side of his face bruised. He didn’t want to know what this muscle bound freak could do to him. “I think I’ll keep Legal from having to get me out of any more paternity tests,” he muttered, since he was pretty sure that there was no way he could be made to do the things he didn’t really want, and secure in that knowledge, he didn’t react in any more violence.

Instead, he cupped a hand over the reactor in his chest and the dim light caused half moons to fleck in the deep amber of his gaze. His scowl darkened.

“It’s nothing and no you can’t have it.” All he needed was to have it yanked out. How could he escape and rescue everyone that needed rescuing and destroy everyone that needed destroying if he was dead? He couldn’t. “It keeps my alive. I have a bad heart. Don’t touch it or your whole dream of having lots of little Tonys running around will be ruined.”

This one's name was Tony? What a strange name, Midgardian naming must have evolved quite a long way. Slaves were encouraged to be named by their Midgardian roots, and even taught a little about their realm, to remind them that they had a place and purpose within Yggdrasil. But he had not heard the name Tony before.

"Your heart is defective and requires a machine to run it? Why haven't your healers fixed it yet?"

Surely, if he had made it this far alive, then it must be treatable. Something like that would either be healed, or it would be bad enough for the patient to die. This was just barbaric.

"Take your hand away and allow me to see, I shall not remove it if you speak the truth. You look too like someone I think of as a brother to want to hurt you."

"You don't want to hurt me. Really." This was the second time that Steve referred to him as looking like someone he saw as a brother. That didn’t sit right with Tony, but he didn’t say anything snarky about it since, again, he wanted to survive this little ordeal and then feed this guy his repulsor. That also required letting him touch the reactor. “We don’t have healers. We have doctors. There’s metal lodged in my heart and this keeps those fragments from killing me. Pretty sure you’d die from a few good pieces of metal in your heart too.” Or so he hoped. He really, really hoped.

Tony averted his eyes as the metal was brushed at and manipulated. If Steve decided to crack it open, to turn it, to tug at it-- Well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do other than yell a lot, but you’d better believe that there would be quite a bit of that.

His voice lowered. “I know you’re brainwashed, Rogers, but this is pretty much the worst thing that one person can do to another. So I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you’re pretty damned disgusting to me right now. So step back and don’t touch me,” he growled in the blond’s ear as he leaned in close to inspect the circle of light. Tony held his breath in annoyance and a little bit of fear.

All of those who had been chosen to come to the training grounds and deal with the newest crop of slaves had been taught what to expect from this first generation. They had been told that there would be resistance, tears, violence, recriminations-- but it was one thing to know objectively that it would happen, and another to see such naked hatred directed towards him.

He sat back on his heels, brow furrowed in that very earnest concern that all Steves shared, so sincere.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm not even touching you much, and I have no interest in forcing you to my furs. What is it that I've done to you that's so much the worst? We're taking you to a life of purpose, Ant-- Tony, we're saving you."

“Saving-- Okay, didn’t need to be saved. Actually, still don’t. I can save myself thanks,” he said, full of gloating because he’d come out on top before. Being captured by the bad guys only to grind their noses into the sand was sort of the way he worked best. It was part of his MO and anything less would be so far beneath Iron Man that it would just eat his dust. “And only my mom got to call me Anthony. Not you, not Pepper…not anyone. Got it?” He needed access to some scrap metal. He needed access to running water and a little fire and then he would find a way to make something that could pluck out each one of those probably steel-clad eye balls. He didn’t want to be looked at this way. He definitely didn’t want Steve Rogers of all people, no matter what weird universe he was from, to look at him that way.

At least Tony more or less knew how to play his emotions down. It was a good tactic in the board room and a better tactic when kidnapped by crazy people.

“I would really love to pick your brain about what it’s like to be Patty Hearst but I don’t have time for you. Thanks but no thanks for the food. You can take it with you. I have my purpose to live up to and I need a little quiet for that.” He could feel the floor under him shifting and he had no idea how long this transport would take…or what he might find. But if any of the weird people Fury collected together made it… Well, he’d try to get the band back together.

"I won't force you to eat this time, but if you attempt to starve yourself when we reach the training grounds then you will find that you are fed in much less pleasant ways. I don't want you to get hurt, Tony, but you have to remember that any pain that comes your way is your doing."

That was one of the first lessons they learned in the slave village. If they were punished, it would be for a failing of what they had done or failed to do. A master was always right, and they did not have the authority to argue against any punishment or decision that was made.

He stood up, small plate in hand, and retreated for the door.

"Sleep well, for tomorrow we reach the training grounds."

Anthony had kept Steven up a good portion of the night whispering questions about ‘Tony.’ They were sharing a small space on the floor outside of Loki’s room and while Anthony usually slept in bed with the prince, there was a propriety issue to counter at the moment considering Steven’s addition to their lives. So, out in the corridor with him, which was certainly all right. In the years that they had spent serving separate princes, despite being together much of the time, they had grown apart. The year without Loki and the year that Steven spent with Thor had further rifted them. So Anthony took this time to make up for much of that.

Morning would come with his head against Steven’s shoulder and Loki having to step over the pair. Both were on their feet immediately after that to follow the prince to the small interior bridge where they could look out with the rest of the injured but healed warriors that had returned to Asgard with them. There was a lot of activity on the moon but it was hard to tell what actually was happening and who was who. That didn’t stop Anthony from being fascinated by it.

He bid his farewell to Loki for the day as he went to rejoin Bruce, saying nothing of his injuries, and expected no word either. He was in a long, small building where rows and rows of cages were kept, making notes on the individuals inside each one and putting markers on some. This group he was working on now were all physically beautiful and without outward deformity and so were being scanned for any genetic defects, men and women alike.

“What do we have here? Are these to be bred to the slave warriors or are they going to be bred to each other?" Anthony had no desire to father children himself. He wanted only Loki. But watching coupling always interested him.

Bruce really enjoyed this sort of work. He loved helping people, he loved knowing that he would be instrumental in making the lives of many future generations of Midgardians better, and that he would help in ensuring good service for Aesir until the next culling needed to take place. It was a use of his skills that didn't involve his berserk blood, and that was a gift.

He smiled to see Anthony, enthusiasm lighting up normally passive features, hands gesturing as he spoke to encompass the various pens that the cages were stood before, tuning out the noises of the slaves crying out.

"These ones on the left will be bred to each other for beauty, their muscular structure is weak and unlikely to blend well with the warriors. These in the right will be bred to the warriors exclusively, and these in the centre will be bred to both in the hope that some children will breed true."

He walked onwards towards cages at the back.

"Bring your counterpart, he needs to be put in a pen alongside the others that we know have a double here in our universe so that we can examine them properly."

Already caged in that area were Steve and Clint (who Anthony likely wouldn't recognise, but who Bruce knew had been a slave out in the border patrols). In a little pen next to them was a masked man, chained separate from everyone else.

"We don't know what this one is, but he killed two Aesir already when they tried to take his mask and goggles."

Hearing that his double would be the one with the burden to carry on his line and he, for the moment, would be free of the duty, Anthony’s step became all the more bouncy. Technically, he was put in charge of this operation but he had and would always defer to Bruce when it came to anything that they worked on together. The older man knew tricks of the trade better than Anthony thought he ever would. And so he rushed down to fetch an unruly, somehow shirtless and weirdly pierced older version of himself that called himself Tony and asked one of the Midgardian warriors to carry him for him. Anthony was strong but he didn’t want to be bruised up if the man decided to fight.

And it made him feel more important to lead the way from the skiff to the new pens where Tony would be deposited. The warrior dropped him on his shoulder with the other version of Steven and Tony grunted before trying to pull himself to his feet properly. It was hard when your arms and legs were chained.

“Oh. Great. Barton and Rogers. Fancy meeting you here,” Tony frowned, gazing back through the bars at Anthony and, of all people, Bruce Banner. “E tu Bruce?” he called, using the bars to finally get upright. “Help a bro out with the key will you? Or better yet, stop tip toeing and strut, big guy.” He could only hope that this was their Bruce and not some crazy space clone.

Anthony wrinkled his nose. "Wow. You really want that guy to breed my legacy? He's mouthier than I am."

That surprised Bruce and his eyebrows shot up. It should be fairly obvious that he wasn't the Bruce that this Tony knew, for he was wearing a tunic like all other Asgardian slaves and had no glasses, his weakening eyesight bolstered by the apples long ago. He had not seen another version of hum, but clearly he must exist. Maybe he had been culled as unworthy of breeding? Or perhaps simply killed in battle?

"Impossible," retorted Bruce, though it was with an affectionate smile, before he turned his attention back to the little cage. "Breeding will begin in the morning, I suggest you all get some rest."

He turned to lead Anthony out to where other slaves were penned, hundreds upon thousands of them, to tell him how they were separated, right through to the children of four and under who could possibly be trained well enough to serve initially.

Steve helped Tony sit back, a slightly glazed look in his eye suggesting that he was slightly concussed still from the battle. "Good to see you, Tony, we worried you hadn't made it. Where've you been?"

Tony didn't know Bruce well. He didn't know any of the people he had tried to fight along side of over the last few hours that they had spent on Earth. He wasn't sure how tied Bruce was to his glasses, or why this one might be wearing a tunic. He just had a lot of hope even if the situation was so very, very bleak. He had no idea that the Hulk had already been rampaging. Or that he was likely one of the only people who did not go immediately into hiding left alive during the last fire bombing of the planet. He knew very little of what had happened, and he didn't try to embellish it at all as he explained that he had been stuck in his armor and was only just fished out two days ago.

He didn't want to talk about this whole breeding procedure. He didn't want to talk at all. He was too busy scouring the cell for things to use to help them escape.

Not that they could. And even if they made it out of the cage, they were stuck on a moon. There was no way out of this.

Anthony was happy once again to be with Bruce too and he couldn't help but grin at him as they wandered through the pens of those already sorted towards a massive building filled with the smell of fear and huddled people. "I... Sort of expected this to be like the village," he said, young and so impressionable. He almost felt badly for these people, not because of their situation now but because they had grown up so badly. "They're like hurt animals. Has no one at all cared for them? Odin's beard-- I'm angry. I'm angry that people had to live like that. It's not fair. None of them had a shot before we came. How many other Midgards are there like this?" He had paused to watched a group of young teenagers huddled together. Fearful. They should be laughing and talking excitedly about training or their future masters and mistresses. Not like this.

Of course Bruce had never seen a culling before, the last one had been many millennia ago before he had even been born, but he had done a lot of research into Midgard and how it worked over the years when he had earned his right to pursue academic studies as well as his duties. He looked solemn as he glanced over at Anthony stood before those cowering children.

"It's worse than you can imagine. Midgard has many millions that die from lack of food, or shelter to sleep in. When other parts of their realm gorge themselves, or live in palaces big enough to house whole communities."

Asgard didn't have that. Some of the poorest farmers may sometimes eat lean, but none went without home or food. All Midgardians knew that they were guaranteed to be taken care of, even if unclaimed, because they were a life. A slave, perhaps, but still alive and part of the protection of Aesir.

"They fear us, because they have never been ruled. They live in small factions and think themselves the mightiest, and yet they cannot even care for their own weak. Be angry for the others, I am, but channel that into helping the ones that we have here."

Anthony nodded a few times as if resolved to do as tasked. Their job here was important. Most of the people on this moon would never leave it. Especially the males. They would be bred and then culled because they could not be tamed but their children would reap their rewards. Their line would carry on. In a few centuries, they would find purpose unlike what they thought they had in their Realm and it would be good to see those children grow to serve.

A few of the sick or infirm that had either not been noticed on the trip or hurt themselves during it were taken out to another building and kindly sent to Hel were their souls would know eternal rest and happiness. Their bodies would be buried, not by slaves, but by the Aesir warriors that had come with them as guards and trainers since it was part of their thanks for the good harvest of slaves.

Everyone here had a job. And the Asgardians that served during this year long period of training and first round breeding would be treated well to first pick of the new stock.

It was their honor, therefore, to conduct such menial tasks as the slaves prepared themselves to help create a new generation of slaves for Asgard. They ate and drank, warriors and laborers alike, in the massive feasting hall. After all, this moon and training ground was for them and for their species.

It was a good time to be alive.

Morning came after a hard night's work and Anthony accompanied Loki to his duty as commander to allow the breeding rites and rituals to begin. He couldn't help but touch the corner of Loki's sleeve as they moved from the blessing dais to the selection forum. The slave warriors would get their first pick and chief of them was Steven, standing in his gleaming armor.

Anthony was so proud of him.

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oops fell asleep on my sofa for a bit there haha

Whoopps! Good nap?

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