fossilised | I come from a land of ice and snow

I come from a land of ice and snow

Asgard sat atop the branches of Yggdrasil since time began, and little had changed in their society in the years since. Each Asgardian was long-lived into the millennia, their lands were fertile, their people brave and strong. They had their vassals, their allies, and their enemies. Yet even those who opposed them respected the might of the Golden Dias, and the royalty who sat upon it. Currently that was Odin Borson, though he grew weary more easily now and had begun to consider passing the throne to his eldest son.

He had been blessed with many children, but only two that he considered worthy of his lineage and status. His firstborn, Thor, strong and honourable and everything an Asgardian warrior should be. His second son, Loki, was not natural born, though none knew that but his wife. He was different, a creature of magic and mayhem, of sharp intelligence. Both were worthy, but together they would take Asgard to a new prosperity, he was certain of it.

Midgard, where the mortals dwelt, was a land raided every few centuries for stock. It was seen as a breeding ground, much like a corral for cattle. Mortals were lesser, short-lived and weak, they were fit only as slaves. The last raid had taken place when Loki had been but a baby, nearly a thousand years ago, but the mortals that had been taken had been bred and cared for so that a healthy slave population still thrived. Slaves were given a weakened mixture of Idunn's crop with their food, to extend their natural lives to at least a few centuries in order to make them worth the effort to train. They had no rights, but they were taught well that this was their natural position.

All slave children were raised in a central pen and taught the same when small, those that then displayed talent at cooking, riding, hunting, housework, artisan skills, or singing were then measured off to be specially trained for higher masters. Every five years those who could afford to buy a slave, or those of high enough status to simply demand them, came to the corral and chose. Those who were chosen were special, were envied, and those who were not ended up working the fields out in the far reaches of Asgard, the most menial of work.

Anthony and Steven had been friends since they were little and being raised in the large pens together. Both had excelled, Anthony at crafting and Steven at warrior's skills, but neither were chosen when they were five, nor ten, nor even fifteen. Now, at twenty, it was their final chance to be chosen before they would be assigned to one of the meanest farmers beyond the borders of the great capital. Steven woke Anthony as the dawn rose, mingled excitement and nerves on his face.

"Anthony! Wake up, I've got news! I heard the overseer talking to one of the passing guards, and Princes Thor and Loki are coming to the corral today."

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"He does, I'm very fortunate. Never underestimate the love our masters can hold for us, I already see it in young Prince Loki, if cultured right it can last a lifetime. But it means you must be even more vigilant in how you conduct yourself, because you will have an influence over him that will be greater than you could ever imagine."

Bruce would his arms around Anthony in return, a comfort and a familiar sort of gesture. He was not touchy feely with a lot of people, but he had grown very fond of Anthony and did not mind cuddling him when he latched on.

"It would be stupid to ask you to help with the clean up anyway, it would be demeaning for one of the royal slaves to be seen ankle deep in placenta and blood." He grinned and pulled back a bit. "You can help me start lacing the food with the sterilisation formula, if you like?"

"Wow. Bruce. You know how to treat a guy," Anthony grinned, but went about helping to do as he was asked. The water and the mead would be easily laced but the food took some finesse and, as always, Anthony was a fantastically fast learner.

It would take the majority of the week to get it all finished but that was not what Anthony took away from that encounter with Bruce.

It was what he'd said.

Anthony already knew that Loki loved him. He'd seen it, felt it. But tempering the prince with his guidance seemed beyond his capabilities. Loki wasn't swayed by him... Was he?

For several days, Anthony stayed close to his master. He didn't complain, he just served him rigorously and then went to help Bruce. They stood together on the last day of their time on the moon together as much of the Asgardians left. Their shis disappeared into the darkness, taking Steven and many of the slave warriors with them, including the four dozen new adult slaves that had been deemed trainable or had come to respect their new way of life. That left Anthony, Bruce and a few other slaves behind to tend to Loki before they all packed up to take the last skiff home in the morning.

Anthony couldn't help but be pleased and he was in quite the good mood as he followed Loki back to his tent.

"I was speaking with Steven before he left and decided that I will tackle your bookshelves first when we return," he said, just chatting as he often did. There was almost no one here to see them and no other Asgardian at all to view whatever they did either. That was a freedom that Anthony was enjoying. "And then I'll fetch you new furs. The household slaves would change them but I don't trust their eye. Will it be the right season for the white furs? It's been so dark in the tent that a brightness might do us all some good."

Some masters did not like their slaves to have too many friends or fraternisations outside their work, they felt it detracted from their purpose. But there were good and bad slave owners, just as there were good and bad slaves, and Loki saw no harm in connections. A happy and healthy slave was much more likely to do their work with their whole heart, rather than one cowed and bullied into submission.

So he indulged Anthony's time spent with Bruce this week, and it seemed to do both of them good. He had fond memories of Bruce anyway, as one of his father's favoured slaves who had encouraged his desires in magic and book learning. Between them, they managed to lace all the food and drink to ensure that the mortals who remained would eventually become sterile.

On the last day, Loki had dressed himself in full ceremonial armour ready to be received back at Asgard and he had gifted Anthony with a new tunic in soft black with green trim so that he would look equally smart for their return. He smiled indulgently at the talk of mundane tasks.

"The white furs would be suitable, and I shall need you to prepare for a lengthy hunting trip. I have missed Asgard and I have been in one place too long, I plan to journey around our realm and visit remote villages and farmsteads. It has been too long since a royal representative showed them that even they were in our thoughts."

And it let him travel, it let him move. He had relished this triumph and duty, but he had also been constrained by it. He imagined that Anthony would also enjoy travelling the beautiful realm of Asgard.

"I may invite Thor, so you would have Steven to spend time with. But should you wish it, as a reward for good service, you may request Bruce to assist you on the road."

Bruce had taught him everything he ever needed to know about serving Loki, even if he didn't always follow those rules. He hadn't needed to, not when he and Loki had formed a bond fairly early on around the discipline and the mischief wrought together. Anthony arched an eyebrow at Loki's back anyway. "That's a good idea," Anthony mused. "Prince Thor travels with many slaves and an extra hand to help is appreciated." He knew better than to act overly excited about Bruce tagging along. Or to mention that he felt safer with Bruce there. The other slave had saved him, taught him, cared for him, and had a special place in Anthony's heart. "It's been decades since we headed to the northern farmlands," he continued, expressing interest in checking on how his irrigation system, put in place on their last journey, was holding up. It was a Prince Loki favored area for that reason alone and Anthony liked highlighting the areas that loved his master over Thor.

And he knew Loki loved it too.

He was in the middle of testing out potential itineraries on his master when Anthony felt his stomach sink. He moved forward to grasp as Loki's coat but his fingers slipped right through it. "Mast--"

Anthony faded before that fearfully pitched word escaped from his mouth. He, and every human on the training moon, had been scooped up by Jotnar and Vanir magic, dragged through reality and the void and deposited on Vanaheim. Anthony found himself standing slowly, gazing at the chattel, in his new black and green tunic, before throwing up on his boots.

The last thing that Anthony would see would be Loki's face contorting in surprise and then fury as his slave was ripped from him. At least he could be comforted to know that his master would likely look for him, though he had once again been separated and captured by mysterious forces. Not that he was the only one; all of the chattel were here and the other slaves who had been left behind to come on this last trip. Bruce was there, as were four or five other slaves of varying ranks, from a warrior slave to base kitchen slaves. All of them flocked towards Anthony, for he was the highest ranked among them, fear on their faces.

"Where are we? What's happening?"

The chattel were free and, though most were terrified and frozen because of it, some of them were realising that they were no longer caged and some of their captors (or the slaves of those captors) were among them.

But then a girl stepped out who Anthony would surely recognise as Loki despite the gender and age difference, for nobody else would have those green eyes and that particular posture, alongside another version of Steven, her voice raised.

"Be calm, we have not come to harm you, you are safe now. I am Loki of Jotunheim, and this is Steve Barnes of Midgard, we have freed you."

Not possible. Anthony wanted to reach out and shake the girl who was absolutely not Loki of anywhere. He was the senior most ranking slave. He was the one that needed to stand up to these people. “I am Anthony, personal slave of Prince Loki of Asgard. You will send us back immediately as we do not belong to you. We don’t care what you do with the rest of the chattel. Their purpose has been completed and they are free to continue on with their miserable lives.”

Steve knew this young, bare-faced version of Tony Stark. He’d spent the majority of his captivity focused on Bucky, but he knew him anyway. He also knew the Bruce Banner that stood beside him, and his eyes darkened mercilessly. There was such a thing as war crimes. And as far as Steve was concerned, he was no better than those eugenics focused Nazis. “Listen, son, you’re safe now. You don’t have to serve anyone. You can be your own person—”

“I am my own person! I’ve come to terms with you never understanding what your life ought to be, but you have no right to snatch me from mine!”

And yeah, actually, he did sort of see the similarity here between their issues.

It was probably a good thing that Bucky wasn't here, or all of the Asgardian owned and loyal slaves would already have bullets in them. As it was, some of the chattel looked as though they might form mob justice any moment and literally tear them apart limb from limb with their bare hands. A bad idea, because that would surely invoke a Berserker rage from Bruce.

The other slaves gathered behind Anthony. He was the senior among them, he was the one who would be deferred to and who's responsibility it now was to get them all back to their masters. Unfair, perhaps, but simply how these things worked.

Loki stepped right up to the youthful looking Tony and peered up into his face, her growth not even that to rival his height yet. "What the Aesir have done to you and your kind is against the natural order of Yggdrasil. Midgardians are a species of seidr and Yggdrasil as much as any other, their lifespan and weaknesses do not make that less so."

“There is nothing weak about us,” Anthony said, defiant to this imposter. “You have no right to make claim on us. We are not for sale and have been rightfully and lawfully owned from the beginning of the memory of our species.” He couldn’t back down on this. He wouldn’t. He had to get back to Loki, he had to get the men and women standing with him back. And he was willing to fight for it. A good fight would lead him to Valhalla—

But wait. This was Vanaheim. He could tell from the smell of it, from the look of it. The Free Markets were just over the hill. If this was Vanaheim, though, it could not be the Vanaheim Loki’s mother hailed from.

And that meant that if he were to go to Valhalla here, the prince would never find him again.

Anthony turned to the language of the Aesir rather than the All-Speak he had grown used to over the year dealing with humans that did not understand anything else. He addressed this false Loki directly.

“It is my right and rank to be returned. You will not keep me here. The last who tried to keep me from my master was torn limb from limb.” Sorry, Bruce. “I would not have that happen again.”

Bruce knew that now was not the time to protest what he had done, for Anthony did not speak untruthfully, though it was unpleasant to hear. The only indication of this was a slight shuffle from foot to foot, but otherwise he kept his composure pretty adequately through the exchange.

Aesir was not a language that Loki spoke often, though she was of course fluent in it, and so her voice had a slight accent that marked her as from Jotunheim. A twang to some of the words, a roundness to the syllables that shouldn't be there if she had been native of Asgard her whole life.

"I cannot allow you to return," she replied, using All-Speak so that the mortals were not excluded from the conversation. "You know of our location and may bring your masters down upon us, which would cause a war that we ill want."

“He will find me!” Anthony all but shouted, and it spoke to his youth. Though he was nearly a century old, his first centennial but two years away, the apples he ate did more than just prolong his life. It prolonged everything about him, including his mental development. He’d seen and he’d experienced a lot, but he hadn’t entirely grown from those experiences. It would take a lot longer for any of that to happen. The other slaves were silent, but they judged him.

He should not believe himself so important and irreplaceable. But he did. He had to. His whole being had been tied into Loki and without his prince, he felt empty.

“No matter where I am, he’ll come for me. You will be destroyed. Asgard is stronger than all of your might combined. All kneel to her throne. If you do not send us back immediately, you will be destroyed.”

The false Steven, the one with longer hair, without the scar over his eye, looked sad but understanding. “It’s not possible, son. Stand down and we’ll get you something to eat and something to wear.”

Anthony took a step back against Bruce, jaw set. “Leave us to die. We would rather that than be corrupted by you.”

Bruce, however, set a hand on Anthony's shoulder in comfort and spoke in much softer and more agreeable terms to the other Steven that he had tried to experiment on for some time.

"We would be glad of some food and clothing, thank you."

It was wisdom to know when to bow to the enemy, Odin All-Father had taught him that. Be patient and find the time to strike, never giving in but not resisting in fruitless ways that had no honour or purpose. They would be lucky to survive the night, for the chattel did not understand their purpose in life and had seen what was done to them as torture, and they were the ones who perpetuated that.

Loki just looked at the other Tony as if he were insane, a curiosity that she wanted to take apart and figure out. "Strange to see such loyalty to a creature such as what I must be, traitor to my blood and home."

"Traitor--". But Bruce squeezed his arm lightly and Anthony gave ho the fight. He'd never been taught this lesson. He never bowed to any save for Loki. Loki alone was his master and that had gotten him into trouble before, sure, but everyone knew his colors and no one dared cross that.

Until now. And now, poor Anthony was forever out of his element. His blood boiled as Steven's other self guided them to a small building for their safety. And he knew what that meant. They would be locked inside. Anthony forced himself to toughen up, especially when he saw how nice of an accommodation that they were given.

Steve did throw the bolt across the door and asked for two Vanir to stand watch. They needed to see to the rescued people first. The half dozen initial slaves could rest and eat and change inside the mansion while they tended to those in need first.

All were sufferers of rape and torment. All needed more kindness then the scant few.

Tony, walking with a cane and with a limp that Banner assured him would go away, found Loki in the crowd and smirked down at her. "So I just heard from Cap that you accidentally scooped up and met the other me. What do you think?"

Loki watched the scant few slaves taken away with interest, but she made no move to follow them. It would do none of them any good to get too attached to those who would doubtlessly be executed once they could be tried for their crimes. It would just be a drawn out process to decide which peoples were the ones to be allowed justice, though she felt it should go to the Midgardians.

"What has been done to them is not of seidr or unnatural means, they do not feel corrupted, but I cannot understand what would make any man or woman embrace their own slavery."

She had read about and seen accounts of slaves elsewhere, of course, and they were usually ecstatic with liberation when it came.

"I certainly prefer you."

"It's all cultural," Tony said, one hand in his pocket and the other on his cane. He didn't look at the building where their prisoners were kept. He didn't want to think too much about them because he really, really felt like going in there and killing the other Banner. He didn't know what that made him, but he couldn't forgive them. "They were born into it for hundreds, probably thousands of years. It's all they know."

And evidently they weren't treated too badly either because there were no uprisings. Tony didn't know. Or care.

"Plans for tonight? I have to keep occupied or I'm going to kill them before they go on trial."

Seeing Tony with this cane and limp made her angry at herself that she had not yet thought to contact Asgard and request some of their famous healing skills. The Jotnar did not have that sort of magic, but Asgardian women were famous for their salves and lotions which could heal all but the most grievous of wounds.

"I am at your disposal, though I fear bed sport may be too much for your healing body to handle currently."

She didn't want to be the cause of his death, after all.

"Perhaps we should take a trip elsewhere, then temptation will not hook you."

"To put your little mind at ease, I'm fine," Tony said. Though he did miss the sex, he wasn't going to push for it. Just having Loki around was good for the moment. That might eventually change but for now it was all right. He'd been in a lot of pain over the last few weeks, anyway, and with Barnes knowing his secret, he did his best not to be too indisposed with Loki.

Shame. Once this was all done, Loki would be headed home. And then to Asgard. It wasn't the first time he lost a friend though. He'd get over it.

"But Cap did tell me about the Free Markets. And the library? I wouldn't say no to a little bit of snooping." He didn't have the money he used to but that didn't mean he couldn't browse. Oddly enough, he didn't miss being rich. There was nothing left in the world to buy anyway. He had food and shelter and that was about all he could hope for right now. "You'll just have to put up with me acting like an old man."

Loki, however, was rich. Not in the way that Asgard held wealth, but she was still a princess and Jotunheim had many things that were valued as trade items. If Tony saw something that he wanted at the Free Market, she would be sure to buy it for him, he could consider it a down-payment for his wage.

"Then we shall visit the Free Market, none can have their mind wander there for there is always something to arrest the senses. If the walk becomes too much for you, I will carry you, there is no shame in being borne by a companion as close as I."

She offered her hand to him, for he would need to take it to be teleported.

"Tell me, will you miss your brethren in the future?"

"Miss them? I'm not really one of them." He was not used to being teleported. It still left his stomach weak, but he held himself together this time. The market was filled with oddities and wonders, nothing like what one might expect from a mideval fantasy at all actually. The buildings were soaring with an architectural somewhat Asian and somewhat Danish and all together its own. Sweeping banners advertised wares and people in all manners of dress flounced around as if on the currents from one spot to another.

He'd never seen anything like this. Not on Earth. Not on that training moon or the jungles of that pit stop home where many had died.

Amber eyes took it all in, swooped over it all as the smells and sounds of enticing merchant stalls drew his attention.

"When you're gone, I'll turn into one of those eccentric old men. The bitter, long bearded kind that yell at the kids on his lawn. But who knows. Maybe this armor will get me some sort of contract. I used to do a lot of work for governments."

Loki had been coming to the Free Markets since she was so young that her mother had to carry her in a sling, back when her shapeshifting had been much more instinctive and more dangerous. Jotnar were welcome, all were welcome, but they were not often seen for the climate on Vanaheim was not to their liking. They did not maintain a permanent stall as many did.

So Loki, in her natural blue for she felt it disrespectful to come as other than what she was to a place like this, turned more heads than a mortal did. She gave him a funny look as if he had said something ridiculous.

"Tell me, Tony Stark, why would I be gone before you? I will live many thousands of years longer than you."

Jotnar were even longer lived than Aesir, they lived the longest of the races and could match a mountain for age sometimes.

“When you go to Asgard,” Tony corrected, leaning on his cane to peer down at something that looked a little bit like a necklace made out of living fire. It was sort of incredible, holographic almost. He didn’t try to touch it (who knew how many other people touched it!) but he couldn’t feel any heat from it at all. He wanted to know how it worked, but there were other, more important things to do. Surely.

A glance over his shoulder caught Loki peering at him as if he was out of his mind.

“You’re going to have some important things to do. Don’t think you’ll get time off to visit the poor refugee humans. There’s going to be a pretty long honeymoon phase for you and your prince.”

"I had thought we had already discussed this," she rejoined, though perhaps she was misremembering and had only thought to discuss this with him but not actually gone through with it. "I had hoped you would join me in a retainer capacity. It is not uncommon for royalty to have companions who's food and board is paid for simply out of friendship."

She would not use him as a servant, merely let him build and invent within the palace walls of Asgard and not lose one of the only friends she had ever made that was on her level intellectually.

"If you would rather stay with your people, I understand. But Asgard will require an emissary should deals be struck for vassalage."

Just two weeks before, Bruce had confessed to him that he was his only friend, but ever selfish, Tony found himself nodding along to the plan. “Uh..yeah. I’ll go with you. Dumb question.” He wanted to have his old life back, away from the hardships of life where he could do anything he wanted no matter what he wanted. He’d gladly go with Loki. They’d have a lot of fun together until Tony was too old to do anything fun and then he’d go back to being that crotchety old man.

There was a half-smile towards the girl and a decided hop in his step despite the cane as they meandered down wide lanes between stalls. Nothing really caught his eye until they approached the massive, gleaming building of the library.

“You and I need to sit down and discuss a language exchange. I want to be able to understand what I’m reading,” he said, frowning at the challenge these steps were going to be.

Damned leg.

At least his mind was completely off of those being housed for trial. Steve’s wasn’t allowed to be, though he busied himself trying to get everyone else left into some sort of care program that the Vanaheim had helped them to set up.

Thousands of people needed medical care. He wasn't prepared for that. Luckily, their benefactors were.

Vanaheim was a realm of scholars and sorcerers, their physical might was less important to them than their mental might. They had prepared for a large number of wounded, setting aside huge low buildings with lots of light and volunteers from the healing centres to come and tend to those who needed it.

It may not be the population of an entire planet, but there were hundreds of thousands of mortals now, more than enough to begin to repopulate when they found a new place, though most of them were traumatised in some way. Strangely, they reacted the best to Bucky of all the people come to save them, perhaps sensing in a way that he knew something of what it was like to go through what they had, or perhaps just because he had never had an Asgardian double and so felt more trustworthy.

To talk with them and get them sorted was a harrowing task that took well into the night, just to find beds for everyone and assure them time and again that they were rescued and these Asgardians and Vanaheim residents were not trying to enslave them. Of course, they weren't all good people, and hidden like a snake in the grass was someone terrified who saw an opportunity to protect herself with a living weapon. A few desperate and muttered Russian words, and a blank eyed Bucky would be what returned to Steve in the early hours of the morning.

Moving everyone from that little planet that they had colonized back in the first alternate universe that they had visited had been stressful and they had only been two thousand strong. Being here with a hundred thousand was mind boggling, let along knowing that the US alone had several million people back when their world had countries. He’d moved into this tiny room with Bucky just a few days before. They all were in tight quarters to allow the new comers as much room as possible, all in long buildings in the planes of Vanaheim. Steve had wondered how sound magical buildings were but he couldn’t hear his neighbors and they seemed sturdy enough.

He was stretched out on the small bed that took up half of the tiny apartment, eyes closed though he had a digital pad and was trying to sort through the names of those that had given them and cross referencing them with friends and family. It was starting to hurt his head, the task was frustrating even to someone with optimal patience.

Which was why he wasn’t paying much attention to Bucky when he came in, not until he simply stood there instead of crawling into bed with him.

“Buck?”

Bucky looked over at Steve without passion, without real understanding of who he was. He had been told to come here and 'act normally' by his handler, but he had no idea what was normal for this situation. The Soldier programming could not survive memories like Bucky's with Steve, and so they were suppressed right now, hidden underneath the orders and the trigger words that bound him like chains.

Steve might notice that Bucky had a smear of blood on his right knuckle, a leftover from his first orders which he had already completed before returning here. He didn't respond, merely stared at Steve as though at a stranger.

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