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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Loki awoke late from his enforced slumber. Slaves woke before everyone else in the fortress, and Loki had been harshly reminded of that lesson too many times. It was unthinkable now for him to sleep past dawn. He scrambled up from the floor and looked around the room. It was well past dawn and his master’s bed was empty, as though Stark had not returned to it after their midnight conversation. Syla was not snuggled next to him, and a bolt of fear hit him. What had Stark done with her? He had forced Loki to leave her sleeping on his lap, unprotected. What if he had given her to the guard standing outside his door, told them she was a nuisance. They would get rid of her, they would not risk offending such an important guest.

Loki hurried out of the bedroom, desperate to know what Stark had done with his daughter. He stopped, confused when he saw she was still sleeping on the luxurious chair. She looked rested, calm and comfortable. Stark had even put a blanket over her, although she had no need for any such thing. The cold was in her blood, the light tunic she wore was all she needed.

“Good morning sunshine,” came a voice behind him. Loki spun to see his master standing in the small galley area, a steaming cup of some Midgardian beverage in his hand. Jotun hospitality did not extend to off-world beverages, but Stark had bought along his own technology for his comfort. No doubt he had bought the ingredients for this drink.

Loki’s knees locked as habit fought with his new orders. He should have woken early enough prepare that drink for his master. Under Byliestr’s rule he would have fallen to his knees to beg forgiveness for such a lapse. Now he could not, and Stark looked askance at his ungainly jerk. He settled for bowing his head, hands behind his back, eyes down.

“Master,” he said, “please forgive me for sleeping so long, and not tending to your morning refreshment.” Even as he was apologizing Loki knew that it was not his fault. Stark had ordered him to sleep and he had woken as soon as he could under that order. Fault made no difference for a slave though. He would consider it a light punishment if Stark was to throw that hot drink in his face and then have him clean it up and make him another. Stark did not do any such thing. He brushed past and said, “Yeah I know how to make coffee, thanks.”

This pattern had been Loki’s previous day as well. Stark seemed to have no use for him. He was an inconvenience, and had been since the moment he was given to him.

Loki remembered the day before. Stark had been blank-faced when Loki had been led into the great hall, almost naked with a leash around his neck. Thor could not hide his horrified shock, and Byliestr didn't even try to hide his glee. All Loki could do was keep his head up as he was passed from one owner to another. Stark took his leash and gave a formal thank you to his host, somewhat less than effusive but still polite and diplomatic. Thor’s thunderous eyes had bored into Loki's skull, but he had not interrupted the ceremony. Loki had knelt by his new owner’s chair, hands behind his back, head down, the leash in Stark's hand. He knew how to behave in public, and he knew the consequences for failing to meet those expectations.

(Art by lokiofasgaaard on tumblr)

For the rest of that morning, Loki had been silent and obedient, following Stark as he toured Utgard. Loki stayed close, he did not allow his leash to pull against his new owner’s hand. Stark ignored him, and Thor cast longing glances in his direction. During a short break in the day's activities, Stark had taken him to his lavish guest chambers. Loki was expecting to be given some tasks but all Stark told him was don’t leave these rooms, and don’t mess with my stuff. Loki was left there alone until the evening.

And now, the next day, with his daughter sleeping on Stark’s comfortable chair, and the drink Stark had prepared himself in his hand, Stark still seemed to have no use for him.

“Master, how may I serve you?” Loki asked, a tremble in his voice. He did not know how Stark wanted him to behave and he was almost too afraid to ask. The punishment for laziness was just as bad as the punishment for insolence, so he had nothing to lose.

Stark’s eye twitched, but he didn’t seem angry. Loki didn't know what to make of it. Stark sipped his drink, “Have you eaten since yesterday?” He asked.

Loki’s eyes widened, “No, master!” he said, “No, I swear, I have not!” Loki knew the punishment for stealing and it was severe. He would take a whipping at least, maybe worse, for such a thing. He had endured the pillory once and had no desire for a second time. He shuddered at the memory. He had been left for a day and night, his back bleeding from the lash, his neck and wrists locked, bent over in the courtyard for any to use as they wished. Phantom pain tugged at him. The passing Jotun had had no care for his smaller body when they used him. He would not invite such punishment on himself by stealing from his new master. He had been in these rooms since yesterday, and he had not touched any of the food in the galley or even thought of doing so. He prayed Stark would believe him. It would require no evidence other than his master’s word to have him disciplined.

Stark watched him, his breathing slow and even, sipping his drink, taking his time to reply. Loki desperately searched his mind for some evidence he could offer that he had been obedient. Stark did not even know that the geas would have prevented him from taking any of his master’s food. Should he reveal the geas? It would do him no good to reveal it so soon, except perhaps to get him out of this trouble. Loki was too panicky to notice Stark walking back to the galley. He rummaged in a cabinet, pulled out something in a bright colored wrapper and gave it to Loki. Loki's thoughts short circuited as he looked at what he had been given. Energy Bar - Cool Mint Chocolate.

“You eat it,” Stark snapped, impatient with Loki’s obvious confusion.

Loki stared at the food in his hand. Slaves did not eat their master’s food, unless they had been very, very good. Byliestr had fed him from his hand on occasion, when he had been a perfect, compliant toy for him. Even now, beaten down as he was, Loki could rarely force himself to do that, to smile and flirt and pretend enjoyment of his master’s treatment. He had done it when he had to, when his favor was hanging by the slenderest thread, or when Syla was new and he had needed food to keep his milk for her. To be handed food by his new owner, when he had done nothing to earn it, nothing to deserve it, was disorienting. “Thank you, master,” he said, the words wholly inadequate to show his gratitude. Loki remembered that Stark had fed Syla last night as well, one of those Midgardian fruits he must have brought with him. Thinking of Syla, Loki glanced over and saw she was awake. The clever girl was lying still, her eyes wide and locked on Loki. He had trained her well, and she could stay small and quiet for far longer than a child of her age should have to. It was how she had survived.

Stark was not fooled, a device around his wrist vibrated slightly and he looked over at Syla. She looked back at him, her deep red eyes meeting his, unafraid. Silently, Loki implored her to drop her gaze, but she did not, and Stark for some reason did not object. He pointed at her and turned to Loki. “Give her one too,” he ordered, and then there was a knock on the door. Thor and his escort had arrived to take him to the formal negotiations.

“Behave and don’t cause any trouble,” Stark threw over his shoulder to Loki as he left the room. Thor's pitiful gaze caught his eye, but he did not stay or try to talk to his former brother before the door closed.

Loki stood in the spacious room, food in his hand, his daughter safe before his eyes, and allowed a spark of hope into his belly. Perhaps Stark would not be like Byliestr.

Perhaps he would be kind.

Chapter Text

Loki shook himself. He should not let his mind wander, should not dream of kindness or mercy from his new owner. It was a fantasy and one that would only hurt him. Stark had given him the food for some purpose of his own, not as an act of generosity. Midgard must have different rules for slaves than Jotunheim. Loki should not assume he understood Stark’s reasoning or motivation for anything he did. It was better to be prepared for the worst, than to bare himself to the danger and disappointment of hope.

Stark had ordered him to give Syla a food bar, and so before the geas could force him to comply, Loki went back to the cabinet and looked inside. There was a box with the same name on it, Energy Bar - Cool Mint Chocolate, but it was empty. Other boxes had different names, Energy Bar - Chocolate Chip, Energy Bar - Crunchy Peanut Butter. But no more Energy Bar - Cool Mint Chocolate. Loki looked again. And again. But he knew already that it was in vain, there were no more of the kind he was allowed to take.

Loki’s stomach growled. He had allowed himself to anticipate eating and now he was reminded of his empty belly. He tried to push it from his mind, unsure if Stark had been thoughtless in his command, if he was toying with him, or testing him. He would give the food to Syla, of course, not eat it himself. It was not even a question. Stark had ordered him to give a bar to Syla, he had not ordered him to eat anything himself. Stark’s comment ' you eat it' could be taken as a general observation about the food, not an order. Loki made up his mind to take it that way, so the geas would not trouble him. Byliestr had become wise to the slippery nature of commands and obedience of the geas. The phrasing of his orders was nearly always perfect and rarely allowed Loki any room to maneuver. Stark still did not know about the geas at all, and his commands were vague, suggestive, indirect. Loki would prefer to keep it that way, if possible.

Loki sat on the floor by Syla’s chair and opened his arms. She wriggled down into his lap and he buried his face in her short curly hair.

“Good morning, my little love,” he whispered, and Syla wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and squeezed. She didn’t talk much, even at three, and Loki knew it was because she was afraid to. He had told her often enough to be quiet, to be unseen, to be safe. It was not good for the girl, but he did not know what else to do. Syla was small, like him, and most Jotun cared little for their kind. They cared even less for the children of slaves, and Syla’s size marked her out as the child of the traitor and regicide slave Loki. Silence was safety for her. He held her in his arms, rocking them both. Her body too thin, too small for her age, her bones sharp through her skin.

It was rare that they had a chance to be together except at night. In the daytime, Loki had work to do. Byliestr liked to keep him busy cleaning his expansive chambers, preparing his meals, and entertaining his guests. If he had no tasks Byliestr had him on his knees next to his throne of cultured ice, a reminder to everyone of what happened to traitors. Loki almost never had time with Syla, just to be together.

Loki crossed his legs and sat Syla on his lap. She twisted a lock of his long hair in her hand, wound it around her wrist, connecting them together. Loki’s hair was longer now than it had ever been, Byliestr liked it and so of course he had forbidden Loki to cut it. Perhaps Stark would let him do so.

Loki unwrapped the food bar Stark had given him and broke off a piece for Syla. She ate it slowly, grimacing at the unusual taste. Loki could smell the sweetness of it. Jotun had very little such food in their diet, and Syla may have never tasted something so sweet before. She swallowed her mouthful and tried to break off a piece for Loki. He shook his head, “This is all for you, darling,” he said, his voice quiet out of habit. Syla shook her head, reached for the bar again and grabbed a piece of it. She held it to Loki's mouth and he smiled at her. “You’re such a kind girl,” he said, “but kindness will not help you here. Better to be strong.” He gently took the piece of food out of her hand and held it to her mouth. She shook her head again. Loki did not want to fight with her, she could be stubborn when she wanted to be. He put the piece back in the package and tucked the package into her tunic. “Eat it later, my love.” he said, “Shall we practice magic?”

Loki’s magic was bound, but Syla’s was not. No one even knew that she had any. Loki had watched her for any such spark of talent and had trained her in secret to control and channel it. She was young, so her power was very small. She could create small illusions and cast witch lights. Loki had cautioned her never to use her magic when someone could see. He knew he was pushing her into a smaller and smaller space, making her silent and scared and secretive. A ghost of herself, while she was still alive. But at least she was alive. She had not died of hunger or casual abuse or been sold off for purposes Loki shuddered to think of. He did what he had to do to protect her, but he was coming to the time when he would have to either leave her behind, or reveal her to his owner and beg for his mercy. Would Stark buy Syla? Would he take her with them to Midgard? Loki could not think of a single reason why he would. He didn’t want a grown adult as a slave, why would he want a small child who could hardly work?

Loki would have to tell Syla soon, that he would be taken away and she would be alone. He would have to give her time to get used to it. He could not stand the thought of being taken away without the chance to say goodbye. She would look for him at night. She would wander the halls of the dark fortress searching for him, and not be able to find him. She would not understand why he had abandoned her. He could not let that happen. He had to tell her. Not today, though. Today he would spend time with her, encourage her to practice her illusions, to talk, maybe she would even smile for him. There was nowhere in the fortress they would be safer than the chambers of Byliestr's honored guest. They would not be disturbed, and Loki would ensure Syla could sneak away before Stark returned.

Loki spent the next hours with his daughter, with as much happiness as he could steal for them both. Stark had ordered him not to mess with his stuff, and so once Loki had made the bed and tidied up anything that was not Stark’s property, he had nothing else to do. He was uncertain if he would be punished for doing nothing, if that is what he had been ordered to do. There was little he could do about it, as the geas would not let him disobey Stark's order.

Syla sat in his lap on the floor in the bedroom, out of sight of the door. She conjured glowing lights, tiny creatures, little moons and stars between her hands. Loki described them to her, and she adjusted the illusions to be as realistic as she could without ever having seen a moon, a fish, a butterfly. Loki could give her that, at least, a memory of him, and some beauty in her life, even if it was only an illusion.

“Modi?” Loki startled to hear her quiet voice, he was so used to her silence.

“Yes, my little love?” he said.

Syla’s butterfly wavered and vanished from her hands, her lip trembling even before she asked her question. “Is the Midgard-man your master, now?”

Loki’s heart sank. His clever daughter had already noticed Loki's change in situation. He was no longer serving Byliestr, and she knew that meant something had changed.

Loki hugged her. “Yes,” he whispered, “Antony Stark of Midgard is my master now.”

“What about me?” She bit her lip, “Is he my master?”  She was trying to be brave, but Loki knew what she feared. Byliestr had sold other slaves, and they had left the fortress, never to return.

Loki felt his heart would break. He wrapped her in his arms. If only he could hold tight enough to keep them together! He shook his head, knowing that he owed her the hard truth, and not a comforting lie. “You...you still belong to the king, my darling.”

If there was anytime Syla should have cried out her devastation and fear, it was then. She did not. Her face crumpled and tears dripped from her eyes. Loki could see her swallowing down her sobs. No child of her age should have had such control. Loki had done it to her, forced her to deny herself any childhood. He had been preparing her for this her whole life. He may have borne her but he was a slave, and he had no power to protect her. He could trade his body for food, he could bargain with those few who would let her sleep nearby when she could not sleep with Loki, but that was all. He could not save her. Only his master could do that. His new master, Antony Stark.

Loki decided there and then, the trembling, weeping form of his daughter clasped in his arms, that he would beg for whatever mercy Stark may have. His pride had no value to him now. He would beg and he would make any bargain Stark desired. If he wanted Loki as a compliant bed-warmer, he could have him. If he wanted Loki in his laboratory as a test subject, he could have him. A spy, an assassin, a house servant, whatever he wanted, Loki would do.

If he would take Syla to Midgard, Loki would truly be his grateful and obedient slave.

Chapter Text

In the late afternoon, Loki shooed Syla off to the slave hall to get her daily meal. Over the day he had teased and tricked her into eating the entire food bar, but she needed all the food she could get. She would find her way back to him at night and curl up in his arms again. She knew her way around the warren of service passages in the fortress, and if she moved with purpose few bothered her.

Stark’s chambers were quiet and empty when she had gone, Loki's arms were heavy with the lack of her. He sat on the floor, his back to the wall, waiting. He had nothing to do. He was forbidden to leave, and forbidden to touch anything belonging to his master. He had not eaten in two full days, and his empty stomach ached. He tried to ignore it, there was nothing he could do, and it was only a distraction. He needed to plan what he would say to Stark, how he should present himself, and what he should offer to convince him to buy Syla. It was a huge request, and Loki knew he had very little to offer in return. He was going to ask Stark to buy Syla, take her to his home and feed her with no hope of her producing any work of value for him for years.

Loki considered what he should offer in return. His body of course, such as it was. That currency had diminished in value over the years, and Loki knew it. His time with Byliestr had left him emaciated, unappealing. He was all too clearly well used, he bruised easily and his body carried the marks of those last to have him. He was still wearing the skimpy wrap that he had been given for the presentation ceremony. He was glad enough not to have been paraded out there naked, but the wrap did not cover much. If Stark had any desire for him, it would not be to have him gentle in his bed as a lover. It would be to use him, to take him as a plaything, a toy to break. Loki knew this, and he accepted it. If that was Stark’s desire, he would comply.

But how to make such an offer? He would not be offering anything that Stark did not already rightfully own. Loki’s body was already his master’s property, to use as he wished. If he had any desire to have Loki as his pleasure-toy he had no need to make any bargains with him. He could at any time order him to his hands and knees and have him. If he tried to bargain, Stark may be angry with him, thinking he had the right to withhold anything of himself.

Perhaps he should just beg for Stark’s mercy. Not try to make any bargain but instead simply beg. If that failed, then he could try to bargain and he would not have lost anything. Loki was considering that option when the door cracked and Loki scrambled to his feet. It would not do to be seen lounging around in his master’s absence. Expecting Stark, Loki was startled to see Thor slip through the door, a tray balanced on one hand. What was this? The prince of Asgard delivering something to his shield-brother’s rooms? Why would he not have had a servant do such a menial task? Loki realized Thor was carrying food when the smell hit him. Some of the cool, mild soup the Jotun preferred, and a cured piece of meat. Loki stomach growled, despite himself.

“Loki!” Thor set down his tray and approached Loki, his arms wide. Loki jerked his arms up defensively, instinctively. It was a mistake. He had no right to defend himself. Whatever Thor wanted with him, he would have to accept it.

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice husky, “Loki, I will not hurt you. Will you not embrace me, brother?”

Loki lowered his arms, cautious. It would be wise to comply. No matter that Thor was no longer his brother. He still was a prince, and his owner’s friend. Thor had been present at his sentencing, but not at his subsequent sale. No doubt he had seen enough of him. Loki had been declared a traitor, a murderer, his name of Odinson taken from him. How could Thor call him ‘brother’ now, after he had let him suffer for so long? Silently Loki stepped forward and let the prince wrap his arms around him. His armor dug into Loki’s bare skin.

Thor held him by the shoulders and looked him over, his eyes mournful. “Brother,” he said, “I have bought food for you. I have missed you so much! I thought never to find you. Will you eat?”

Loki allowed himself to be guided to the low table. He sat on the floor and Thor sat on the chair opposite. Thor looked as though he would say something but he merely opened his mouth and closed it again. Loki looked at the food, reached out his hand. He was so hungry, and he wanted to eat, but something was stopping him. As he opened his mouth to speak and realized he couldn’t, he knew what it was. The geas. Byliestr had given him a lot of rules, back when he cared more about toying with Loki than with abusing him. He was forbidden to eat food given by anyone other than his master. The rule was still enforced, despite his change of ownership. Loki could have cried. He was so hungry, and the food was right in front of him. He could not eat, and he could not speak to explain why. He was forbidden to speak to his betters without his master’s permission, and no permission had been granted to speak to Prince Thor. Loki hid his face in his hands, shame churning in his empty belly. That he should have sunk so low, become such a pathetic wretch that he must beg permission even to eat.

Thor was watching him, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes worried. “What...what is the matter brother?” He asked, and his gentle tone set tears rolling down Loki’s cheeks. He wished Thor would leave. Wished he could sit in his misery alone, without anyone to witness it.

Thor did not leave, and Loki had no way to tell him to. Not that he would have, even if he could speak. Thor was his master’s shield-brother, his companion, his friend. Loki knew well enough that to be rude to him would invite his master’s wrath. Byliestr had had him ‘entertain’ enough of his friends and guests to know that.

Thor’s hands rubbed the soft leather of his pants, flexing and gripping his thighs. Loki lowered his head, inhaling the smell of the food and holding his aching belly while tears dripped from his face. Thor slipped off the chair and sat on the floor opposite Loki. He held out his hands and Loki found himself returning the gesture. Thor’s big, warm hands clasped his, Loki felt the strength of them, could feel his pulse in his thumbs, the callouses on his fingers. Loki leaned down over those hands and rested his forehead on the table, pushing the food to one side. Thor’s thumbs made circles on his wrists, and his voice rumbled overhead. Loki could not hear what he was saying, he was so hungry and there pressure in his head, a dam about to break, a wave about to crash over him. He had to suppress it. If Syla, his precious little girl, could swallow her screams when she thought they would be parted forever, then Loki could control himself when faced with his former brother.

 (Art by lokiofasgaaaard on tumblr)

“...Stark will return soon brother...searched for years to find you...become cold and ruthless….” Thor’s words floated over his head, and Loki did not know how long they sat like that, the prince comforting the slave, until the door opened again and Stark entered.

Loki lifted his head and blurted, “Master, please may I eat?” at the same time as Thor said “Stark! Allow my brother to eat!”

Stark took a half step back, his hands up. Loki cringed, he should not have spoken as soon as his master walked through the door. He should have stood and offered his service, offered Stark refreshment, taken his coat, done anything other than what he had. He would not be surprised if Stark denied him for his insolence alone.

Stark looked between them both, the food untouched on the table, their clasped hands. Thor did not release his hands and Loki did not want to pull away. Stark pointed at Loki, “Yes,” he said, “you can eat. From now on, you don’t need my permission for that.” Loki did pull away from Thor then. He snatched up the bowl and tipped it to his mouth, the delicious cool soup filling his belly. He had half the bowl gone before he remembered himself. “Thank you, master,” He said, tripping over the words in his rush to get them out. How had he forgotten? It was as though his mind was breaking into pieces. He had been under Byliestr's thumb for so long and had worked so hard to be good, to be pleasing and obedient, to avoid punishment. Now his situation had changed and the ground had shifted from under him. He hardly knew how to behave. He would feel Stark’s lash on his back if he did not get himself under control, and deservedly so. He made himself small on the ground, flicked his hand out to grab the piece of meat, soaked it in the soup left in his bowl. When next he looked up, Stark was sitting in the chair that Thor had vacated, his head tipped back, his hands gripping the arms, fingers imprinting on the leather. He was taking deep, even breaths, and after a few seconds his hands relaxed. He sat up. “Did you not eat this morning?” he asked, his voice tight.

Loki lowered his head and shook it, his hair falling around his face and hiding him from view. He had not eaten, and now he was sure that Stark’s trap would be sprung. He would have failed to follow his orders no matter what he did. There was only one food bar, he could not both eat it and give it to Syla.

“Why not?” Stark asked, deceptively gentle.

Loki set down his bowl, slow and careful. If he had been allowed, he would have got to his knees. His sitting position would be lowly enough, if not for the incongruous sight of the prince sitting opposite him, mirroring his pose.

“Please forgive me master,” he said, “I gave the food to Syla, she is only small, and she needed it more than me.”

Tony gave a long exhale, and Thor looked back at him, “Who is Syla?” He asked, and Loki had the perfect, perfect opportunity to tell them both that she was his daughter, his precious child and beg for their mercy but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. He still did not have permission to speak to his betters, and it was Thor who had asked the question.

Stark waved his hand and said, “Some kid. Loki, I told you to give her one too, you didn’t have to give her yours!”

“Master, there was only one, I’m sorry! Please master, may I speak?”

Tony stood up and stomped over the cabinet, “You are speaking, aren’t you?” he said impatiently. He dumped the boxes of energy bars on the opaque crystal tabletop. “What are these?”

Loki had no choice but to answer his question. As much as he longed to tell them both about Syla, maybe it was better that he did not, Stark was getting angry with him and he did not want to risk his refusal.

“They are...they are different kinds, master, not the kind you allowed me to have.”

Stark threw himself back in the chair, scrubbed his hands over his face with a low, frustrated moan.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Stark…” Thor’s voice was a low growl and he reached across the table again, past the pile of energy bars to take Loki’s hand. The warmth and strength of his hand was strangely comforting, and Loki held on with all the power he could find in his trembling fingers.

“OK. OK, you’re right. I need to chill. This place is stressing me out. This whole thing,” he waved his hand in a circle, taking in himself, Loki, Thor and their chambers, “this whole thing is fucked up. I’m gonna…I’m gonna go chill. Thor, buddy, do you have anything else he could wear? Literally anything else?”

Thor nodded, slowly, as though Stark were a spooked animal. “Aye, my friend.”

“That would be awesome. And you,” he pointed at Loki again, “You can eat whatever kind of anything you want, OK? Any of those.” He waved his hand over the pile of food, "Eat any of those you want.”

Stark didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel, one hand gripped in his own hair, his breath coming faster, strode to the bedroom, and shut the door behind him. Loki could breathe a little easier out of his master’s presence. His strange behavior made no sense. He was angry with Loki, but he still gave him more food? Loki turned to Thor, opened his mouth and realized that Tony had still not given him permission to speak. There was nothing he could do. He certainly would never disturb his master when he wished to be alone. He would have to wait.

With one hand, Loki picked up one of the food bars, pulled off the wrapper and began to eat.

Chapter Text

Thor went to his rooms and came back with clothes for Loki, simple leather pants and a thick wool tunic. Loki pulled the new clothes on and ran his fingers over the fabric over and over, relishing the sensation. He was so used to the cold that he had forgotten what it was like to be warm. He cared not that he had to cinch the waist of the pants with a belt, nor that the tunic swamped him and fell from one shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of Thor lingering on the clothes, bringing back memories of happier times.

To be fully dressed, in Asgardian style, Loki felt as he had not felt in many years. Not like his old self, of course. Loki could not even remember how to feel like a prince, like a free man, but sometimes he still could feel like a person. As on those rare occasions when Syla's face glowed with her smile, and Loki crushed the moment to his chest to preserve it forever. His heart now was only those little moment, snatches of stolen time. Holding Syla as a babe, her little belly full of milk and her head heavy with sleep. Her face when she cast the butterfly illusion for the first time, the golden wings of the creature she had never seen reflected in her wide open eyes. And perhaps this moment too, his former brother folding him into his arms, dressed and well fed after years of neither of those things. The moments were fleeting, and no doubt this one would be too, but they were all Loki had now.

(Art by lokiofasgaaaard on tumblr)

Loki wiped his face. He would not cry. He had trained Syla not to cry, and he would not allow himself any indulgence that he had forbidden her.

“It is well, Brother,” Thor rumbled, steadying Loki's shaking hands with his own, his thumbs again rubbing circles on Loki’s slender wrists. Loki knew he was being pathetic. He should be happy to be with Thor and with his new owner, to be away from from Byliestr, who had raped and abused him for years. He should be happy to be dressed and not forced to show his body to those who may want to make use of it. He even had food, he had fed his daughter, and he had a safe place to sleep. Even if Stark did want to make use of him, he had a tiny but growing feeling that he would not be overly cruel about it. Loki would hardly mind to lie down for his master if he thought he might be gently treated. Or if not gently, at least not sadistically. He was a slave, after all, his purpose was to serve. That could not be avoided, but perhaps the food and the clothes meant that Stark did not mean to hurt him too much.

Thor and Loki sat in silence together. Loki avoided the furniture and Thor did likewise. He sat next to him on the floor, his arm around Loki’s skinny shoulders. Loki calmed himself. He still had to somehow gain Stark's agreement to save Syla from this place. He did not even know how long they would remain on Jotunheim. How long did he have to find a moment to beg this favor? Now that he had food and clothing and the semblance of safety, Loki's mind began to turn over. He did not know why his brother and Stark were on Jotunheim. He knew, back when he was a prince, that Midgard was a protected realm, and Jotunheim was in a state of undisguised hostility to Asgard. How had the crown prince of Asgard and Antony Stark, who was a prince of Midgard in everything but name, come to be here? Loki caught his mind turning on questions that were none of his concern, and stopped himself. It mattered not why they were here, only that they were here.

None of it made sense, but Loki had no right to ask questions, nor even the ability to do so. When his master returned, the only thing he needed to ask was if he would save Syla. Nothing else mattered. Even his own fate and purpose under Stark’s ownership was less important than the safety of his daughter. Loki went over and over in his head what he would say. He wished again that he was allowed to kneel. He didn’t understand why he had been forbidden from showing his submission to his master, but he had no choice but to obey regardless. He would remain seated on the floor if it did not seem disrespectful to sit before his master. If he stood, he was taller than Stark and that felt wrong too. The problem turned around in his head until the door to the bedchamber cracked open and Stark emerged.

Loki could tell immediately that his master was calmer. His left hand was steady, his hair rearranged, his clothing fresh. Stark waved a beckoning hand to Thor. “Come on,” he said, “Lets get this over with. It’s treaty time, I can't wait to be done with this.”

He looked at Loki, sitting on the floor next to Thor. “You,” he said, and Loki realized his master rarely said his name, called him ‘you’ as though he didn’t deserve a name. That was fitting enough. Stark could call him whatever he chose, if he didn’t like his name he could even give him a new one. He would have to answer to it, of course. Stark was still looking at him, and Loki dropped his eyes and lowered his head. He hoped Stark was pleased with the clothes he was wearing. He would hate to have to remove them if his master decided he preferred him without.

“You,” Stark repeated, “we’re leaving tomorrow. Go get your stuff tonight. OK?”

Loki’s blood ran cold in his veins. Stark was leaving as soon as tomorrow, and he would be taking Loki with him to Midgard! That was too soon, he had had no chance to find a moment to beg Stark for his mercy for his daughter. Loki's head buzzed with panic, before he could gather himself Thor had given him a last squeeze and was leaving the room with Stark.

He had to ask now.

“Master!” He called, Stark already half out of the room. He was in danger just from calling his master back. He had no right to do any such thing, especially for a request that had no benefit to any but himself. He stood, and bowed low. His knees ached with the desire to kneel. Stark was waiting, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. Thor also, watching him, no doubt wondering why he was risking his master's wrath. Look took a deep breath.

“Master I beg for your permission to make a request.” The words tumbled out, inelegant. It was the best Loki could do.

Stark pressed his lips together. He was anxious to be gone and be about his business, but he nodded and said, “OK, what's your request?”

Every one of Loki's carefully rehearsed words flew out of his head. He tangled his fingers together, trying to hold his hands still. He had to speak, or his master would become impatient and leave and he would lose Syla forever. “Master,” he said, “I beg for your mercy. Syla…she is so young… She will be alone here…”

Loki withered under Stark's impassive gaze. He seemed to be waiting for something and Loki frantically tried to gather his scattered thoughts.

“What’s your request?” Stark repeated. Loki cursed himself as he had not actually asked his master for what he wanted.

“Please, please, master I beg you, please take her with you to Midgard.”

Stark's eyebrows shot up. Even Thor tilted his head in confusion. They exchanged glances.

Stark took a moment to consider before responding, and that moment seemed an eternity to Loki. “Umm, wow. Look. That's kind of a big ask. I don't love this situation here, and yeah, she's a cutie, but...I don't know, Loki. I'm really not into buying people. I didn't actually want one slave, never mind two.”

Loki wrapped his arms around himself, hung his head. He should have bargained! He should have tried another way, but it was too late. Stark had finished what he was saying without Loki even hearing, and he was leaving. He had important business and he would not wait to talk with his pitiful and unwanted slave.

The door closed and Loki sank to the floor. His legs folded under him and his eyes stared at nothing. An ache grew in his belly that had nothing to do with hunger, Loki thought he may vomit. Stark had denied him, and he had not even had a chance to tell him that Syla was his daughter.

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Loki forced himself to get up and work. Lying on the floor in misery would not help anything, and would only lead to pain for him if he was found. Slaves should not be idle. Food was not free, after all. Loki pushed his emotions away he tidied the rooms and smoothed the bed where Stark had rested on it. He was forced to leave Stark's crumpled clothes and the open bottle of liquor where they lay. He could not touch those things without Stark's permission. When he had done what duties he could, his actions mechanical and mindless, he was again alone with his despairing thoughts.

Stark had denied him. He had not even asked the reason for his request, or given him any chance to explain. Loki searched his mind for options. There must still be something he could do, even as helpless and powerless as he was. How could he change his master's mind? He ran through the same few options over and over. Begging. Bargaining. It was all he had, and begging had already failed.

He had little faith that bargaining would work either. He had nothing to offer that Stark did not already own, even down to his own body. His body and his obedience already belonged to Stark, there was nothing there for him to offer. Stark had not even shown any sign of wanting him in that way. He had made him cover himself, and he had not laid even one finger on him.

If begging would not work, and bargaining would not work, what was left?

His first night under Stark's ownership came back to his mind. He had laid down to sleep on the cold floor, expecting Stark to wake him and call him to his bed when he was ready for him. Instead, he had woken to a strange almost-dreamlike scene. Syla sleeping on Stark's lap, her face sticky with Midgardian fruit, Stark's hand on her back, protectively. Loki's mind spun on the problem. Stark had said he did not want to buy her, but he had seemed to like her. Surely he could be merciful, in the right situation.

Loki paced through the chambers, the bedroom, the living area, the little galley, his mind working. He had so little time, and panic was clouding his ability to think. Behind the galley was a freezing cold storage room, and in there was a stack of metal crates. Stark had bought his own technology - heaters, power supplies, who knew what else. The man did not travel light.

A seed planted in Loki’s head.

He could try again, beg Stark and plead with him to reconsider. But even if he did, even if Stark softened his heart and agreed to Loki’s request, that was only the first step. Stark would still have to buy Syla. Maybe Byliestr would refuse to sell her. He would know, after all, why Stark was asking after her. He would most likely delight in refusing, in denying Loki the chance to take his own child with him. One last twist of the knife he had had in Loki’s flesh for years. He had not forgiven Loki for the death of Laufey, even though his death had given Byliestr his long-coveted throne.

There was another option. One that would result in Loki’s severe punishment at Stark's hands, but perhaps would allow Syla her escape. Surely Stark would not punish Syla herself, if she could come to Midgard in secret. Stark had liked her, he had fed her twice, allowed her to rest her tired head on his lap. If Loki could get her to Midgard, Stark would not have to buy her, would not have to risk this treaty or risk Byleistr’s refusal. Loki looked again at the crates. They were big enough. Syla was small, she could stay quiet and still for a long time, like the fearful, hunted creature Loki had trained her to be. Stark had ordered him to get his stuff. He could he stretch that order to do what he needed to do.

As if responding to the tilt of his thoughts, there was a soft scratch at the semi-concealed servants door. Loki hurried to open it and welcome Syla into his arms. It was late and she was getting sleepy, her eyes heavy. She smiled through a yawn at Loki. "I'm tired, Modi," she murmured into his ear as he picked her up. He hummed and rocked her, and thought good . If she could sleep, it would be more comfortable for her.

When it was done, Loki chewed on his lip. He did not regret his decision, but he wondered what his punishment might be. He had no idea what was types of punishments were common on Midgard. What punishments Stark may prefer, or enjoy. Byliestr would most often keep him in line with a swift blow or backhand. He had had him whipped often enough in the early years, before Loki had learned his lessons, and had only had to put him in the pillory once. That was an experience Loki had no desire to repeat, and he shuddered at the thought that Stark may do that to him.

Whatever his punishment may be, Loki would endure it, thank his master for his discipline, and beg his forgiveness. He feared it, but more than any punishment, he was terrified of leaving his daughter alone on Jotunheim, without any friend or protector. He may as well try to leave his heart behind, ripped from his body.

Compared to that, he would take the pillory again, without a doubt.

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Loki lay on the bedroom floor, his mind turning over and over. Stark had wanted nothing from him. Not his body, not his assistance with his evening routine, not even to fetch a glass for his drink. Nothing. He had watched Loki for a little while longer, then sighed and told him to go get some sleep. As before, Stark did not know the strength of his order. Loki felt the haze of sleep claiming him despite his confusion, his anxiety over Syla, and his fear over what would happen tomorrow. Stark had asked Byliestr about Syla, and now Loki was afraid that the King’s memory of the girl had been triggered. Would he want to see her? Would he want to bring her to see her parent leaving Jotunheim forever? Byliestr could be vindictive, sadistic, and Loki feared he would do such a thing. A ‘parting gift’ he would call it, as though bringing his daughter to see herself abandoned was something Loki would ever want. On any other night his thoughts would have kept Loki awake all night, but Stark had ordered him to sleep and so he must. His eyes closed and his limbs twitched and then relaxed on the cold floor.

He awoke with a soft blanket over him. He sat up, uncertain where he was. He had no blanket of his own, and his master never allowed him to use one when he slept in his chambers. Sometimes one of his guests or friends would let Loki rest next to them, if he had been especially pleasing. Even that was usually for their own convenience, to have their fun with him the next morning. Loki shook his head, wakefulness coming back to him. Byliestr was no longer his master. He looked up at the bed, which was empty. Antony Stark of Midgard was his master now, and this was his last morning on Jotunheim. His belly churned with fear and excitement at that thought. He had not thought to ever leave this place. Byliestr had not shown any sign that he would ever sell him. At most he may have gifted him to one of his lords when he grew tired of him. That was unlikely to have led to any improvement in his situation, and would have taken him away from Utgard, away from Syla.

Loki scrambled to his feet and carefully folded the blanket and replaced it on the bed. Loki clung to that evidence that Stark may be merciful. He had given Loki a blanket from his own bed. He had given him clothes, food, he had softened his heart and asked to buy Syla. That was more than Byliestr had ever done for him in all the years he had under his ownership.

He tried not to think of Syla, hidden away, a few energy bars that Loki thought Stark would not miss tucked beside her. He could only hope she had been able to sleep through the night, and that she may doze and rest the rest of her journey. He knew that she could stay quiet, hidden like a little bug under a leaf, but she was still almost a babe. She had never traveled through the bifrost before, and she may cry out in fear. She may make some sound of surprise when the crate was moved, she may trigger some alarm that Stark had on the crate. The crate had a lock and some mechanism powered by Midgardian energy. The crates had been unlocked when Loki had checked for one with enough space for extra cargo, but he did not know what the mechanism did. No matter what his preparation, and his training of the girl, she was only three years old. If she was afraid, or hungry, or needed her Modi, she may give herself away. Loki gave a quick prayer to the Norms to weave no dark threads into the cloth of Syla’s fate this day. That was all he could do, and he pushed any thought away that may show on his face. He smoothed down his hair and clothes, and went to serve his master.

Stark was up already, dressed and drinking that hot beverage he enjoyed. Loki resolved he must learn how to make it, and get up early enough to have it ready for him. Stark didn’t speak, just tossed Loki an energy bar and continued drinking and reading his bright screen. Loki unwrapped and ate his food standing in the galley. He glanced around and saw that most of the items Stark had bought with him were already put away. Only the heaters remained. Loki cautiously glanced to the storage room and saw that the bottom layer of crates was undisturbed. Loki had scratched the side of one in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner. It had not moved from it's position last night, and Loki breathed a little easier.

A brisk knock at the door revealed Thor. He was dressed to travel, a warm poncho thrown over his usual armor, fur visible at the neck. Stark had his bulky protective clothes laid out too, and Loki remembered that the bifrost side was outside, a short walk from the fortress. He had no extra clothes, nor even any shoes for his feet. He only had the leather pants and wool tunic that Thor had given him. It was no matter. He did not feel the cold as Asgardians did, even though he looked like one. His glamor took away the true cold resistance of the Jotun, but he could walk outside without fear of exposure, even in his bare feet. He was better dressed now, but he could even have walked outside in the brief wrap that he had worn. It would have chilled him to his bones, and he was glad he did not have to.

Thor nodded to Stark and crossed to stand by Loki, taking his shoulder and looking into his eyes. Loki was unused to eye contact and his instinct was to look away, for fear of being disrespectful. With some effort he did not, and Thor smiled at him. “Brother,” he said, his hand tight on Loki’s shoulder, “You are well?” Loki nodded, and realized he still did not have permission to speak to anyone but his master. Thor took his nod for his answer and turned back to Stark, his hand still on Loki, as though afraid to let him go. Loki welcomed the contact. The heat of his former brother’s hand reached his shoulder through his tunic and radiated warmth through his body. Thor always ran hot.

Stark looked up from his screen and raised his eyebrows to Thor, who shook his head. Stark’s face fell, and Loki wondered what matter they were signalling that he clearly was not supposed to know about. He had learned over the years not be be curious about matters that did not concern him. It did not tend to end well for him. He stood quiet by Thor’s side, held in place by his hand. He looked at the ground, and waited to be told what to do.

Stark flicked off his screen and stood. “I guess we’re leaving then,” he said, and picked up his thick outdoor clothes. Loki’s breath hitched when he saw what had been hidden underneath. The cloth wrap, and the leash. From the increased tension in Thor's hand, Loki knew he was intended to wear them when he accompanied his betters to the bifrost site. Thor’s grip was tight on his shoulder, not that he would have tried to get away or resisted at all. He would...he would dress as his master wished. He would be led on a leash, like a beast. It was no matter. He was going to Midgard, and Syla was coming with him.

If Stark wanted him to crawl naked on his hands and knees to get there, Loki would do it.

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Loki was careful not to let the leash pull at Stark’s hand as he walked behind him to the bifrost site. He had removed and packed away his borrowed clothing, and covered himself as best he could with the thin wrap. His master had clipped the leash to the metal collar around Loki’s neck and looped the strap around his own wrist, but other than that he was ignored. A line of Jotun workers followed behind them, bringing Stark’s crates. When they moved out of the shelter of the fortress, the wind hit them and Loki had no protection from it. Every scrap of warmth was stripped from his bones. He told himself that the tunic and pants would have been little protection either, but at least with those clothes he would not have been stripped practically bare, his flesh marked with bruises and lash marks, the difference in status between him the rest of the party clear for all to see. Byliestr had smirked when he saw him, and even now he was walking beside Stark, shortening his stride so he could talk to the Midgardian. Loki looked at the ground and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Every step took him and Syla closer to Midgard, and to safety for her. He did not dare look around to see the line of crates following them. He could not risk drawing the slightest scrutiny to himself or to the crates. The one he had marked was towards the back of the line, and it sucked at his attention. His neck ached from forcing himself not to turn his head.

Thor walked on Stark’s other side, less comfortable in the biting cold than Stark in his comfortably padded clothing. Thor’s metal armor must be frigid in the chill air, and his hot blood must feel the cold greatly. Loki distracted himself with such thoughts, deliberately not listening to the conversation his new owner was having with his old one. He heard his own name, followed by laughter, and he lowered his head further. His bare feet were numb on the frozen rock of the roadway. He watched his own steps. One foot in front of the other, not too close to Stark, not too far from him. He knew his place, and this was it. Leashed behind his master, an obedient dog. He could hope for better treatment, but he had little expectation of getting it. All he truly yearned for now was protection for his daughter, and he dared to hope that Stark may be the one to provide it. After his punishment was over, he would take whatever role Stark designated for him, and be grateful for it. If he was lucky he would perhaps be allowed to see Syla and to know that she was safe.

Such dusky thoughts took Loki to the edge of the bifrost site, and he halted when Stark did. Some farewells were being made, restatements of friendship, of trade, and goodwill. Loki let it pass over his head. It did not concern him, it was not his business and he had no need to understand such things. From the corner of his eye, he saw workers stacking the crates, and his stomach turned over when he saw they were stacked outside the circle, not within it. They must be planning to send Stark home first, and send the crates after. Loki clenched his fists. There was nothing he could do about it. Of course they would not make Stark stand among his belongings, he was an honored guest, a prince of Midgard. He would travel with honors, not with cargo. Loki could only hope that the Jotnar would send the crates swiftly after, and that they would not be curious about the contents. Syla had been in her hiding place for many hours. The cold would not bother her, but she would be afraid, lonely, hungry. Loki willed her to stay silent and small. They were so close, Loki could almost taste it.

The farewells completed, Stark, Thor and Loki stood on the bifrost site. Thor looked up and said “To Midgard, Heimdall.” A few beats passed and then the roar of color took them and flung them through the realms to land on Midgard, on the roof of a tower in a bustling city. It took Loki a moment to place it, then it rushed back. This was the site of his invasion. The very building. It was Stark’s home and now he was returned here as a slave, to atone for his crimes. It was fitting.

Stark took a deep breath and tension seemed to fall from his shoulders. A voice came from the air, “Welcome home Sir.”

Stark smiled at that. “It’s good to be back J.” He was already stripping off his heavy outer clothes. The day was overcast and chill, but nothing like the freezing conditions of Jotunheim.

“Sir, Agent Romanov is calling. I believe she has noticed the atmospheric disturbances. And now Colonel Rhodes is calling. And also General Ross.” Stark growled, turned to Thor. “OK I better deal with this, would you take him down to the holding level for now? We can figure out what to do with him later. But we need to get him out of the open. I'm blocking surveillance but you never know what new gizmos are out there.”

Loki jolted. If he was taken away he would not be able to tell Stark that Syla was hidden in one of his crates. “Master!” he said urgently. He needed to tell him now. Stark may decide not the unpack the crates today, he may not unpack them at all, just send them to storage!

Stark waved his hand, “Not now, OK? I’ll come see you later. Go with Thor.” Loki’s teeth clicked as Stark’s casual order shut him up. Tony let go of the leash and Thor guided Loki to the elevator. As they walked away he could hear Stark behind them, talking to one of his callers. “Yeah...I’m back. No it went well, few surprises, I’ll tell you all about it. Yeah come over I guess, this evening...OK, bye.”

The elevator door slid shut, and Loki and Thor stood in silence as it descended for a long way. They were probably underground when the door opened onto a windowless corridor, the air sterile and still.

Thor walked Loki down the hallway and through several more thick doors that opened as they approached and closed as they passed. Loki knew they would not open so easily for him, should he try to come back that way. His mind was churning. He could not speak to Thor, how could he communicate with him? They came to a roomy cell with a thick glass front. The door slid open and Thor stood aside to let Loki enter. There was a wide shelf attached to the wall with a mattress, a stack of folded bedding, even a tiny curtained bathing area. It looked as though someone could be held in this cell comfortably enough for a long time. Loki spun around as the door slid closed behind him. Thor stood outside, his face downcast.

“Brother,” he said, “I will speak to Stark, and we will come to an arrangement. I must tell you, I don’t know what that will be. I would wish to bring you home, but I fear you would not be safe there. Father...he is irrational when your name is spoken.”

Loki put his hands up on the glass, thumped the heels a few times to get Thor's attention. He held one hand flat at his hip, trying to show someone smaller than himself.

Thor wrinkled his brow, then understood. Or almost did.  “I am sorry we could not save the girl. Stark did try to bargain for her. I know you cared for her. I hope she will find another friend like you, to keep her safe.”

Loki stared at Thor, willing him to read his mind. He made the gesture again, then tried to show a box with his hands. Thor didn't follow. He put his own hands to the glass, opposite where Loki’s had been, and Loki saw a tear in his eye. “I am happy you are here, brother, and gone from that place. I did not think to find you. I had heard rumors, but I never thought Laufey’s heir would hand you over as he did.”

 (Art by lokiofasgaaaard on tumblr)

Loki thumped the glass again, frustrated. Thor was lost in his own thoughts and Loki had no way to tell him of Syla or even to ask him to fetch Stark so that he may speak. Thor didn’t read anything into his gesture, other than displeasure at his cell.

“Worry not, brother. This will only be for a short time. I will return to see you soon.” With that, Thor walked away, looking back over his shoulder with a sad smile, until the doors slid closed behind him. Loki was alone in the clean white room, with only his own panicked thoughts for company. How long until Stark came to talk to him? How long until the Jotun sent the crates through the bifrost? How long until Stark unpacked them, if he even did? His little girl was still hidden away, still tucked away by herself and no one but he knew she was there. And he had no way to tell anyone.

Loki began to pace.

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Hours passed. Loki paced and fretted and his mind’s eye filled with worse and worse outcomes that he was helpless to prevent. That Syla had been discovered on Jotunheim. That Stark had sent the crates to storage without opening them. That he would not come to talk to Loki for days, weeks. In his imagination, Syla’s fate was sealed, and Loki would forever be cursed with the knowledge that he should have left her on Jotunheim.

He wrapped his hands in his hair, twisting and tugging at it, long strands coming away in his fingers. He pulled out dozens of strands. Each little tug and pinch of pain pierced his panic and calmed him down, until he was able to stop, breathing harshly. He sat on the shelf, the mattress surprisingly soft under him. He smoothed his hair back over his shoulder, and folded his hands in his lap. He needed to control himself. His owner had put him here until he had time to deal with him. Stark had said he would come and see him later. He had not seemed angry or displeased with Loki, that he would leave him for days as punishment. Loki would be patient.

He sat for a few more minutes, breathing and forcing his mind to calm blankness. He could not help Syla by panicking. He looked at the narrow sleeping mat he was sitting on. For the first time, he noticed that the stack of bedding was topped with a set of white cotton clothes. Plain cut pants and a loose top. Loki breathed again. He had been given clothes to wear. He had almost been certain that the walk to the bifrost, leashed and stripped, had been for Byliestr’s benefit. Stark had no other reason to do it, after allowing him to cover himself in his chambers. Loki looked at the small curtained area. There was a shower, and Loki’s eyes widened at the thought that he may be able to clean himself. The Jotun used finely ground minerals to clean themselves, and that worked well on their tougher skin but for Loki it was nothing but an irritant. Nor could he often bring himself to bathe in the frigid water of the fortress. He should use his time here well, and perhaps Stark would be pleased to find him cleaned and refreshed when he came back. Surely he would prefer that to his current disheveled state.

Loki held his breath as he turned on the shower, and almost swooned when hot water came out. Hot water! Loki took this as more evidence that his master was not angry with him. He would not give him hot water if he had put him here as punishment. No, he was here to wait for Stark to have time for him, that was all. If he used that time well, cleaning himself and dressing, it would go better for him when his master returned. Not wasting any time, Loki pulled off the wrap and stepped behind the curtain. There was even soap, in a dispenser set into the wall. Loki sighed, and began to clean himself.

He had barely dried and dressed when the door outside Loki's cell slammed open and Stark strode through. His face was red, his left hand shaking and twitching, his eyes narrow.

“You!” he yelled, fury in his tone.

Loki’s knees ached. He scrambled to stand in the center of his cell, hands behind his back, head down. Fear and hope churned in his belly. Stark was angry, which meant he had reason to be, which meant he had found Syla. But now Loki would have to face his wrath.

Stark slammed his hand against the glass. “You!” He yelled again, “When were you going to tell me? How long has she been in there?”

“Master, I beg you…” Loki began, but Stark cut him off.

“No!” He yelled, “No! Tell me! How long?”

Loki swallowed. “Since last evening, master,” he said. Stark growled and walked in a tight circle.

“When were you going to tell me?” He demanded. “How long were you going to let her wait? By herself! In the dark!”

Tears pricked Loki's eyes. “I had to.” He said, his voice thick and shaking. “I had to. I couldn't leave without her. I accept your punishment for my actions.”

Stark growled again and kicked the glass barrier between them. “Punishment!” He said, scornful. “You think you get to bend over and take a spanking and everything's OK? I nearly opened that crate in front of Romanov! What do you think would happen if SHIELD knew there was an alien kid in my fucking house?”

Loki only vaguely knew about SHIELD, from his time with the mind controlled Clint Barton. Some organization of Midgardian peacekeepers and spies. Stark was waiting for an answer. Loki shook his head, whispered, “I don't know, master.”

Stark snorted. His hot anger seemed to fade away, replaced with something colder, harder.

“Do you know what vivisection is?” he asked, and Loki's head snapped up, his wide eyes meeting the narrow glare of his master.

He rushed to the glass, his palms to the smooth surface, his fingertips clawing at it, as though he could reach through. “Master, please! Please, I beg you, punish me, not her! Do not… Please master, do not give her to them! I will accept any punishment! I will serve you in any way you wish! I will do anything!”

Stark rolled his eyes and slapped the glass over Loki's hands. He snatched them off the glass and put them behind his back, attempted to regain his proper stance. Now more than ever, he wished he could kneel. He wished he could fall flat on his face and prostrate himself before his master.

“I didn't say I was gonna do that.” Stark said, his tone harsh, impatient. “But if anyone finds out, it won't end well. It’s bad enough to have you here. I wouldn't feel too bad about keeping you down here...but her...”

Loki's stomach churned. Had he bought Syla here only to have her fall into a worse fate than if he had left her? He could not believe that. He could not believe that Stark, who had fed her and held her as she slept, would allow her to meet such a fate. He cared not that he may be buried down in this cell, as long as his daughter was protected.

Tears dripped onto his face, Loki didn't dare move to wipe them away. Everything hung in the balance. Stark was angry. He was beyond angry, but more that Loki had endangered the girl, than that he had stolen her. She still had a chance. Loki clenched his fists, took a breath. “Master, I swear this by the Norns themselves, by Urd, Verdandi and Skuld, by my life and afterlife, by every power in the nine realms and beyond. If you grant Syla your mercy and protection, I will be your loyal and obedient slave until the day I die. I swear it. I swear it. I swear it.”

Stark looked at him, his face unreadable. Seconds ticked by. Even the air was still. Loki held his breath until Stark spoke a single word.

“Why?”

Loki trembled. He had never before invoked such a powerful oath. He had spoken the names of the Norns and they would be watching, waiting to bind him to his promise. Stark had not yet accepted it, but neither had he rejected it. Loki swallowed.

“Syla is my daughter,” he said, and saw understanding bloom on his master's face.

Chapter Text

“Well shit,” Stark said, the anger draining from his face. Loki stood before him, hands behind his back, head down, awaiting his judgement. Despite all his caution, a tiny speck of hope still burned in his belly. Stark leaned his hands on the glass, a mirror of Thor’s gesture earlier that day. Loki did not return the gesture, although he badly wanted to, to make some connection with Stark, to plead his case and further beg for his mercy. But he had already offered him his oath, he had offered him everything he had to offer. His life given willingly in his master's service. It was the one final thing he had left to give, that could not be forced from him. The norns would not bind someone to a coerced promise. But they would bind Loki, if Stark accepted, if he gave his mercy and protection to Syla.

Stark chewed on his lip, his fingertips tapping on the glass of Loki's cage. “Shit,” he repeated, looking down at the ground under his feet, then, “Stay right there." He turned on his heel and left.

Loki stared after him, the closed door telling him nothing of his master’s intentions. He swayed on his feet and his heart sank when he realized Stark had told him stay right there. For once a direct order that gave no room for Loki to work around it. He stood alone in the center of the cell. His bare feet on the cold floor, the soft mattress mere steps away, unreachable. He would have ground his teeth at the frustration of it if he had a single thought to spare. Most likely Stark had not intended Loki to stand and wait for him, but the geas only cared about the actual words spoken, not the intention. It usually worked out in Loki's favor, but not this time. It mattered not, Loki's comfort was irrelevant. Syla had been found. She was with Stark, he had not rejected her, he had not talked of sending her back to Jotunheim. Loki waited for his master's return. He could not even pace to pass the time.

It was less than an hour until the door swung open again, and Loki’s aching feet thanked Stark for his prompt return. He was holding some device in his hand, about the size of his fist. He didn’t notice that Loki had not moved from his position, or if he did, he didn’t mention it. He dragged a chair through the door and sat in front of Loki’s prison. He turned the device over in his hands, gathering his thoughts.

“So, some people think I’m pretty much an irredeemable asshole,” he said, out of nowhere, looking at the device as he spun it in his hands. “And sometimes they’re right. But even I am not such as asshole to keep a traumatized kid away from her Modi , which I assume is you.” Stark pierced Loki with his gaze, and he swallowed thickly, “Yes master,” he whispered. He was unable to even hope for what he thought Stark was leading towards. The disappointment would be too much to bear if he allowed himself to imagine it.

Stark nodded and held up the device, a smooth curved metal block with a reinforced strap. “This goes around your ankle,” he said. “If you set a single toe out of line it drops you with fifty thousand volts, and I drag you back down here while you’re still twitching. And you stay here. Got it?”

“Yes. Yes master. I will not! I gave you my oath, I will be loyal and obedient!” Loki could hardly get his words out against the sudden rush of certainty that Stark was going to allow him to see Syla.

Stark waved his hand. “Yeah, oaths are great, but I’ll take some insurance too, if it’s all the same to you.” He stood and put the device in a sliding drawer to the side of the glass panel, pushing it through to Loki’s side.

“Put it on,” he ordered, and Loki jumped to obey. He had no desire to resist, this device was the key to seeing his daughter. He picked it up and sat on the floor to wrap it around his ankle. The strap was heavy cloth woven with metal, adjusted to fit precisely around his leg. It locked into the metal block on the other side with a dull click. It was smooth, cool against his skin, and not uncomfortable. There was no keyhole or latch that Loki could see in his quick inspection. Now that it was on, it would not be coming off.

Stark watched him impassively. When he heard the click he pulled another, smaller device from his pocket. Loki knew from the way his thumb hovered over it that it was the trigger for the device around his ankle. Loki held his breath. Stark would want to test it. Ensure his slave would know he was serious. Give Loki a taste so that he would know to fear it. Loki had been there before, punished before he did anything wrong, a warning that worse would come if he did not behave. He swallowed, ready for the pain.

Stark didn't move. Loki twitched, expecting each moment the pain would begin. Why was Stark waiting?

“I'm still pissed at you.” Stark said eventually. Loki had no response to that, other than to hang his head. He knew he deserved it. He deserved this life, he deserved Stark’s suspicion and dislike, he deserved the pain that was surely only a moment away. He had committed terrible crimes and he was paying for them. Odin had not cared for his stories and excuses and neither would Stark. He knew all that. But he also knew that Syla had done nothing to deserve her fate, expect to be born under the shadow of Loki’s misdeeds. Loki would not beg for any mercy for himself. He would have his master save all his mercy for someone who deserved it.

Stark let out a long breath. He shook his head, stuffed the trigger back in his pocket. "Yeah, still not as much of an asshole as people think," he said. He made a quick gesture, there was a hiss and the door to Loki's cell opened.

“Come on,” Stark said, already walking away. Loki leapt to his feet and scurried after him, the adrenaline of expected pain leaving him shaky. Could it be so easy? Stark would surely make him pay for his actions, even if it was only with a few shocks from his new control device. That would be enough to put Loki back in his place. Or perhaps Stark was saving his true punishment for later. But he had scoffed at the very idea of punishing Loki, which made no sense. Loki had not seen any punishment equipment on the secure level he was on, but that that did not mean there was none. Maybe it was in a public area of the tower, to act as a warning to others. Loki shoved the thought of the pillory out of his mind, as though the very act of thinking about it would conjure it to reality. Maybe Stark was taking him there now, and not to his daughter. Loki’s thoughts turned and tumbled over each other, a mixture of fear and anticipation, panic and hope, as they rode the elevator to the top of the tower.

The door slid open to the penthouse, and there she was, her big eyes wide, her small hand held awkwardly but gently in the large hand of his brother. She looked at him, her face blank, as though afraid to believe that he was there, that she was not alone among strangers.

(Art by lokiofasgaaaard on tumblr)

Loki's breath stopped, he ran to her, her name on his lips, falling down to his knees with his arms open, and slowly, as though waking from a dream, a nightmare, she fell into his embrace, her soft exhale of Modi filled his heart to overflowing, her hands fisting in his hair, tight. Yes, it’s me, my darling, my little love and all trace of her unnatural self control vanished and she was sobbing out every repressed moment of the hours of fear and loneliness and darkness that he had forced her to endure. And Loki wept into her hair, with sorrow, and with relief that she was there and safe and that perhaps now she might know some comfort and security in her life on Midgard, with his new master Antony Stark.

(Art by lokiofasgaaaard on tumblr)

Loki did not know how long they remained like that, until Syla's sobs turned to whimpers and then to sighs as she fell into an exhausted sleep. Loki lifted her, her body lighter than air in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathed in the scent of her. He turned to find his master and his former brother. Both had removed themselves to the far side of the penthouse where a bar and kitchen area took up one wall. They were watching him, talking together. Thor's face was an easily readable blend of shock and wonder. Stark had poured himself a drink and was already refilling it. Loki twitched. He should be doing that for him. Loki had not yet managed to provide any service that Stark may find valuable or worthwhile. If all he could do was pour his master's drinks then at least he should do that well.

He tried to collect himself and bowed to Stark, holding Syla's head so she did not tip backwards. "Master," he said, "might I...is there a place Syla might rest, out of the way...so that I might serve you...she will be no trouble...she is only small..." Loki wiped his face. He could not get a sentence out, and he could not stop his hands from shaking, or his tears from falling. He could not hold himself together, the fear, stress and uncertainty was too much, it was too much. He had given Stark his oath, and he knew the norns were watching. He had bound himself to his master in exchange for his daughter's safety, and he had to honor his promise. The norns had no mercy for oath-breakers. He wiped his face again, hugged Syla tight to his body, and relief swept through him when Stark seemed to understand his request. He beckoned him to follow and Loki trailed him down a hallway, his bare feet silent on the hard stone floor. Perhaps there was a storage area where he could tuck Syla in a corner, against a wall, she would sleep and he would do...he would do whatever Stark told him to do.

Stark opened a door and Loki followed him through it to a spacious bedroom, a large bed, several plush chairs, an open door leading to a bathing room. Loki clutched Syla, she stirred in her sleep, but did not awake. What was this? Did Stark intend to have him now? Of course it was his right to use him as he wished. But...would he allow him to set Syla outside...he would not have her here while Loki performed for him, would he? Loki did not dare to ask, and before he could do anything further Stark had said something too fast for Loki to understand, and was already leaving. Loki spun in place, utterly confused, aware that Stark had spoke to him but he had not even been able to hear or understand him.

Stark rolled his eyes. "You're done for today," he said, with the tone of someone who was repeating himself. "You can sleep here, both of you. Don't leave this room. OK?"

Loki nodded, bewildered. "Yes, master," he said, not knowing what else to say, and then Stark was gone. Loki stood in place, looking at the room. The bed was large, with soft fluffy blankets and pillows, far grander than anything Loki deserved, and he didn't understand why Stark had put him here. Loki knew he had holding facilities in the tower, they had just come from there. Cautiously, Loki paced the room. He needed to find the right spot, obviously the bed was not intended for him. He laid down next to the wall between the bed and the far wall. He could see the door under the bed, but he and Syla would be hidden to anyone entering. Syla was still sleeping in his arms, her ordeal had drained her energy to the very brink, and now she needed to recover. Loki tugged her close to his body, her head resting on his arm. The rug was thick and warm, the wall strong against his back. In moments, Loki's eyes were closing too. He was on Midgard, his daughter in his arms, her breath ruffling his hair. Tomorrow he would get up early and show Stark that he was useful, than he could serve him well, that he was a good slave. And Syla would be safe. Loki asked for nothing more than that. Not anymore.

(Art by maniploki on tumblr)

Chapter Text

Loki woke early, as he had planned. It was still dark outside, but the room was a comfortable temperature. The plush rug he was lying on made a welcome change from sleeping on bare floors. Syla was still sleeping. She had snuggled into his chest during the night, her lax hand holding the white cloth of his tunic, her face tucked into his shoulder. Loki wrapped his arm around her, relishing her peaceful form. He tried to keep his blank morning state for a little longer, rather than think about what the day may bring. He allowed himself a slow count to one hundred to cuddle with Syla, and then gingerly maneuvered himself up without disturbing her. The attached bathroom was far more extravagant than the curtained off shower in his cell, with marble counters, gleaming gold fixtures, and fluffy white towels. Loki did not think he would be allowed to use such luxurious facilities. He still was unsure why Stark had put them in this room. He could easily have taken them back downstairs to the cell. There, Loki could have slept on the padded shelf instead of the floor, and showered with hot water instead of wash in a half-filled basin. Loki pushed such thoughts out of his head. Stark had wanted him in that room and that was all he needed to know. He should not question his master's decisions.

Loki redressed in the white pants and tunic Stark had given him. He used one of the smaller towels to dry and polish the basin and countertop back to a high shine. He was ready to serve, but he had been told not to leave the room. The bathroom was already clean, the bed already made. Loki opened the small closet and found it bare, there was nothing for him to do to make himself useful. Once again, he had nothing to do but wait.

He peeked over the edge of the bed and saw Syla was awake. She was lying quiet and still, her hands clasped together, her little teeth gnawing at her knuckles. When she saw Loki her eyes brightened and she mouthed Modi without a sound. Loki smiled at her and mouthed Syla back. The good little girl was laying still and quiet and waiting to be told it was safe to move. It hurt Loki's heart to see it, even as he was proud of her for learning her lessons so well. It was how she had survived. Loki led her to the bathroom and sat her on the countertop with her feet in the basin. He filled it up with cold water and she wiggled her toes in delight, loving the chill on her skin. He helped her off with her tunic, gave her a washcloth, and waited while she carefully and slowly washed herself all over. Once she had been able to do it for herself she had decided she no longer wanted help with the task. She could be as stubborn as Thor sometimes, and Loki gave her her way when it was safe to do so. Although Syla was Jotun she liked to wash with water, not ground minerals, because that was how her Modi did it.

Loki cringed at the grey water when she was done. He had not been able to help her wash for many days. He had nothing to dress her in but the same ragged tunic she had worn for days on end. He hated to put it back on her clean skin, but he had nothing else to give her, so he did. Then he cleaned the bathroom again, back to a high shine with not a single drop of water to be seen.

The sky was lightening, and Loki picked Syla up and held her up to the window to look out. Syla put her hand to the glass and her red eyes glowed as she watched the sunrise over the city. It was the first sunrise she had ever seen. They watched together for a time. Loki noticed that neither had spoken a word to the other. They were used to it, Syla had grown up that way, silent and secret and safe. Loki did not yet know if it was acceptable to change that in this new place. He did not want to step out of line or to cause his master to have to correct his behavior.

(Art by Achika on imgur)

There was a knock on the door. Loki rushed to open it, afraid to leave his master waiting even for a moment. He didn't know why Stark would knock when he could just open the door and enter. Regardless, Loki knew he had the trigger in his pocket to punish Loki whenever he wanted, and he did not want to earn any such punishment. Loki was relieved when Thor appeared in the doorway, instead of Stark.

Thor took in the sight of wide eyed Loki with Syla on his hip. “Brother, Niece,” he said, nodding to them each in turn. Loki blinked that Thor would claim Syla in such a way. Odin had severed his family ties and taken away his name. Why would the crown prince of Asgard want to lower himself by claiming them as his family? Loki had no answer for that.

“Come,” Thor said to them both, “Stark had to attend to some business this morning. We will have breakfast together, then I must leave you for a time.”

Loki followed him out to the penthouse, Syla still snugged in his arms, her head on his shoulder. Loki could not talk to Thor, and it seemed he still had not noticed. Thor without a doubt was one of his betters. A prince, a free man, a warrior. Loki had been fool to ever think he could be his equal, and now the geas told him the truth. He was far lesser than Thor in every way.

“You slept well, brother?” Thor asked, and paused, waiting for a response that wasn't going to come. Only a few seconds passed before he realized. “Ah,” he said, “still, you cannot speak to me? But you can speak to Stark, yes?”

Cautiously Loki nodded. To his surprise Syla lifted her head from his shoulder and looked to Thor, “Not allowed,” she said, her voice a whisper. Loki looked at her. It was rare for her to speak without being asked a direct question. Thor beamed, “there’s my clever niece,” he said, “you take after your Modi.” Having Thor’s full attention was too much for Syla and she buried her face back in Loki’s shoulder, quiet again. Thor looked at the ceiling, “Jarvis,” he called, “please tell Tony Stark I wish to speak to him!”

There was a short pause and the Loki shivered as his master’s voice came from the air. “What’s up big guy?” Syla noticed his reaction and squeezed herself tighter into his arms.

“Tony Stark!” Thor announced, “Kindly tell my brother he can speak to me.”

“Uh...yeah. Loki you can speak to Thor.”

Thor was grinning and staring at Loki, “Well, did it work?” he said, and Loki licked his lips, unsure what to say, settling for “Yes, thank you,” and then, “Thank you, master.”

“Yeah no worries. Hey, while you’re here,” Stark continued, as though Loki had anywhere to be other than serving on his master. “I’ll be back around midday, Jarvis is gonna help you order some stuff for you and cutie-pie. Clothes and stuff. Get that done before I come back, OK?”

“Yes master,” Loki instantly replied, relieved to have some order to follow, even if it was a strange one. He was already wearing clothes provided by his master, and Syla had her tunic. Loki would wash it for her as soon as he could and until she grew a few more inches she would not need anything else. Perhaps Stark had some colors or uniform he wanted them to wear, but then why would he need to choose anything? Loki had yet to see any of Stark's other servants or slaves, and he did not know how he preferred to dress them.

Loki immediately itched to complete his assigned task. Not from the force of the geas, but from his own desire to perform well and to show his new owner that he could be obedient. Luckily, Thor proved himself to be rather more observant than Loki remembered. “Stark!” he called again, “tell Loki he can speak to Jarvis.”

“Yes, Loki, you can speak to Jarvis. He’s a computer. You can ask him anything, he’s here to help.”

Another smooth voice came from the air, “Indeed I am, Loki, and Miss Syla. Feel free to talk to me at anytime.”

“Cool, I’ll let you get on with it,” Stark said, and then silence.

Thor was already rummaging in the refrigerator, pulling out eggs and fruit and making ready a mighty breakfast for himself. Loki wondered where the dining hall for servants and slaves was, where he and Syla might eat. But first, he reminded himself, he had a task to complete.

“Jarvis,” he said, feeling disrespectful not to give the computer a title, even though he was not alive and there was no title that applied to him. “May I complete my task, to order clothes?”

“Of course,” Jarvis replied. Two floating screens lit up, showing a variety of clothes, one for adults, one for children. There was so much selection, different styles, colors, and Loki knew that this must be a test of some kind. He set Syla down on the floor and picked up the screen showing adult clothing. Loki touched the screen and even more items came into view. The clothing Loki was wearing was perfectly fine. He did not need any more, and he certainly did not want to make any mistakes that would result in Stark’s disapproval. He put the screen down. Breakfast should come first. He turned back around and saw that Thor had loaded up a low table with everything he had taken out of the fridge. Loki was sure he would have a fine meal. “Jarvis," he said, his eyes lowered respectfully, "Can you direct me to the slaves eating hall?”

There was a moment of silence and before Jarvis could respond, Thor looked up, “Brother, Niece,” he said, “this is for you, for us all, come and sit.”

Syla peeked at the mound of food and took a tiny step toward it. Loki put his hand out to stop her. “I...Thor…surely you cannot...that food is not for us.”

Thor set his jaw. “Stark!” He said to the air, and a moment later came “Yep,” with the rushing of wind in the background.

“Tony Stark, what food are Loki and Syla to eat?” Thor held Loki’s gaze as he spoke, as though daring Loki to object. Loki was far too horrified to even think of speaking. To make such demands of Stark would only result in punishment for him. He would be perfectly content to go to the slaves hall. To eat with Stark's other slaves, perhaps learn about him, what he was like as a master. But it was too late, Stark was already replying. “Er...whatever they want to eat, I guess? Anything. Jarvis will help you figure out what anything is. Gotta go!”

Thor raised his eyebrows in triumph and beckoned them over. Syla was all too eager, the promise of food in such abundance was too tempting for her. Loki let her go. She sat on the floor next to the table, and Thor did likewise, opposite her, giving her a little wink, which she looked away from. Loki followed and sat on the floor too. Thor had even remembered plates, which he passed and began to pile with fruit, bread, cheeses, sliced meats. Syla just stared, never having seen so much food for the taking in her life before.

Loki gave in. Thor was his master’s honored guest, he clearly had the run of the place and could do as he pleased. Even feed Stark's slaves with his host's food. And the food smelled so good. And Stark had said they could eat anything. Still uncertain, Loki picked up his plate, and took a bite of cheese. It was heavenly. Syla was devouring one of the fruits that Loki had seen her eat the first night, when she had fallen asleep on Stark’s lap. Loki still did not know how he had won her trust so easily, but she did seem to enjoy the fruit. They ate in silence for a time, alone with their thoughts.

“Niece, how do you like the food?” Thor asked, after a few minutes, fixing Syla with his brilliant blue gaze.

The girl looked up, her face and hands sticky. “My name is Syla, Sir.” she said, quiet and uncertain.

Thor smiled at her, his eyes bright. “Indeed it is. But you are my niece, and I your uncle. You may call me Uncle , and I may call you Niece .”

Loki looked at his plate, his vision blurred. It was unkind to let the girl think she had any family besides Loki. Odin would not allow it, but Loki had not the heart to correct it. Let her enjoy the impossible dream for a few moments, to have a family, to belong. Odin had taken away Loki's name. He was no longer Odinson and that meant his children too were cast out. All of them, the living and the dead.

Syla was staring at Thor now, her eyes curious. The sleep had done her good and she seemed almost recovered from her ordeal the previous day. She looked around, examining this new place, curious and alert. Her gaze landed back on Thor. She furrowed her brow, her hand stroking her own smooth cheek, focused on Thor’s face. Thor perpetually had anywhere between light stubble and a scruffy beard on his face. The Jotun had no facial hair, and only those like Loki and Syla, small in stature, had hair on their heads instead of horns.

Thor noticed her gaze and held out his hand to her, “Come and see for yourself,” he said. Curious, and her hunger sated, Syla shuffled to his side and reached out her fingertip to brush Thor's cheek. Thor held still as she grew her courage. Her hesitant little taps increased until her small hand alighted on Thor's cheek, settling like a butterfly on a flower. Loki held his breath. He knew Syla needed this, someone in her life she did not have to be afraid of, someone who maybe would protect her when Loki could not. Thor had ever been sentimental about family. Even now he called Loki “brother” despite all evidence to the contrary.

After a few breaths of stillness, Thor crossed his eyes and poked his tongue out at her. She startled and swallowed a laugh. Thor grinned at her, letting her hand rest back on his cheek before trying again, rolling his eyes and scrunching up his face. Syla smiled and let out a tiny giggle. Thor seemed to take this as a mighty victory, but he did not attempt to hug Syla or put his hands on her at all. His entire attention was on her face, her expression, her hand resting on his cheek, feeling the fuzzy stubble there.

Loki watched them. He wished this could be their life. That they could have breakfast with Thor, and Syla could know him as her uncle, and grow up safe and secure in the arms of loving adults. But she could not. It was not real. Thor was not her uncle, by order of Odin himself. Thor may be here now, but he would not go against the word of the Allfather. If he was forced to chose, he would pick duty and honor and the throne of Asgard over his enslaved former brother and his illegitimate child. Loki knew it, but he let Syla enjoy the fantasy for a little longer. She needed it.

And so did he.

Chapter Text

When they had finished eating, Loki leapt to clear the plates. Thor helped him carry them to the kitchen but Loki grabbed them from his hands. He had to have some purpose, some use, and if he could not wash dishes even, what good was he? Thor noted the tremble in his hands and squeezed his arm with his warm grip. “Brother,” he said softly, mindful of Syla in the same room, “Brother, you do not need to be afraid. Stark is not...he is not like Byliestr. He will not mistreat you.”

Loki had no answer to that. He did not know Stark. He did not know how he treated his slaves. All he knew was that he had a shackle around his ankle that would shock him into submission if he did not behave. He had no wish to learn his new owner's preferences by being punished for not adhering to them. Until Stark gave him other instructions, he would do everything he could to be useful and valuable. He needed to know what Stark expected from him. If he wanted him as a servant, if he wanted him in his bed, if he wanted him in his lab, or even at his side in battle. Whatever his use was, he would do as he was told.

Thor hovered by Loki's shoulder while he washed the dishes, pacing from side to side. “Loki,” he began uncertainly, “I must leave soon, father expects me back to report on the treaty negotiations. Do you...do you wish to come with me? I could find a place for you, where father would not know, for you and Syla. Not in the city.”

There was no place Loki would less like to go than Asgard, expect for Jotunheim. He had no doubt that Thor meant well, but if he thought he could hide Loki from the Allfather’s eye he was more of a fool than he seemed. Odin saw every corner of the realm, and with his magic bound by the geas, Loki could not hide himself. When Odin found them, Loki had no doubt he would send them right back to the auction block, he and Syla both.

“Thank you, but I cannot,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light, “I have given my oath to Stark. He is my master now.”

Thor drew back. “What do you mean?” he said, “he will free you if I ask it of him, he does not want...I mean...he would not refuse me.”

Loki knew very well what Thor had been going to say. That Stark did not want him. He scrubbed at the dishes in the sink, although they were already clean. Stark did not want him. It mattered not. Loki had given his oath and Stark had accepted it.

“I have given him my oath,” Loki repeated, his eyes wet again. He could hardly seem to control his emotions, reeling from blank nothingness to despair and back again in mere moments. “I spoke the names of the Norns. It is done.”

Thor rubbed his hand over his face, his expressed disbelieving. “Why, Loki? Why would you do such a thing?”

Loki stared at the murky water. “I had to,” he said. “For Syla, for my daughter. He can protect her. Keep her safe.” He turned to Thor. If he was going to find out the truth of his loyalty he would rather do it face to face. “Even you could not do that,” he said, his voice shaking but not faltering. “When Odin demands you disavow us, your duty will require you to do it. Do not deny it. Stark has no loyalty to Odin over himself. He accepted my oath. To give Syla his mercy and protection, in exchange for my...for my life in his service.”

Thor had nothing to say to that, although his face showed his distress. Loki was glad he did not try to lie or argue. Thor was the crown prince, his duty was to Asgard, first and always. Loki was glad to have his affection still, and more than glad for Syla to have it, but he knew it could not be relied upon.

Loki put the dishes away then began to clean the kitchen. When he looked up again Thor was back in the living area with Syla, gently talking to her. She was sitting next to him, looking up at him, drinking in his attention like a flower turned to the sun.

When the kitchen was clean and shining, Thor announced that he had to leave. He had hoped to stay until Stark returned, but time was passing and Odin would be awaiting him. He held out his open arms and Syla took a half step back, uncertain. Thor immediately changed his mind and instead held out one hand, for Syla to brush her fingertips to his palm. Thor smiled and closed his hand, miming putting her touch into his pocket. She gave him a shy smile and then hid behind Loki's legs, remembering her shyness. Loki did accept Thor's hug, the strong arms around him reminding him of how weak and thin he had become, but also welcome and warm.

“I will return soon, Brother, Niece,” Thor said, nodding to them both.

Syla held up her hand, "n'cle” she said, and Thor beamed.

“Clever girl, that’s right,” he replied.

Thor left the penthouse and shortly after, the crash and glow of the bifrost shook the building. Then, Loki and Syla were alone in their new master’s home.

Loki did not waste any time. He started cleaning the living area where they had eaten. There were crumbs on the floor and sticky fruit juice on the table. Syla helped as best she could, rubbing her cleaning cloth over the table top where she had sat, but just smearing the sticky mess around more. Loki thanked her for her help and scrubbed her area over again when she proudly went to wash out her cloth. When Loki was finally satisfied, the sun was high in the sky. The kitchen and living area both looked as though they had not been touched. Loki was putting away the cleaning materials when a red blur from outside caught his attention.

Like a dream, a memory from years ago, he saw the red and gold armor of the Iron Man land on the gantry outside. Unlike last time, when mechanical arms had risen to remove the suit, this time the suit seemed to simply dissolve away from Tony’s body, leaving the man himself walking into the penthouse in a tight black and grey undersuit.

“Hey you two,” he said, slightly breathless. “I guess Thor left already?”

Loki nodded, “Yes master,” he said, his anxiety creeping back up when faced his his owner. He clutched his hands together, hoping Stark would not find any fault with the state of the rooms. Syla sidled behind the couch, peeking around the arm of it at Stark. He did not seem to notice.

“Uh huh,” Stark said, “OK, well I’m gonna go get changed and then I guess it’s time for us to have a talk.” He looked Loki up and down, taking in his less than pristine white clothes, smudged with the evidence of his morning cleaning. “Did your new clothes not come yet?”

Loki’s heart stopped in his chest. Horror washed over him. He had failed to complete the task Stark had given him.

Chapter Text

Loki could not believe he had been so foolish. Stark had given him one task. Only one, and he had failed even at that. He had been disobedient, and it mattered not that it was unintentional. He would be punished for his failure. Stark had already told him what would happen. He would be shocked and dragged back to his cell in the basement. And he would not be allowed to leave it. He would not be allowed to serve his master and his oath would be broken. Stark would have no need or reason to extend his protection to Syla and Thor was not on Midgard to perhaps give her another chance. Loki's vision blurred and his chest hurt. His legs could not support his body and he staggered under the weight of his own stupidity.

A touch on his shoulder, and Loki braced himself for pain. None came. Just that touch, and a voice from far away, “....OK Loki, it’s OK, it’s OK, nothing to worry about, just a mistake. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s fine, just breathe, OK, just try to breathe…”

Loki managed one gasping breath and his senses returned. He was on the floor, the hard marble under his back was cool. He pressed his palms flat to it, the cold stone grounding him, bringing him back to himself. He opened his eyes. Stark was looking down at him, his face worried, his hand still holding Loki's shoulder. For some reason, the thought crossed Loki’s mind that this was the first time his master had touched him.

“OK, there you are. Keep breathing. It’s OK, I’m not going to hurt you, it’s all fine, just breathe for me.” Loki did, it was all he could do, to breathe. His every muscle was trembling, fear and panic and his flight response firing when he had nowhere to run to. He breathed, breathed and tried to think what he could say to make up for this lapse. He had no excuse, and all he could do was beg for forgiveness, if he could get any words out. He finally managed to get a deep breath.

“Master!” he said, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Stark shushed him gently. “It’s OK. Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”

Loki heard the words but he could not understand them, Stark had given him an order and he had not obeyed. How could he say that was not important. It was the only thing that was important for a slave, to obey. A slave that didn’t obey deserved to be punished. Perhaps this was a test. He must ensure Stark knew that Loki was aware of his place. He forced himself to speak.

“Master, I beg you, please! Please punish me! I accept your punishment, I deserve it! Please!”

Stark looked away, his face pale. Loki knew he had not convinced him. He tried again, after another panting breath, “Master, please. Please. Punish me. I...I want you to. I failed you. You can...you can have me whipped! Or beaten! Or bind me outside for the night! Or...or...you could have me, in any manner that pleases you, I will not complain! I will do what you want! You can…”

“Stop talking.” Stark snapped, his voice strained. Loki’s mouth gaped as his words cut off. Stark was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. His lips were moving, but no sound came out. Loki stared up at him, still on his back on the floor, forbidden now to speak. He could only wait, his heart pounding, panic and fear a nauseating mix in his belly.

Stark finished with his silent words. He opened his eyes. His face was pale, Loki could see a shine on his skin. “Loki. I’m not going to do any of that. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not going to fucking rape you. You made a mistake. Mistakes happen. All you gotta do is fix it. Got it?”

Asked a direct question, Loki could speak again, but he didn’t dare. He nodded slowly. Fix it. He could do that. If for whatever reason Stark had decided not to punish him, he would not squander that opportunity to make up for his mistake. He reminded himself that he did not know how things worked on Midgard. He did not know what kind of master Stark was, he had not met any of his other slaves who could have helped him understand. Stark was keeping him in his own living area and not allowing him to mingle.

Stark sat back, taking deep, regular breaths. He was silent for a few more moments. “OK,” he finally said, “I'm gonna go get changed. You order some clothes. I don’t want to see you in these prison scrubs anymore. And I don’t want to see your kid in that fucking filthy rag anymore. Understand?”

“Yes master,” Loki said, understanding finally. He and Syla were not pleasing his master’s eye. They must stand out in this clean and stylish home, and Stark did not like it. That made sense, and Loki could kick himself for thinking that new clothes were some kind of gift for him and his daughter. No, they were for Stark’s benefit, to keep his home harmonious and attractive. Stark stood and up and pointed down a hallway. “She went that way, by the way. Go find her first. She’s probably freaking out.”

With that, Stark walked off and Loki heard a door close moments later. Loki scrambled to his feet and hurried to find Syla. Stark was kind to think of her, but Loki knew she would not be ‘freaking out’. Loki had trained her to make herself scarce in such situations and she was well used to it. Loki had no wish for her to see her parent under punishment. Byliestr punished him often enough, for real and imaged infractions or just for his own amusement. Syla had plenty of practice with making a quick exit..

“Syla,” he called softly, surprised that his voice was as steady as it was. “You can come out, all is well.” As he expected, her serious face soon peeked out from behind a door that lead to a laundry. She was not crying or panicking. She was silent and allowed herself to be lead back to the main room. Loki explained to her that Stark had not punished him, only told him to complete his task, but Syla still maintained her blank stare. It was so different to how she had been with Thor, her shy smile and curiosity was gone again, as though it had never been. Loki picked her up and she tucked her face into his shoulder. He could not do more for her then, he must complete Stark’s task or he surely would not be forgiven a second time.

Now he knew why Stark had given him such an order, it was easier for him to complete it. He picked up the screen again and chose clothes for himself and Syla that complimented the space, and complimented each other. Matching sets and colors that would be pleasing to his master’s eye. Light and dark greys and earth tones, muted colors. He picked out enough options that they would have enough variety but not too much as to be extravagant. He waited anxiously after he told Jarvis that he was done. There was a short pause.

“Loki, Miss Syla, if I may, perhaps you would like to add some shoes? Some sleeping clothes? Some toiletries?”

Hurriedly Loki added Jarvis’ suggestions. He did not know what they would need with shoes, but perhaps Stark preferred the look to bare feet. He finished for the second time just as Stark was walking back out from his private quarters, his hair wet and his clothes changed. His skin was back to it's usual color, and his breathing back to normal. He took the screen from Loki and scanned through what Loki had chosen. “Hmm,” was all he said, and Loki saw his fingers flying over the screen as he added whatever items he thought Loki had forgotten. At Stark’s entrance Syla had tensed up in Loki’s arms, but she did not raise her head or make any movement. Loki kept one arm tight around her and hoped Stark would not be insulted by her ignoring him. He didn’t make any comment on it.

“Good,” he finally said, and set the screen down. “OK, I guess it’s time we had that talk. Come on.”             

Stark led them to the living area where they had had breakfast. Loki’s eyes scanned the floor for any stray crumbs, but he could see none. Stark sat back on one of the plush chairs, and pointed Loki to the one opposite. Loki lowered himself to the edge of the seat, his muscles tense, Syla on his lap, still hiding her face from Stark.

Stark looked at them both, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m gonna keep this simple.” he said, “For now, there are three things you need to remember. One. No torture. No physical punishment. No rape. That’s just not...that’s not on the table. If you really fuck up, you go back downstairs. That’s it. That’s the worst that’s going to happen.” He paused and let that one sink in before he continued. “Two. You can eat whatever you want. Both of you. There’s no food rationing, no withholding food as punishment, no special food that's not for you. Just eat what you want to eat. Jarvis will reorder what you take, tell him if you want to order anything different." He paused again, took a deep breath before continuing. "Three. Just make yourself useful around here. Clean up, make dinner, whatever. I’m gonna figure out a more permanent arrangement, but for now you’re gonna be up here. I’m not putting a kid in jail, and I’m not going to split you up. So we’re roommates again. Is all that clear? Any questions?”

Loki was struggling to absorb all that information. He was grateful that Stark had only given him three rules, but even so his mind felt like a sieve, unable to hold his words. He tried to recall the three rules. Punishment meant being sent downstairs. Stark must mean to his cell, or perhaps there were worse cells he would be sent to if he did not behave. Downstairs. He should avoid that, if he could. He was allowed to eat. That was unexpected, but he supposed Stark wanted to keep him separate from his other slaves, and the best want to do that was to keep him confined in the penthouse. Stark would not want the bother of finding food for them everyday. Better to let them eat of his own food. And finally, Loki was to make himself useful. He could do that. He would clean and cook and entertain. He was used to it. He had done the same for Byliestr, although his quarters and his expectations were entirely different than Stark’s.

Loki nodded. “Yes master. I mean, no master. No questions. Thank you, master.”

Stark leaned back in his chair, his head tipped back. “Let’s drop that as well, shall we? The whole master bit? It’s not necessary.”

Loki blinked. “Yes M….Mr Stark, Sir,” he managed, and Stark sighed but he accepted that alternative. He stood. “I’m gonna be in the workshop. Your clothes will be delivered in about an hour. Get everything put away, both of you get changed and please throw those clothes in the garbage.” He pointed at what they were currently wearing. Loki saw Syla’s little fist slip down and grip the hem of her tunic. That ragged tunic was the only thing in the entire realm that Syla could think belonged to her, and Loki did not look forward to taking it away. “Yes Sir,” he said.

“OK. Good talk,” Stark said. “Any questions?”

Loki shook his head, “No sir,” he replied. His head was too full of Stark’s instructions to have any space for questions. He was already worried that he was forgetting what his master had said. He hurriedly reminded himself of the three things again. Punishments were downstairs. Loki and Syla were not to eat with the other slaves. He was to make himself useful in the penthouse. He must remember those three things. He repeated them again in his head, trying to remember them.

Stark headed back to the elevator. As soon as the door closed, Loki stood up from the seat. He held Syla and rocked from side to side, humming to her. She still clung to him, and Loki could do nothing but cling to her, as well.

Chapter Text

Tony sat in the workshop, his head in his hands. Jarvis was looking for referrals for mental health experts who could possibly help with this fucked up situation. He couldn’t even talk to his own therapist about it, because she worked for SHIELD. If he told her he had a couple of alien slaves in his house he would be getting a visit from Romanov very soon after. He had cancelled his appointment that morning and gone flying instead. He had hoped it would calm him down and give Thor a chance to get his brother and his kid settled. Tony groaned. It had not worked. His head was still a mess of firing neurons. Shadows in every corner took on threatening shapes, every movement in the corner of his eye was a threat. It was one thing to recognize his own hyper-vigilance, another thing entirely to try to ignore it and go about his day.

Tony took a drink from his emergency bottle of whisky. He knew self-medicating with alcohol was a bad idea, but Loki’s panic attack had almost triggered one of his own. His list of suggested ‘punishments’ had been a series of bombs under Tony’s feet, each one worse than the one before. Tony had known that Loki was afraid of him, but he had not realized the extent of it. Thinking that Tony would rape him as punishment for forgetting a task. Worse, thinking that he deserved such a thing. Tony shuddered at what he must have endured on Jotunheim to normalize those thoughts. He was afraid to ask him anything about his time there. His bruised and marked body told the tale well enough, and the leering smirk of Byliestr when he had encouraged Tony to enjoy his new property. That and the skimpy wrap, the leash, Loki's submissive behavior. All of it. It was fucked up, and Tony could hardly think about it without being sucked into a dark spiral.

God. It was all such a fucking mess. Tony put away his bottle. He just needed to take the edge off, not get wasted before 5pm.

This situation was not going to get sorted out in one day, it was going to take time and patience. Tony was hardly happy to have Loki back in his home, but Thor had filled him in on his trial. Loki had told a sorry tale of falling through the void and being found by a powerful entity, being given a chance to save himself. He had taken it, rather than die in resistance. Foolish, selfish, but hardly the work of a power-mad conqueror. Thor told him that Odin had dismissed all such tales as pathetic excuses, but Thor believed him. Tony didn’t know what to think. Loki had seemed half-crazed during his attack. Perhaps he was being manipulated from afar, but he still had killed people, and he had tossed Tony out of a window without his suit. Tony would have been happy enough to leave him in the holding cell, but the kid was a complication.

“What are they doing?” Tony asked Jarvis. A screen lit up with an image of Loki standing in the center of the room, swaying from side to side, holding Syla in his arms. The girl had run from the room when Loki had collapsed to the ground, and Tony had let her go. Calling her back would only scare her more, and he had Loki’s panic attack to deal with. Now she was obviously still in shock. The shy little personality that had started to come out with Thor had been stuffed back down. Tony watched for a few minutes, Loki humming tunelessly and rocking her, Syla staring into the middle distance, her face blank. Tony knew the evidence of trauma when he saw it. Syla had probably seen Loki tortured, seen him forced to beg, maybe even seen him raped. She had seen far too much for her tender age and Tony had little idea how to help her. Loki was the only stability in her life, her Modi, so if Loki was going to behave himself he would let him stay in the penthouse. For her sake. At least, until he came up with a better plan.

While he was watching, the elevator door opened and Jarvis told Loki that the clothes and other items had been delivered. Loki jerked, as though he had been half asleep, and went to pick up the bags. Tony hoped that having some decent clothes would make them both happier. It would certainly make Tony happy not to have to look at Syla in her ragged dress like little orphan Annie.

"Any luck with names of therapists, J?" Tony asked, and sighed again when Jarvis responded in the negative.

****

Loki looked at the bags that he had laid on the bed. There seemed to be more than he remembered ordering. He hoped that he had not accidentally ordered too much or spent more of his master’s money than he intended to. Syla was watching him, her arms wrapped around herself, her feet tucked up under her. Her hands were both gripping her tunic, and Loki's heart hurt that he would have to take it away from her. He would at least not put it in the trash where she could see it. He could not stand for her to see her only possession tossed away as garbage.

Loki tried to win her enthusiasm her by showing her the new clothes Stark had purchased for them both. She did watch him holding up each item, her eyes wide, but she did not unwrap her arms. Loki supposed the muted colors and plain cut clothes were not anything exciting for her, even though the clothes were well made and good quality. Syla didn't yet know the value of such things, having never had them. At the bottom of the first bag Loki found items he knew he had not ordered. Small shirts with printed pictures and patterns, bright colors, even a dress with ruffles. He held up that one.

“Moon,” Syla said, and when Loki looked at the dress he saw it did have a pattern of moons and stars.

“Do you like it, my little love?” He asked.

Syla nodded, her eyes not leaving the dress when Loki put it down. He picked it up again. “Would you like to wear it?” he suggested, praying that she would say yes and he would not have to force her. She shook her head. Loki held it out to her. “Would you like to just hold it?” he said, and she nodded. He gave it to her, and she smoothed it out on her lap, her fingers tracing the patterns. Loki left her with the dress and put away the rest of the clothes in the closet. He opened the second bag and pulled out the clothing he was to wear. Dark colored pants, short sleeve shirts in soft fabric and a variety of muted colors. He put it all away. The third bag had shoes for them both, dark brown leather to go with the dark colors he had chosen. At the bottom of the bag, there was another pair of small shoes. These were not muted. They were a riot of rainbow colors, and when Loki picked them up, small lights twinkled in the soles. He heard a soft gasp from Syla, and he wrinkled his brow. Stark must have added these shoes, and the dress and other printed shirts that he had unpacked. Loki didn’t know why, except that for some reason Loki’s selections for Syla had not pleased him well enough. The shoes were like nothing he had seen. Even on Asgard the pampered children of nobles wore silk slippers, with embroidery and pearls sewn into them. These wild colors and blinking lights were something else entirely. He offered them to Syla. She took them with gentle hands, and put them on her lap with the dress, her hand still smoothing the soft fabric. Loki let her hold them. He was still hoping that she would decide to change clothes herself. To give her time, Loki picked out clothes for himself. Stark had been very generous with his slaves, and he had for once choices to make in what he wore. He picked out underwear, pants, a shirt, even socks and shoes. Hopefully Stark would be pleased with his appearance. Loki dressed himself and folded up his old clothes. He put them away in one of the bags, not yet in the garbage. Perhaps Syla would get changed if she thought her tunic would go into the bag, not into the trash.

Loki looked at himself in the mirror. A strange sight indeed. Himself, clean and dressed from head to toe. It was a sight he had not seen for years. Byliestr had kept him in what little clothing he liked, the flimsy fabric and display of his body a constant reminder of his status. Stark, it seemed, preferred to keep him dressed and covered. Loki filed that away. Stark had told him that there would not be any punishment rape but that did not mean he would not want him to warm his bed. Dressing in a manner pleasing to his owner could only improve his status here. If Stark would not treat him harshly, would not be sadistic and cruel, Loki would not mind such a role. Stark had forgiven his lapse that morning, he had even comforted him. Loki allowed himself to hope that his master would be gentle with him, when it came time for him to serve in such a way.

Loki turned and saw Syla watching him., “What do you think, my little love?” he asked, doing a turn for her to admire his new clothing. Her fingers still stroked the soft cloth of the moon dress, even though her eyes were on Loki now. She nodded approvingly. Loki gestured at the dress. “Shall I help you change?” he asked, and this time, to his relief, she gave him a slow nod. Loki helped her off with her tunic and pulled the moon dress over her head. She stood up and let it fall to her knees, the ruffles on the hem bouncing with her movements. She pointed to the shoes and Loki knelt to pull on her socks and the rainbow shoes. She looked in the mirror, her face serious. Her dark blue skin complemented the light blue of the dress, the printed moons and stars the lighter blue color of her heritage lines. The rainbow shoes twinkled on her feet as she turned to admire herself. Loki’s eyes blurred. He had never thought to see Syla wearing such clothes. He had done his best for her, but her ragged tunic had been made for her size by a servant using scraps and offcuts of rough woven cloth. The servant's payment for that favor had been Loki on his hands and knees on the floor of his workshop. Loki did not know what price Stark would have from him, but it could not be anything he was not prepared to give. Loki wiped his eyes and folded Syla’s old tunic and put it in the bag. He set the bag on the floor by the door. He would dispose of it later.

Now dressed and looking far more in keeping with Stark’s home, Loki remembered his other instructions. He was to make himself useful in the penthouse, which included preparing his master’s meals. He would not forget to do that. He could not expect mercy from his master twice in one day. He took Syla’s hand and they returned to the kitchen. It was only early afternoon but Loki was not familiar with any midgardian cooking tools, or foods, or his master’s preferences. He needed time to prepare. He would ask Jarvis to assist him. Syla walked beside him down the hallway, looking at her feet as she walked, the lights twinkling. Her face was still serious, but now at least she was not staring off to the distance. Her eyes and her attention were present in the room, and Loki was glad of that.

In the kitchen, Loki reviewed the contents of the refrigerator and pantry with Jarvis' guidance. He sat Syla on a high stool at the counter, but he soon heard her climbing down, and the light thud of her feet as she took herself off. Loki let her go. She needed to explore and find her little hidey holes and safe places. He had taught her to hide and she would not forget that lesson in this new place. Loki was surprised when she returned and climbed back onto her stool a few minutes later. He took his head out of the pantry to check on her. She was watching him, her wide eyes steady. In one hand, tightly fisted, she held the ragged cloth of her old tunic.

Chapter Text

Loki kept a careful eye on the clock. Jarvis had informed him that his master ate dinner around 8pm, when he remembered to eat dinner at all. Syla sat on a high stool and watched him practice with the midgardian stove and equipment. He talked to her as he worked and gradually she began to reply to him. He asked her opinion on dinner. Would Mr Stark prefer hot or cold food, fish or meat, crunchy or soft, sweet or sour, anything that came to his mind. They were alone in the penthouse and Loki felt that they would be allowed to talk between themselves at such a time. Syla sat with the tattered cloth of her old tunic clutched in her hand. She sometimes pressed it to her cheek, inhaled the smell of it, or ran her fingers over it. Loki did not think she was aware of it. He would have to get it out of her hands before his master came up to the penthouse. Stark had specifically told him that he was to put it in the garbage, and Loki knew better than to be disobedient twice in one day. He could let it go for a little longer though. He dreaded taking the dress away from her. Syla was a good girl but she could be stubborn. She had a set to her shoulders and her jaw that reminded Loki of Frigga when she had made up her mind about something and would not be moved. Loki’s mind skated over that thought. Frigga had not used that determination to save her adopted son from his brutal fate. His ties to her had been severed, as well as hers to him. Loki told himself to focus on his task.

Between them, Syla and Jarvis had determined that Loki would prepare sushi. Loki had at first been unsure about Syla’s firm decision that Mr Stark would like something cold with fish. Jarvis had informed them that Mr Stark was fond of sushi, and that there was time to order the required ingredients. Loki knew as little about preparing sushi as he knew about any other midgardian food, so he acquiesced. While they waited for the fresh fish to be delivered, Jarvis showed them videos of how to prepare it. Loki followed his instructions to make rice, which was easy enough. Watching the videos, Loki became absorbed in the skilled knife-work of the chefs, and the artistry of their presentation. The preparation and presentation came together as one at the end, like magic. Loki thought that perhaps this was something he could do well. He searched the kitchen for a knife that felt right in his hand, and began to sharpen it.

While the whetstone glided over the blade, he allowed the events of the day to turn over in his mind. It was still only their first full day with Stark on Midgard. Thor had left, Loki had been forgiven for his earlier lapse, Stark had given him his three rules, and he had given them new clothes. It felt like more time had passed. A week at least, since they had left Jotunheim. But it had only been one day. So much had happened. Loki looked over at his daughter. She had her head down on the counter, her tunic bunched up as a pillow. Her eyes were heavy, as if she may fall asleep. Perhaps now was a good time.

“My little love,” Loki began, keeping the rhythm of his sharpening steady. Her eyes blinked and Loki carried on, “My little love, I have something to ask of you, and I know it will be hard.”

Syla looked up at him, giving him her full attention. She knew he would not begin a request that way unless he was serious.

“It will be hard, and I will ask you to be brave and strong. Do you think I should ask you now, or would you like me to ask you later?” Loki paused to let her think it over. She took his requests seriously, and he would do her the courtesy of taking her answers seriously too. She nodded. “I will try, Modi.”

Loki smiled at her, his heart full with her courage, after everything she had been through. “It is about your tunic,” Loki said, and Syla knew what he was going to ask. Her eyes filled with tears and she gripped both her hands in the rough fabric. She shook her head, “Ask later, Modi," she said, her voice gone to a whisper. Loki felt his own eyes fill. He nodded, still working the blade of the knife to a fine edge. “Very well,” he said, “I will ask you later, my brave girl. But I must ask you before Mr Stark returns.” Syla buried her face in her arms and didn’t reply. Out of her sight, Loki wiped his face on his sleeve. It would do the girl no good to have her parent weeping over the old tunic as well as her.

Loki finished sharpening his blade, the rhythm of it calming his thoughts until the edge was wickedly sharp. Loki yearned to use it. He took out some vegetables and cut them swift and fine. Some he carved to decorative shapes, and some to narrow sticks and twists. He had not handled a sharp metal blade in years. The Jotun used ice blades to cut their food and Loki had done the same when he prepared food for Byliestr and his guests. The metal sang in his hand, and Loki looked for something else to cut. He took one of the fruits Syla liked from the basket on the counter. With confident motions he cut thin slices and piled them one atop the next in a tower next to her. She peeked over at the little structure and reached out a small hand to pluck the topmost slice. Loki could hear her crunch it in her mouth, although she still kept her head buried in her tunic.

The elevator opened and Loki walked over to pick up the fish, delivered in a plastic cooler. The rice was cooked and ready. He set out a place setting for his master at the counter. Jarvis showed him a video about that too, and he made sure to follow the directions exactly. He readied a stack of small plates, already thinking of how he would vary the presentation of each type of Nigiri, Maki and Sashimi he was planning to make. It was rare for Loki to feel confident in anything. He was uncertain still of the types of fish and the exact presentation he would make, but holding the blade in his hand, he knew that this was a task he would be able to complete.

Loki decided that when Stark came upstairs, he would send Syla back to their room. Stark would not want her next to him at the counter while he ate. Loki was desperate to make a good impression with this meal. He knew he had not impressed his master up until now. He had been confused, forgetful, weepy, pathetic. If he wanted Stark to keep him and value him, he must perform for him. And if Stark wanted Loki to prepare his meal, then he would do that as best he could. Stark was the only protector Syla had, and Loki would do what he could to keep him. Loki was about to tell Syla that she should go when Stark came up, when the elevator opened again and the man himself came out. Loki looked at the clock. It was only 7pm. His heart rate picked up. He had thought he had another hour to prepare. The food was ready to begin, but Syla still was laying with her head on the counter, her tunic as a pillow.

“Syla,” Loki snapped. The girl raised her head at his sharp tone, and looked over her shoulder at Stark. Her red eyes widened. She jumped off her chair and ran from the room, her old tunic bundled up in her arms, her shoes twinkling. Loki did not think to hope that Stark had not seen the tunic, but at least now he would be the target of Stark’s wrath, not his daughter. Carefully, Loki put down the knife.

“Mas...Mr Stark, Sir,” he said, almost getting Stark’s title wrong in his distress. “Mr Stark, I apologize, I will dispose of it immediately.” He went to follow Syla, to somehow get the old dress from her, when he was halted by his master’s raised hand.

“Um,” Stark said, a look of genuine confusion on his face, “before you do, mind telling me what you're talking about?”

Loki had no time to even wonder if this was another test. He replied without thinking, “The tunic, you ordered me to put in the garbage! I will! I will, I just thought to give her more time to...to say goodbye to it….” Loki trailed off, feeling foolish at such sentiment. Stark had no children that Loki knew of, why would he care about such a thing as a child’s attachment to her old dress?

And indeed, Stark looked bewildered. “To say goodbye to it…?” he repeated, and Loki tried to make himself seem smaller. He was taller than the midgardian and it was not right for him to tower over his master in such a way. Loki berated himself for allowing this to happen. He should have taken the tunic away from Syla as soon as he saw her with it.

“I...the dress…” he stammered, and he was saved by Stark’s sudden understanding.

“Oh!” he said, “It’s her blankie!” Loki didn’t know the term but it seemed right.

“Yes, sir,” he said, “she is...attached to it. But she will be obedient, I swear! She is a good girl!”

Stark held up his hand again and Loki stopped talking. He was learning his master’s ways and he did not want to be ordered silent again. Stark did not look angry, but did look frustrated, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “OK. This is just a misunderstanding,” he said. He paused to take a slow breath. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Syla can keep her blankie. She doesn’t have to throw it away. You can tell her it’s fine. She can come out if she wants, or stay in your room if she wants, either way is fine with me.”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir.” Loki breathed out his relief. Not only he he once again escaped punishment for failing to follow orders, but Syla would not be parted from her one treasured possession. It was only a dirty old dress to Stark, but to her it was precious.

“Loki, one more thing,” Stark said, and Loki froze in place. “Try and trust me a little. OK? You can just ask me, talk to me. Talk to Jarvis. Anything! You’re not going to get in trouble for asking a question. Understand?”

Of course the only correct answer was, “Yes sir,” which is what Loki said, but he was uncertain if he did understand. Surely Stark did not want to be bothered with Loki's questions and confusion over basic, simple things that any slave should know. Stark waved him off to go give Syla the good news. When Loki came back from that happy errand, Stark was already at his place at the counter, pouring himself a glass of white wine. Loki could smack himself for not having the wine prepared. It was an hour earlier than he had planned for, but next time he would not be caught out. He would be ready.

He went behind the counter and picked up the knife. Stark was watching him, interested. “Jarvis tells me we’re having sushi,” he said. Loki’s reply was cut off by Syla’s curly head popping up over the counter, climbing up into her seat, her old dress in one hand. Loki had not told her not to interrupt their master’s meal, but even so he was surprised she would come out and sit next to the man. Before Loki could shoo her away, Stark turned to her, “Hey cutie,” he said, “you like those shoes? I wish they had them in grown up sizes but I guess they’re just for kids. You hungry? I’m hungry! Hey, you know how to use chopsticks? Let me show you.” He kept up a stream of chatter as he picked up a spare set of the narrow utensils and showed Syla how to hold them. She couldn’t do it, but she did try, her small hands fumbling with the smooth sticks. Stark smiled at her. “Yeah, it’s tricky at first. Oh, I know just the thing!” He sprang off his stool and went to rummage in one of the kitchen drawers. He pulled out a small stretchy band and a piece of paper. He quickly wrapped the band around the sticks, the folded up paper between them to connect them together like a pair of tweezers. Syla took them in one hand and clicked the sticks together. She held them up to Loki, clicking them a few times, a little smile on her face. Loki smiled back at her, confused but happy that Stark would allow the girl to sit with him, that he would give her his attention.

“Alright! We’re ready!” Stark said, holding up his own sticks and clicking them expertly in one hand, mirroring Syla's gesture. Loki jumped. That was his cue to begin. He took a deep breath. To do this well, the preparation and the presentation of the food had to be smooth, coordinated, cohesive. He could do it. It was not the type of performance he was used to, but still, he could do it. He laid out a bed of rice, pulled the fish from the cooler and carved off two slices, perfectly uniform in thickness. Loki created the little parcels and made up two plates, a twist of vegetable garnish on each, and a little dish of sauce. Holding his breath, he placed them on the counter with a soft click.

One for his master and one for his daughter. Side by side.

Chapter Text

Loki held his breath as his master ate. He had only made a single serving, he would change the next serving depending on Stark's reaction. He had multiple options ready in his mind. Extra garnish, less rice, different fish, more sauce. He was ready for anything. Loki tried not to stare as Stark picked up the bite with his eating sticks, but his attention was fully focused on him. Loki only let out his breath when Stark tapped his sticks on his empty plate.

“Awesome!” he said, “Keep it coming!” Loki glanced over and saw that Syla had eaten her fish but was poking at her rice, her little brow screwed up, her mouth pursed. Grains were not common on Jotunheim, not like the teeming fish that swam in the vast frozen oceans. Syla saw Loki watching, picked up the clump of rice and took a bite.

“Hey,” Stark said, snapping Loki’s attention back to him, “What are you eating?”

Loki, of course, was not eating anything. Not yet. He certainly would not expect to eat at the same time as he prepared his master’s food. He had planned to feed Syla and himself when Stark was finished. They would eat whatever food he did not eat. That was the way of it. Slaves got the leftovers after everyone above than them had eaten their fill. Stark for some reason was allowing Syla to eat with him, but Loki did not expect that privilege to extend to him.

“I...I will eat later, Mr Stark, Sir,” he said, unsure if that was the correct answer. He had no idea what expected behavior was in this place. He was still afraid of making a mistake and having all of this newfound luxury and safety taken away from him. And worse, taken away from Syla. He pressed his hands flat to the countertop, so that Stark would not see them tremble.

Stark looked at him, his head on one side. “You don’t like sushi?” he asked.

“I have never tried it, Sir,” Loki replied honestly.

“Oh, then now’s the time! Chop chop, make yourself one, we’ll wait.”

Stark set down his sticks and folded his arms. Syla glanced at him and copied the gesture, the little traitor. Stark grinned at her, but she quickly looked away, tucking her old tunic against her face. She was uncomfortable making direct eye contact with anyone but her Modi, and Loki knew that was because he had trained her that it was dangerous to do so. No free person would tolerate such a thing from a slave. Although, Loki noted, Stark seemed not to care at all.

Faced with such a united front, Loki had no choice but to quickly make himself another serving of the same food. He picked up the eating sticks and tried to imitate what he had seen Stark do, his fingers clumsy on the smooth wood. Stark bit his lip, amused. “Do I need to make the kiddie sticks for you too?” he said, and made as if to get up.

“That will not be necessary, Mr Stark,” Loki said primly, inwardly pleased that his master was somewhat entertained by his efforts. He had seen from the videos Jarvis had shown that the preparation of such food should be a performance. He had hoped for elegance but he would take laughter, and long as his master was pleased with him. He tried again but still could not quite get the grip right, he fumbled and the food dropped back to the plate.

“Here,” Stark said, and reached over the counter to position Loki's hand correctly. “The bottom stick stays still, only the top stick moves.”

Loki managed to pick up the bite of food in his sticks and ate it. He didn’t dare try dipping it in the sauce. Stark clapped his hands, “What do you think?” he asked, and Loki found he rather liked it, the cool taste of the fish, the sticky rice, the smear of hot wasabi between the two. And not only that, he rather liked his master’s attention, his appreciation, his amusement. The heat of his hand where he had touched Loki's fingers still vibrated on his skin, the ghost of his touch lingering.

Loki swallowed that feeling. He was here to perform, to entertain and amuse his owner while he prepared his evening meal. If Stark enjoyed his company that only meant he was performing his role correctly. He should not read anymore into it. Stark may enjoy passing the time with him while he ate, but it did not mean anything more than that.

Loki was his loyal and obedient slave, and nothing more.

Chapter Text

Loki looked at the bed. It was large, it took up a lot of space in the room he and Syla shared. It had plump pillows and soft blankets in cream and gold. Loki hitched Syla’s sleeping weight up on his hip and considered. It had been many years since he had slept on a bed like this, and Syla never had. He would dearly love to tuck Syla into that bed, to let her sink into the softness, to rest her head on a plush pillow. He pictured her big eyes widening at the sensation of luxury that she had never known. But was it for them? Loki well knew that slaves did not get such luxuries. It still made little sense to him that Stark was keeping them in this room in the penthouse. Loki looked at the bed and remembered what his master had told him. That he was allowed to ask questions. That he would not be punished for such. Even if the answer was no, he decided he would be brave and ask.

“Jarvis,” he said, his voice low, so as not to wake the sleeping child in his arms. “Could you please ask Mr Stark if Syla and I may use this bed?”

There was no pause before Jarvis responded. “You may certainly use the bed, Loki. It is there for you to use, as is everything else in your suite.”

Loki chewed on his lip. Jarvis could not have been more clear, but Loki had learned to pay attention to his instincts. He could not help but worry that there would be a price to pay. On Jotunheim, he had paid for everything. For food, for clothes, for information, for a safe place to hide Syla while Loki was occupied . Everything had a price and Loki had paid, and paid, and paid.

Casting his mind back, he could hardly remember the time when he had had such luxurious quarters of his own, with no payment required. He had had food whenever he was hungry, safety, leisure to do as he pleased. It was another life, lived by another person. It was remote from him now, he had fallen so far, and so fast. He had been thoroughly humbled, first by Odin, then by Byliestr. They had made him into the creature he was now; afraid, anxious, and pathetic. But instead of taking his own revenge, instead of humbling him further, Stark seemed to be taking another path. Giving him food, treating him kindly, giving his daughter his protection. Loki could see no reason for it and it was easy to fear that one day soon, the price would come due, and Loki would have to pay.

But what price could Stark demand, that he could not have of Loki anyway? Whatever his desire, whatever service he wanted, Loki would have no choice but to perform. Whether he slept on the floor or on this bed, Loki was his sworn slave, by Odin’s word and by his own.

He may as well use the bed.

Having made his decision, Loki pulled back the fluffy blankets and laid Syla down on the soft mattress. She was sleeping soundly and snuffled a little as he took off her light-up shoes and changed her moon dress for a set of sleeping clothes in plain yellow. He hung the moon dress on the closet door, where she would see it on waking. She still clutched the limp rag of her old tunic in her fist, and Loki let her keep it. He pulled all the blankets down and covered her with a light sheet. As much as he would love to pile the cozy covers on her and swaddle her in luxury, she was Jotun and would be far too hot. The light sheet would be perfectly comfortable for her.

Loki went to the bathroom to change his own clothes and wash before bed. When he came back, wearing a similar set of sleeping clothes to his daughter, Syla had rolled to the very center of the bed, her arms spread across the pillows. For a small girl, she took up a lot of bed-space. Loki smiled and slid into bed next to her, taking only the very edge of the large bed. Syla took more than three quarters of it. Loki didn't mind. The plush mattress under him was heavenly, the soft pillows smelled of fresh flowers, he had cozy blankets, and Syla was safe and cuddled next to him. Loki had not thought to experience such comforts. He would be sure to make himself deserving of it. The next day, he would be Stark's dedicated and attentive slave. He would be even better than he had been today. Stark had seemed to enjoy the dinner he had prepared. He had talked to him, lightly, not touching on any topics that would be painful. He had encouraged Loki’s preparation of the food and complimented the taste. He had teased Syla enough to make her giggle out loud, and had smiled warmly when she had fallen asleep at the counter with her head on her old tunic. Loki felt that he had made a small step toward securing his place with Stark. The next day, he would try to make another such step. With that thought, Loki let his eyes drift closed.

Loki woke early, before the sun was up. Syla curled up against him, her curly head for once resting on a soft pillow, instead of Loki’s bony arm. Loki slipped out of the bed and swiftly washed and dressed himself. He left the bedroom door open so that Syla might find him when she woke, and went to the penthouse living area. He opened the patio doors to let the cool early morning air in. The smells of the city did not reach so high and the chill, clean air was a refreshing balm. Loki had decided he would be ready with his master’s coffee and breakfast that morning. So far the only indication Loki had of his purpose was Stark’s order to make himself useful around the penthouse. Dinner last night had gone well, and if he wanted to keep a place here, he should continue such services.

Loki studied the coffee machine. There were a lot of dials and settings that Loki was entirely unfamiliar with. He requested Jarvis' help and in a short time he was able to make hot and cold coffee drinks, with milk, cream, and flavored syrups. He didn't yet know all the names but he would learn. Jarvis informed him that Stark only used the machine to make basic black coffee, but he also liked other kinds. He ordered all varieties at coffee shops and restaurants, but did not have the patience to make it for himself. Loki was pleased that this was an area that he could make himself useful to his master.

As the sun came up, Syla poked her head up over the counter and watched him for a while, still in her pajamas. Loki made her a small cup of warm milk with chocolate syrup, practicing with the milk steamer. She wrinkled her nose at it, “Too hot, Modi,” she said, and left it on the counter to cool off. Loki smiled to himself. She was Jotun, and had little liking for hot things. He quickly made her another cup with cold milk and took the hot one for himself. She needed the sustenance. She was still a little thing, thin and small, her bones visible under her skin. Loki would feed her as much as he could while Stark allowed it. Happy with the exchange, Syla took her drink and wandered the penthouse, looking at the objects on the shelves and pictures on the walls.

“Don’t touch anything, my little love,” Loki warned, before turning back to his self-appointed task. He would make something for Stark's breakfast, and be ready with food and a coffee drink when his master awoke. He had his head in the refrigerator when he heard Stark’s footsteps coming down the hallway. He turned to face him and greet him appropriately. But Stark wasn’t looking at him, he was looking out to the balcony, alarm clear on his face. Loki turned, a sudden bloom of panic as he saw Syla sitting out on the balcony. She had her drink by her side, her hands cupped in her lap, and a small golden butterfly dancing between them.

(Art by maniploki on tumblr)

(Art by maniploki on tumblr)

Stark spoke quietly, but quickly. “J, tell me the anti-surveillance measures are active.”

Jarvis replied “I am sorry, Sir. Anti-surveillance protocols only activate for the bifrost, and for Iron Man's take off and landing sequences.”

Stark cursed. He walked over to the doorway, his movements calm and measured, but his shoulders tight, his hands stiff by his sides. Loki held his breath.

“Hey honey,” Stark said to Syla, and she jerked her head up and slapped her hands together, far too late. “That’s a neat trick,” Stark said, “Can you come inside though?”

Syla carefully picked up her drink and came inside, calm because of Stark’s calm tone, but her eyes darted to Loki immediately. Loki knew something was wrong, and so did she. She should not have been outside. Her blue skin and red eyes were clearly visible in the dawn light. She had revealed her magic. Loki could kick himself for not paying attention to her in this new place. She had never before used her magic in the open. She had relaxed here, let her guard down. And so had he.

Stark's hands were fists at his side, his face pale, chewing his lip. He stood as though he was waiting for something. Loki did not dare speak. He stepped out from the kitchen and picked up his daughter. She still held her cup in her small hands, but she buried her face in Loki's shoulder. She was afraid of her mistake but did not know exactly what it was.

Jarvis interrupted their frozen scene, clearly what Stark had been waiting for. “Agent Romanov is detected en-route to the tower, Sir,” he said, his voice heavy. Stark flinched at that, his head sagging. Loki's mind fuzzed with fear, his heart pounding. He could remember Stark’s fury at him in his cell, yelling at him about what would happen if SHIELD knew he had an alien child in his home. Stark had hurled the word at him like a knife, and Loki had not forgotten it.

Vivisection .

Chapter Text

“How long?” Stark asked.

“Agent Romanov is approximately 12 minutes away,” Jarvis replied, “Would you like me to slow her down?”

Stark shook his head. “She doesn’t believe in coincidences,” he said, “If she hits nothing but red lights it’s only going to piss her off.” Stark’s eyes focused out beyond the room, his mind working. Loki held Syla tight in his arms. He could only hope that Stark cared enough to try and protect her from Shield. Stark had worked with Shield, they were allies, and Loki was nothing but a fallen enemy. What hope did he have? He would offer himself in Syla’s place, except that Romanov had already seen Syla, and would not forget about that. Unless...Loki gasped.

“I am a shape-shifter!” Stark’s eyes snapped to him.

“What?” He said.

“Shape-shifter! I can change my form, I can...I can make myself smaller, you can tell her it was me, give me to her instead! Please master! I mean sir! Please sir!” Syla clamped her arms and legs around Loki and clung to him with all her strength. Loki knew she understood what he was saying, and he would not have said it in front of her if he had any choice.

“Interesting,” Stark said, his finger tapping his chin, “Anything else you’re not telling me?”

Loki breath stuttered. He had not told Stark about this ability. But he had not asked! He would of course have told him if he had thought it would make him more useful, or if he had asked.

Stark shook his head, “OK, that’s for later. Are you telling me you can change your actual body to look like Syla? Not an illusion?”

Loki was babbling in his need to convince Stark that this would work. Even if Romanov took him, Syla would be safe. “No, I mean, Yes! Sir. Shape-shifting is different. It’s real, my body changes, you can touch me, it feels real. The ability is bound by the geas, but with your order I can take on any form you want!”

Stark's eyebrow rose. “Geas?” He said and Loki cursed his stupidity yet again, his panic only increasing as time ticked by and Romanov drew closer to the tower. He could hardly take a breath, a vice was tightening around his chest.

Stark furrowed his brow. “You and I are going to have a talk," he said to Loki, and Loki could do nothing but hang his head and say “Yes, Sir.” But at least if there would be consequences later, perhaps that implied that Loki still would be here in the tower to take his punishment. That was better than the alternative.

Stark turned to Syla, still clinging to Loki, her face buried in his shoulder, her eyes wet against his neck. She knew she had done something wrong, and that her Modi was at risk of getting punished for it.

“OK, Honey,” Stark said, his voice gentle, “You like hiding, right? You’re good at it. Really good. But I bet you haven’t found the best hiding place in the whole entire penthouse, have you?”

Syla raised her head, curious. Stark smiled at her, “Hey, I know this is pretty scary, but if you can be brave, everything is going to be fine. Let me show you my hiding place.”

Stark led them both back to his own bedroom, a large, bright room with floor to the ceiling windows and a large unmade bed. Loki was crawling out of his skin, a mental countdown running in his head. He took deep breaths and tried to stay calm for Syla's sake. In his heart he knew that Romanov may persuade Stark to give them up, to hand them over to Shield for experimentation, for research. He had no choice but to trust his master, trust that he would protect them. Loki wished he had had more time here to show his usefulness, he had only prepared one meal for his owner. He had enjoyed it but that was not a service that he could not get elsewhere. With more time, Loki could have served him in many ways, in his home, in his workshop, in his bed. If they got through this, Loki determined he would do everything he could to show his gratitude.

Stark opened a door in his room that led to a large closet. Racks and racks of clothes and shoes where lined up in neat rows, some tossed on the floor and in need of laundering. Loki made a note of that too.

“C’mere, kiddo,” Stark said, and Loki set Syla down. She held on to Loki's hand, but looked where Stark was pointing. Tucked behind one of the cabinets was a switch. “Go ahead,” Stark encouraged her, and she reached with the hand that held her tunic. As she clicked it, a heavy door swung open at the back of the closet. Set into the wall as part of a rack of clothes, it had been invisible. Behind the door was a small room, and Syla peeked inside, curious. There was a low bed, some cabinets, a wall of screens that currently were dull. Syla looked back to Loki, he gave her an encouraging nod. “It will be well my little love. You hide here for a time and I will fetch you when it is safe.” Syla stepped one foot over the low threshold to the secure room, then stepped back and ran to Loki. Loki knelt down to embrace her, feeling her wild heart beat in her chest, despite her calm expression. He kissed her on both cheeks. “It will be well,” he said again, “It is just for a short time.” Unshed tears shone in her eyes but she nodded and went back to the room. Sat on the low bed with her tunic clutched in both hands. Stark closed the door behind her and Loki leaned forward to watch her until the last moment, his heart hurting at her courage.

The room vanished behind the rack of clothes and Stark turned back to Loki, still kneeling on the floor of the closet.

“Up,” he said, his tone all business now that Syla was hidden away. Loki scrambled to his feet. Stark did not like to see him kneel, and Loki did not have to understand why to obey his command.

Stark took Loki back to the main room. “Show me,” he ordered and Loki closed his eyes and concentrated. Shape-shifting was harder than casting an illusion, and Loki was out of practice. Luckily he knew Syla’s form as well as he knew his own, and in less than a minute a perfect double of her was standing in the room. He noticed that the shock bracelet around his ankle shrunk in size to match his new form.

“Wow that’s creepy,” Stark muttered to himself, staring at Loki in Syla’s form. Loki privately agreed, there were few enough reasons for an adult to take on a child's form, and none of them were savory.

“Three minutes, Sir” Jarvis said, increasing the tension of the room.

“Well, no time to get our story straight. Let’s stick with the truth as much as possible. Just leave out the kid and come up with a good reason why you are in that form. She’s not going to go easy on you, and she’s an agent of Shield before she’s anything else. Don’t underestimate her.”

Loki had no intention of underestimating her. She had outwitted him before and now the stakes were far higher.

Stark spun around in place looking at every corner of the room. He took Syla's milk glass and put it in the dishwasher. There was nothing else in the room to show that a child had been there.

Loki stood in the center of the room, watching the elevator. He had to do this right, he had to be convincing. His daughter’s life depended on it, and his own as well. His master was willing to go along with this plan but he surely would not defy his allies if they found the truth and demanded the aliens be turned over to them.

Loki took a deep breath, tried to calm his buzzing nerves.

The elevator opened.

Chapter Text

Romanov walked into the penthouse, on high alert. Her eyes flicked to every corner of the room. Loki, in the form of Syla, remained where he was. Stark strolled over towards her.

“Natasha,” he said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Tony,” Romanov replied, nodding at him.She did not take her eyes off of Loki, his blue skin and red eyes drawing her gaze like a magnet. “Who’s this?” she asked, getting directly to the point.

Tony stood beside her and turned to face Loki. “This,” he said, “Is a souvenir from Jotunheim." To Loki he said, "Tell her who you are.”

Loki swallowed. Romanov had no love for him, after what he had done to her partner. But Stark had given him an order and he had to obey.

“I am Loki,” he said, in Syla’s voice. He used to have a string of titles after his name, but all that had been taken away from him. Now he was just Loki. In a blur of motion Romanov had a pistol pointed at his head. Loki was astonished that she could hold a deadly weapon on a child with such an unwavering hand. Astonished and terrified. A bullet to the head would most likely kill him in his weakened state and with his magic bound.

Stark put his hand out and nudged her gun down. “It’s fine,” he said, “He’s bound by magic, he does whatever I say.”

“Why does he look like that?” she demanded, lowering her weapon but not holstering it. She did not question that this child in front of her was actually Loki, war criminal and mass-murderer. Loki reminded himself not to underestimate her.

“Change back,” Stark ordered. Loki closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the transformation with the weight of Romanov’s gun on him. He managed it, and it was a relief when he opened his eyes back in his usual form.

“Explain,” Romanov demanded, and Tony sighed theatrically.

“OK, OK. I guess it was too much to ask to keep this under wraps. It’s kind of a wild ride though, you wanna sit down for this?”

“I prefer to stand,” She replied, “Actually, I’d prefer not to have a mass murderer loose in the room.”

Tony shrugged, “I have him under control. Wanna see?”

Romanov nodded. Loki had no time to prepare himself as Stark made a hand gesture and the shock device activated. Every muscle in Loki’s body went rigid, he crashed to the ground, white fire burning through his every nerve. He felt like he should be screaming but no sound was coming out. He was a puppet with cut strings, twitching on the floor.

It could only have been a few seconds before the device shut off, leaving him panting and shaking. He tasted copper. Stark and Romanov were talking but he couldn’t hear the words over the thump of his frantic heartbeat in his ears. He felt a toe in his ribs and forced himself to roll over, before the nudge became a kick. He looked up at his master standing over him. Out of Romanov’s sight, he gave Loki an apologetic glance. Loki didn’t care. It had to be convincing. The easiest way for Stark to convince Romanov that he had Loki under control was to demonstrate the ways that he actually did have him under control. Loki had no resentment for it. He could do it as many times as it took to persuade her.

Romanov hummed. “OK, let’s talk,” she said, “Get him out of the way.”

Stark pointed to the corner of the room. “Over there," he ordered, "On your knees, face to the wall. Hands on your head.”

Loki scrambled to obey, his limbs still shaky from the shock, his palms sweaty from fear and aftereffects of the pain. He positioned himself as ordered, eager to show how obedient he was, how well Stark had him tamed. It was an act but also it was not. It was the truth. Stark could give him such orders anytime he wished, he could shock him anytime he wished. The only reason he did not was that he did not want to. Loki could do nothing to stop him. He could only take his punishments.

Loki's kneeling position was going to get uncomfortable very fast. The hard floor dug into his knees, his lower leg around the shock device still felt like it was burning, his hands were shaking and he could barely keep his arms raised, his muscles aching already. Loki focused. If he moved he had no doubt Stark would shock him again, to demonstrate to Romanov that he was willing to keep him in line and force his obedience. Loki stared at the wall, smooth and white and featureless. Behind him, he heard Stark and Romanov arranging themselves on the comfortable chairs.

(Art by maniploki on tumblr)

Stark explained to Romanov how Loki had come to Midgard, gifted by Byliestr. He played up how little he wanted him around, but emphasized how Thor still cared for him. Thor had asked him to keep Loki while he found a more permanent situation for him. Tony’s casual tone was utterly convincing. Loki felt himself shrink down as he listened, his life and worth discussed and dismissed while he knelt silently and listened to it all. He stared at the wall, tried to make his thoughts as blank and white as that flat surface. Behind him, his master, his owner, his only protector on this entire realm dismissed him as an inconvenience. Loki’s hands shook, weak already, the effort of keeping them raised becoming too much. He focused on that, instead of on the conversation between his betters.

When Stark was done, Romanov had questions. “He’s bound by magic?” she asked.

“Uh huh. You wanna make him do something?”

Loki tensed. If Stark let Romanov command him, he would have to obey her. He had no idea what she may ask of him, and Stark was unlikely to contradict her. He could not show that he cared about Loki in any way. And of course that was true. Stark may like Syla, but he cared nothing for Loki. There was no need for him to put on an act. It was all true.

Romanov stood and walked behind Loki. Loki could hear the soft soles of her shoes, followed by Stark's heavier tread. They were close behind him. Loki could sense them from the corners of his eyes, but he did not dare turn his head.

Fear churned in Loki’s belly. Romanov had bested him before, on the helicarrier. He had not been at his best then, but he was far, far worse now. He felt thin, brittle, like she could blow on him and he would break.

“Hmmm,” she said, her voice calm and flat, “I think I’d like to hear him apologize for what he did to Barton.”

“You heard the lady,” Stark said, and Loki had no choice but to obey. It was just humiliation, it was not even pain. He had done worse on Jotunheim. Much worse. They were both watching him, waiting. Loki’s face burned, facing the blank white wall. “I apologize,” he said, his voice low, but before he could continue the spy interrupted him.

“I can’t hear you” she said, in a sing-song voice, and Stark snapped “Speak up,” so Loki had to start over. He swallowed the lump of shame in his throat. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except keeping Syla safe.

“I apologize,” he said, louder, “for what I did to Agent Barton.”

Romanov hummed, unimpressed. “Elaborate. What did you do to him?” Ah. Listing his own crimes. Loki was familiar with this game. Byliestr had enjoyed it the first years of Loki’s time with him. Listing his crimes and then being punished for them. Loki wondered if Stark would let Romanov punish him. He should, if he wanted to convince her that he had Loki well tamed. Which he did. Romanov tapped her foot, and Loki hurried to answer her.

“I took away his free-will. I made him serve me. I made him steal for me. I made him kill for me. I turned him against his allies.” Loki wracked his brain for any other crimes he had committed against Barton. In truth, he hardly recalled the man. Until the hulk had smashed his head against the hard floor that he now knelt on, everything about his invasion had been blurred, unfocused, underwater.

Luckily Romanov did not follow up with a request to his master to punish Loki for said crimes. Maybe that would come later. For now, she had more questions.

“Why were you in that other form?”

Loki swallowed. He had to be convincing now. “I thought Mr Stark may...prefer me that way.” he said, glad he could not see either of them. Stark would no doubt be angry with him for implying such a thing, for even hinting at it. Loki knew it was one of the few things that was almost universally despised, across all the realms.

Romanov made a sound of disgust, “You think he’s into kids?” she said, incredulous.

Loki hung his head. “I did not know...he was not interested in me...as I am. Or in female form.” That was a white lie, Loki had no male or female form as Midgardian’s would understand it, both were one and the same.

“You’re trying to seduce him?” Romanov asked, her voice back under control again. Loki nodded. Of course he was! He was desperate to be useful, to be valuable, to be wanted here. If Stark would use him as a bedwarmer, he would be glad of it. He would welcome it.

Stark made a choked noise, “Is that what that was? Holy shit.”

Loki hung his head. He knew he was unappealing. Too thin, marks of previous use all over his body, his long hair lank and unkempt. He was hardly what someone as wealthy as Stark would prefer. His eyes were wet, spilling down his cheeks. Surely Romanov could see how pathetic he was, how broken, how harmless. He prayed she would leave him be, leave Stark to keep him in line and use him as he saw fit.

“Listen Romanov,” Stark said, “I know I should have told you, but Thor’s gonna be back soon enough to take him off my hands. Leave him here, I’ll run tests and share the results with Shield. He’s not gonna do any harm now. Jotenheim is a...it’s a tough place, and he got the sharp end of it for years. He's not the same. He's a pain in the ass to have around, but he's not dangerous.”

Loki was shoved from behind, Romanov’s knee in his back. He didn't resist. She pushed him up against the wall, the pressure on his back adding to his other pains. His face was pressed to the wall, her fist in his hair would not allow him to turn his head. His hands slipped from his head and pressed against the wall each side of his face, not resisting. He must not. He would submit to this, let her do what she was going to do. He was in her hands, and his master was going to let him stay there. Cold metal pressed against the back of his head. Her pistol. If she pulled the trigger at this range, he would die. His breath was coming fast, too fast to catch, his pulse racing. All he could see was white, the white of the wall, the white of his eyes blurred with tears and panic. Stark would save him. Loki had no one else. Could not hope for mercy except from his master. He would not fight. He would not resist. He had to let himself fall, praying only that his master would catch him, that he had some use for him. It was all he could do. He waited, panting for breath, submissive, obedient, the gun to his head.

Romanov spoke, her voice cool, "I could fix this for you right now," she offered.

Loki could hear tension in Stark's voice, and no doubt Romanov could hear it too. "Put that away. Thor left him with me. I'd rather not have to give back a corpse."

"Interesting," Romanov said, but she released Loki from her hold and lowered her gun. Loki slumped to the floor, unable to stay upright anymore.

He stayed where he had fallen while Stark spoke further with Romanov, then walked her to the elevator. When she was gone, Stark stood in the center of the room and waited until Jarvis said, "Agent Romanov has left the building, Sir."

Only then did he relax. He came over to where Loki lay. He did not order him up. Instead he sat on the floor next to him. Loki was shaking like a leaf in a gale, his eyes wide and staring, his heart still pounding out of his chest.

"You OK?" Stark asked, and Loki tried to gather his scattered mind and respond. Was he OK? Of course he was not, he had not been OK for a long, long time. But his master did not really care about that, of course. That was Loki's cue to pull himself together and get up. This was hardly the worst punishment he had endured. It was mild, compared to some. Loki's mind flashed to the pillory again, which had become his measuring stick for all other tortures. Compared to that, what had just happened was nothing. It was nothing. It was time for him to get up, and serve his master.

"Yes Sir," he said, "Yes, I am well." Of course he was.

He had to be.

Chapter Text

“Go get your kid,” Stark said, and Loki pushed himself to his feet to obey. He staggered a little, his muscles still jumpy and weak from the shock, his left leg stiff and throbbing. He tried to calm his breathing as he limped to Stark’s bedroom. Syla would know something had happened. He was a mess, sweaty, jumpy, stumbling. He did not want to upset her, but equally he would not leave her alone in the secret room until he had gathered himself. He needed to see her, and for her to know that her Modi was safe.

He activated the switch and the door opened. Syla’s face peeked around the door, uncertain. When she saw Loki she leapt into his arms, and Loki hurriedly sat down to hold her. He was sure he could not hold her weight in his shaking arms. He wrapped his arms around her, his breath short.

“All is well, my little love. You were very brave. Very brave.” Syla clung to him, her arms tight around his neck. Loki sat with her for a time, as long as he dared. They were safe. Stark had protected them both. They were safe. Loki had had such high intentions for the day. That he would make breakfast and show his usefulness to his owner. Instead he had been shocked, humiliated, threatened. But at the end of it, they were still safe, and that is all that mattered. Perhaps he still could recover something of this day. Stark needed to eat, did he not? It was still early, he could cook for him, make him coffee.

Syla interrupted Loki's twisting chain of thoughts with her small hand on his cheek, her serious face looking into his. “Hurt?” she asked, her brow furrowed. Loki hated that she knew to ask him that. Often enough on Jotunheim he would stumble back to one of his sleeping places, weak and bleeding from a beating or just from hard use. Syla would find him and ask him that question. He could not hide from her, could not lie to her. She knew. He nodded. “A little,” he said, “only a little, my love. It was not your fault.” That was true. She had not known not to go outside. Loki had left the door open. It was his fault, not hers. Syla looked at him, her eyes brimming, knowing too much for her young age.

(Art by Leones mountain art on tumblr)

They had lingered long enough. Stark was probably waiting. Loki took a deep breath and stood, Syla in his arms. Loki decided he would make breakfast, or at least make Stark a coffee drink, to show that he had not been idle all morning. In the penthouse, Stark was still sitting on the floor, staring into space. He looked up, startled, when Loki and Syla entered. Loki was about to offer to make breakfast when Syla wiggled around in his arms.

“Hurt,” she said, one hand making a grabbing motion to Stark, “Modi hurt.”

Stark shook himself and stood up, “Yeah of course,” he said, ‘Sorry, I was just zoning out there. Your leg?”

Loki nodded, unsure what was happening. Of course he was hurt, his master had just hurt him. He had triggered the shock device and watched him writhe on the floor. It was not overly painful, certainly not enough that Loki could not work. But Stark had already left the room. Loki stood, uncertain, before he set Syla down and went to the kitchen. Syla climbed up on her stool and sat herself there, already confident of her place. Loki could only wish he could be so self-assured.

Stark bustled back, a red bag in his hand. “Ok, sit,” he told Loki, and pointed to the countertop. Loki was puzzled, but he did as he was told, hoisted himself up and sat on the countertop. Syla leaned over his shoulder, watching, her arms around Loki’s neck from behind. Stark opened the bag and Loki realized it was a healing kit. Stark rolled up the leg of Loki’s pants, revealing the shock device and the red, sore skin under and around it. The burn went almost to his knee. Stark studied it for a moment, “Hmmm...must be more susceptible to electricity,” he said to himself. “This is a decent burn, I’ll need to adjust the amperage, make sure it doesn’t do that...” While he was talking, Stark put his hand on the shock device and it fell away in his hand. He wrapped it around Loki’s other ankle, giving Loki an apologetic look. Loki didn’t say anything, he would not expect anything else. Stark had probably saved him from Shield's hands by using the shock device on him, Loki had no objection to keeping it on.

Stark took a cooling gel from the healing kit and coated the burned area with a thin layer. His hands were deft and sure, he was fast but gentle. Loki felt the effect immediately, a soothing cool balm on his burned skin. Stark gave him the jar, “Keep it, use it whenever it starts to hurt again. You may want to put on looser pants, so those jeans don’t irritate the skin.”

Loki could say nothing but, "Yes sir.” When Stark went to put away the healing kit, Loki took the jar of gel to his bathroom, and changed his day-wear for his loose, soft pajama pants. He was unsure what was happening. Stark had treated the injury that he had caused. He had no need to do such a thing, Loki could work, and had worked with much worse injuries. He would go back out to the penthouse and begin with this tasks for the day.

But out in the penthouse, Stark and Syla had other ideas. Stark was pulling food out of the pantry and refrigerator. Syla was running backward and forwards to the low table in the living area, piling everything up, one item as a time.

“Better?” Stark asked and Loki nodded, before he remembered his place, and said “Yes sir. Thank you sir,” instead. He may be confused but he still knew how to address his owner.

“Cool. I know we need to talk about ...oh a whole bunch of stuff, but I’m kinda freaked out right now, so how about some breakfast and a kids movie before we do anything else? I’m thinking Moana?”

Loki had no idea what that was, but if it was what Stark wanted, he would of course agree. The pile of food on the low table was quickly completed, and Stark ushered them both over to sit down. Stark piled up two plates with fruit, meat, cheese and bread. He handed one to Syla and one to Loki before starting on his own.

Syla perched on the couch next to Stark and he grinned at her. She looked down at her plate in her lap, ready to eat, Loki took his own plate and sat on the floor, his back to the couch. He didn't know how to feel about his master serving him a plate of food. He knew it was wrong, and dangerous, but at the same time, the gesture filled his chest with a feeling he could not describe.

“Eat whatever you want,” Stark cautioned him. “Both of you. Eat whatever you want, leave whatever you don't want.”

The big screen in front of them lit up and music began. The movie was a Midgardian entertainment. Loki was not expecting to enjoy it, but the music and the visuals and the storyline captured him from the very beginning. The glanced up at Stark when Maui was introduced. A warrior, a trickster, a shapeshifter ...all things that could once have described Loki himself. Stark’s lip twitched and he nodded back to the screen, telling Loki to watch. Loki did, nibbling from his plate, glad to watch the screen and let the stress and tension of the morning drain away. He would have to face it soon, but not yet. Not yet.

Syla loved the movie. She had never seen anything like it in her life. Jotun entertainment was of the storytelling and singing variety, it could be lively, but Syla had only ever seen it from afar, and the music was nothing like this. Syla sat in the front center of the couch, her eyes wide and fixed on the screen, forgetting even to eat. Loki took her onto his lap and fed her little bites as she watched. She needed to eat, to build up her strength.

Loki was enjoying the movie, but the calm, his full belly, the music and the soft rug he was sitting on all conspired to weigh down his eyes. It was the release of tension, the panic and stress draining away. He blinked rapidly, rubbed his face. He could not fall asleep, that was not his purpose here. Syla cuddled up in his arms, her eyes fixed on the screen as the adventure unfolded. Loki expected the young heroine would prevail, defeat Maui and Te Ka and save her people. It was how such tales tended to go, especially tales for children. He let the story develop before him, allowing himself to enjoy it. He was where he was supposed to be, his master had put him here, to watch this entertainment and to eat. Loki did not need to understand why, he only needed to obey. His eyes felt heavy, and Loki’s last thought was that he should ask his master if he wanted any more coffee.

Loki drifted. He was comfortable, music was playing, the weight of his daughter was in his arms. His head tipped to one side, rested on some convenient surface. He could close his eyes for a moment. He was safe here.

Chapter Text

Loki awoke to a quiet room and a blank screen. He took a moment to place where he was. Syla was asleep on his lap, he had fallen asleep with his back to the couch, his head resting on...Loki’s heart stopped. His head was resting on his master’s knee.

“Hey, it’s OK. It’s OK. Don’t freak out. Just breathe.”

Stark voice came from behind him, slow and even, as though he was soothing a panicky animal. Loki raised his head, trying to breathe as he had been told. He had been using Stark’s knee as a pillow. How had he let such a thing happen! And why had Stark allowed it? Why even had he let himself fall asleep? He had been told to watch the movie, not to indulge himself with additional rest that he had not earned and did not deserve. Loki breathed. Berating himself would not help. He could only apologize and hope to be forgiven.

“I apologize...” he began, but as soon as the words left his lips he was back facing the white wall, saying those same words at Romanov’s command, her finger on the trigger of her gun, ready to end his life, ready to leave his daughter an orphan on a hostile realm. He choked on the words and Stark said, “Shhhh, it’s OK. It’s fine. You’re safe. Syla is safe.”

Loki hugged his sleeping child to him, breathing her scent. Trying to calm himself. She was safe, safe in his arms and under his master’s protection. Stark had saved her. He had hidden her from SHIELD and his allies, and Loki did not know what to do with that realization. Stark was her protector. He knew that should be his role, as her parent, but he was not capable of it. He had no power here, no ability to shield her from harm, or even shield himself. The only thing he could do was please his master and hope to keep his goodwill.

Loki was glad he was on the floor. Stark did not like him to kneel, but sitting at his feet seemed to be acceptable. Loki turned, careful not to disturb Syla’s sleep. He looked up at Stark, “Thank you Sir,” he said, “Thank you for what you did today. I am grateful to you. Is there anything I can do for you? Any service I can perform?”

Stark looked at him, his eyes searching. Loki dropped his gaze but Stark put his hand under his chin and tipped his head back up. “Look at me,” he ordered, and Loki did.

(Art by maniploki on tumblr)

“Loki,” Stark said, “I’m sorry I had to shock you today. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Loki tried to process that. Stark, of course, could do anything he wanted to him. He had no need to apologize. His actions had belayed Romanov suspicions and resulted in Loki and Syla remaining with Stark instead of being taken away, separated, used as research subjects, or worse. Compared to that, Stark could shock him as often as he wished.

“You protected us,” Loki said, glancing down at the girl in his arms. “you protected her.” He felt a swell of emotion in his chest. “You did not have to do any such thing. No one else has done any such thing in… in many years.” He wiped his hand over his face.

Stark looked away, shifted in his seat. “I just did what any decent person would do,” he said.

Loki looked up at him. Could he truly not know what a gift he had given them? Did he think that just anyone would do the same? “There are less such people on the nine realms than you may think, Mr Stark, Sir,” he replied.

Stark pressed his lips together at that, but he did not deny it.

“C'mere. Let her sleep for a while.” Stark stood and walked to the other side of the room, a small nook with several low chairs. Loki laid Syla on the couch and followed. Loki sat on the chair Stark pointed him to, opposite his master.

It was time to talk.

“OK," Stark began, taking a deep breath, "Where do you want to start? The geas? The shape-shifting? The fact that you're apparently trying to seduce me? Romanov threatening to kill you? Syla doing magic? Did I forget anything? Oh! Shield knows you're here and I promised them test results."

Loki hung his head at Stark's words. It was only his second day on this realm and already his master had such a list. Loki had intended to be good, to be useful, to be valuable, but it seemed he was exactly the opposite.

“Let's start with the easy one.” Stark said, leaning forward in his chair. “I am pretty sure I already told you I'm not going to rape you. Let me repeat myself. I'm not going to rape you. That includes you taking on other forms, and that includes seduction. Got it?”

Loki stared at him. His confusion must have been clear on his face because Stark sighed. “Look, it's pretty clear what Byliestr was doing to you. I want you to know that that's not going to happen here. I'm not going to do the same. It's off the table. You don't have to be afraid of that.”

Loki grasped that last sentence, at least. “Sir, I am not afraid...I am willing! I am willing to serve you in any way. If you give me a chance you will see...I will perform for you! Whatever you desire! I can change my form, I will...” Loki stopped when Stark held up his hand. Stark took a deep breath. Then another.

“Who am I, Loki?” He asked, and Loki tried to follow the abrupt subject change.

“You are...my master.” He ventured, but that was not the answer Stark wanted. He gestured for Loki to continue.

“You are Antony Stark of Midgard.”

Stark nodded, “What else,” he said.

“You are...the Iron Man.” Loki knew he was not providing the correct answers, and he didn't understand Stark's questions. Why was he asking such things?

Stark nodded. “Yes. All those things, and more. I'm a billionaire. I own multiple companies. I have military connections. I have political connections. I am one of the most well known people on this planet. One of the richest. One of the most powerful.”

Loki shrank back as Stark listed off the many ways he was superior. Loki had none of those things, no money, no connections, no power of any kind. But Stark had not yet arrived at his point.

“Loki. If I wanted to fuck someone who couldn't say no to me, I would already be doing it. You understand? If I wanted that, I would already have it. I know how the world works. This world at least. I'm pretty much untouchable. If I wanted a ...” he paused to search for the right words "...if I wanted a sex-slave, I would already have one."

Loki tried to wrap his head around that. That Stark, with all his power, did not want such things.

Stark smiled at him and shrugged. “I'm not into it.” He said, simply, as though that explained anything. “I'm not into it. I don't want it. Pepper put me in my place for two years before she even let me kiss her on the cheek!” He smiled for a moment, a fond memory. “So put that out of your mind, OK Loki? It's not happening.”

Loki nodded slowly. A burden he didn't know he had been carrying lifted from his shoulders. He would have called himself willing. Willing to submit to his owner's desires. Willing to perform whatever acts he was ordered to. Willing for his body to be used for his master's pleasure. But now, knowing that Stark had no wish for that service, Loki felt nothing but relief. There was no part of his body that had not been so used on Jotunheim. Nothing of him had been spared. Byliestr had been free with his favors, and his punishments, which from Loki's perspective were often one and the same. Loki had suffered years of such treatment.

Now, he realized that it was over.

Loki looked at his master “I understand, Mr Stark, Sir,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. "I understand. Thank you."

Stark nodded at him, leaned over and handed him a soft square of paper handkerchief. Loki wiped his face, and they sat in silence together.

Chapter Text

“Tell me about the geas,” Stark ordered.

Loki wondered how to explain to this Midgardian, a man of technology, of science, what Odin had done to him. His sentence was not just servitude, but also obedience . He had been sold as a slave and he was forced to act like one. Loki clasped his hands together in his lap, glanced over at Syla still sleeping soundly on Stark's plush couch.

He would try. Stark had ordered him to explain, and so he did. “The geas was laid on me by Odin. It is sealed with the power of the Odinforce. It will persist after his death. It… It binds my magic and forces me to obey any orders spoken by my … by my owner.” Loki hung his head, ashamed to confess to being bound in such a way, by a man he had thought was his father. Such a punishment was rarely imposed. A sentence of prison or the lash, or a financial penalty. All were common. But not this. Only the lowest and most heinous of criminals were sentenced to servitude and none were bound with magic the way Loki was.

Stark hummed. “So… You have to obey me.”

Loki nodded. "Yes, Sir."

“What happens if you don't?”

“It is not a choice. If you order me, I must obey.”

“What if you resist?”

Loki tried again to explain. He knew it was hard for Stark to understand. He had no experience with magic. Loki put his hand on his chest. “Could you resist the beating of your heart? It is like that. It is a compulsion. I must obey. I can't not. It was unsettling, horrifying, at first, like being a puppet on a string. A prisoner in my body." Loki shivered at the memory of those first months in Byleistr's fortress. Fighting for a moment of control, for any moment of respite from pain and humiliation, but finding none. He shook off the memory and carried on, "I am accustomed to it now. If I...if I am well behaved and obedient, it does not trigger so often. If I anticipate my Master's needs, I will not be ordered to perform.”

Stark nodded. Perhaps he understood now why Loki had been so desperate to be useful, to find some tasks he could do to please his master. It was better that way. If he was going to do the work anyway, it was better to do it willingly, than to resist and be ordered, helplessly obedient.

“How do you know what's an order?” Stark asked, “Do I have to say I order you ...or…”

Loki shook his head. “Anything you say is an order, Sir,” he said, surprised Stark would not realize such a thing. Slaves obeyed. They jumped as soon as their master looked in their direction.

Stark opened his eyes wide, struck by a thought, “Are you… are you obeying me right now? I mean, forced to by the geas?”

Loki considered. It was hard for him now to separate out his own anticipation and desire to please, from his master's actual instructions.

He nodded. “Yes, sir.” Stark looked sick at the thought.

“Um… What… What have I ordered you to do?” Stark asked, his voice low, an edge to it, as though he dreaded the answer.

Loki rushed to reassure him, “You are much more averse to giving orders than…than my previous master. You are indirect. It allows me more freedom. But you did give me some orders. Just a few.” Loki thought back, tried to identify the compulsion of the geas distinct from his own fear and his urgent need to be good, and useful. “You forbade me to kneel to you. You told me to make myself useful in the penthouse. You told me not to lie to you. I do not think there is anything else. Not that is still in effect.”

“OK” Stark looked relieved, he had not ordered Loki to do anything too terrible. “OK that's not too bad. But cancel all of those. They're rescinded. They're not orders anymore. I mean, I would prefer it if you didn't kneel, and if you didn't lie. But, I guess it's your decision."

Loki shivered as he felt the commands release him. He hated how little awareness he had of the orders that held him under the geas' control. The geas just steered him away, convincing him that he did not want to do what was forbidden. It was subtle, and it was scary. To have his mind warped around the power of the geas as much as his body was.

Stark sat forward on his chair, looked Loki in the eye. "Listen. I get that you did bad stuff. And crimes should be punished. But..um… I'm not on board with slavery. As a concept. Especially this geas. This magical bondage.”

Loki looked at him. He did not like slavery? “What of your other slaves, Mr Stark.? Those that are not under a geas?”

Stark jerked his head up and stared at Loki. “My what?” he said.

Loki leaned back, worried he had misstepped. “Your other slaves, Mr Stark. Those who work in your companies, care for your home….” Loki trailed off, he had been going to say 'warm your bed’ but that was not something that Stark was interested in.

Stark flailed his arms, “This is not Asgard! It's not Jotunheim. We don't do that here! Slavery has been illegal here for...a long time! How long, Jarvis?”

Jarvis' voice came from the air, calm and cool as ever. “The 13th amendment abolished slavery, except as a punishment for a crime, in 1864, sir.”

Loki was not surprised. Most slaves were being punished for some crime. Criminals, debtors, those captured in battle. Slaves were the lowest of the low, that is what made them useful. They could be put to any use. Made to do work that decent people would not do.

”That’s, um, what, J?” Stark looked at the ceiling.

“Slavery was abolished in 1864, except as punishment for a crime, Sir.”

“Seriously?” Stark sounded shocked. Perhaps it was a punishment rarely imposed on Midgard. But Loki had been tried and sentenced by Odin himself. His servitude was the punishment for his crimes, and as such was legal, even on Midgard. Jarvis had confirmed it.

‘Well…” Stark said, taken aback. He visibly filed that away to think about later. “OK...but Loki. I don’t have slaves. I pay people to do all that stuff, to work for me, I have employees. I have a housekeeper, who is on vacation right now, I have a driver, a laundry service...I pay them. I don’t have any slaves.”

“You have me, Sir.” Loki said, his voice small, quiet, wanting to be acknowledged. To be claimed. If he belonged to Stark, that meant he belonged here, in this penthouse, in the room Stark had given him. More that that, it meant that Syla belonged here. It meant that his oath was accepted and that his daughter had Stark’s protection. His protection, and the comforts that he provided seemingly without thinking. Loki held his breath until Stark replied.

Stark leaned back in his chair, ran his fingers through his messy hair. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I do. I do have you.”

Chapter Text

Both men were glad when Syla woke and distracted them from their conversation. Stark seemed lost in thought, and Loki was overwhelmed by the events of that morning. Too much was happening and he had no time to process it. Syla stretched, rolled off the couch and trotted over to them, her old tunic still in her hand. She looked between them both, sitting together on soft chairs, then pointed to a third chair with a meaningful look. Stark snapped out of his reverie and pulled it over to their group, making a little circle. Syla climbed up into the chair and sat, her feet just poking off the end, mimicking the pose of the two adults. She looked at them, curious, waiting for them to continue whatever they had been doing, that she was now a part of.

Loki glanced at Stark. Did he think the child too forward? But Stark was smiling fondly at Syla, unconcerned that that all three of them now sat together, on the same chairs, as equals.

“Hey cutie,” Stark said, “How’re you doing? You have a good sleep?”

Syla shrugged. She had been sleeping more since arriving on Midgard, sleeping at night and during the day. Loki could only hope it was a good thing, that finally she was able to get the rest she needed. Rest and food both.

Stark tried again, his patience seemingly unlimited. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, making himself more Syla’s height.

“So did you like that movie?” That got her attention. She sat up straight and nodded enthusiastically.

“What was your favorite part?”

Syla’s face wrinkled as she thought about it. “Music!” she declared.

“Oh yeah! The music was awesome! Let me tell you something, if you wanna just hear the music, you can ask Jarvis to play it for you. You wanna try?”

Syla’s face lit up. She nodded and looked up. “Music please?” she asked, and Stark hid his smile.

“Of course Miss Syla,” The smooth voice of Jarvis was replaced by the opening music of the movie. Syla bounced in her seat, hiding her face with her tunic, too excited to be shy, but too shy to show her face.

Stark was not yet done. “You know something else?" He asked, "If you walk around the penthouse, the music will follow you. It’s like your own personal soundtrack.”

Syla wriggled down from her chair and walked to the other side of the room. The music followed her. She ran back , the music followed her. She ran down the hallway and back, chased by her music, and Loki saw her face. She looked like a child. Like a little child, with a big smile and without any cares, in her soft yellow sleeping clothes, running barefoot around this beautiful, safe home, with a full belly, without any fear.

(Art by Leone on tumblr)

Almost physically Loki was transported back in time, to when he had had this, he had been that child, safe and loved and carefree. His time with his other children also, too short, but happy while it had been allowed to last. It had all been a lie, his own childhood and the childhood he had tried to give his children. Just as Syla’s pleasure in this moment was. A lie, because she was not safe, not forever. Her safety and happiness balanced on the goodwill of his master, and at any moment it could be taken away. Stark could decide he no longer wanted them in his home. He could turn them over to Shield. Byliestr could demand the return of his property. Syla was stolen from him, after all. So many things could go wrong, to take away her happiness. Stark had given it to her, and he could take it away just as easily. Loki would do anything to keep this for her. He would be a good slave. Loyal and obedient. That was all he could do.

Stark had claimed him. He had acknowledged him as his slave, but Loki still did not know what his purpose would be. Stark had told him he would not be used for his master’s pleasure, and he had rescinded his order that he was to be useful about the penthouse. Loki was sure that he was not living in the penthouse simply to keep his master company, so there must be some purpose he could fulfill.

Before Loki could broach the subject, Stark stood up. “OK,” he said, “I think that’s enough conversation for now. I’m gonna to go to the lab. You guys…” Stark paused, his eyes focused far away for a moment before snapping back. “You guys can do pretty much what you want in here. Try to stay out of trouble. If you’re not sure about something you can ask Jarvis.” He paused between each sentence, thinking through the next sentence before speaking. “You can eat whatever you want. You can watch movies if you want. Just don't...” he cut himself off, paused and started again, “It’s not a good idea to leave the penthouse or go on the balcony.”

Loki nodded. “Yes Sir, thank you, Sir,” he said. He noticed Stark’s careful phrasing. Indirect, suggestive rather than giving orders. Giving Loki the most leeway he could, rather than weaving an inescapable trap with his words as Byliestr had liked to do. Of course, Loki would not leave the penthouse anyway. And after his experience at Romanov’s hands he would not go out on the balcony, or allow Syla to go out their either.

Stark waved at Syla as she zoomed past in a cloud of music and headed for the elevator, leaving Loki and Syla alone in the penthouse.

Loki sat for a while, watching his daughter play. Syla noticed him watching her and held her arms up to be carried. Loki walked around the penthouse with her cuddled in his arms, pointing in the direction she wanted to go, ensuring the music would follow them. Loki gently kissed her, rocking her as he walked, relishing the time with her. It was rare for them to simply spend time without fear of being discovered and without Loki having to rush away to attend to his work. Loki was glad to be with her, but at the same time, without tasks to complete he felt aimless. He felt flat. He had fought and struggled every day for so many years, now he had some semblance of safety and comfort, he did not know what to do. He could hardly remember what he used to do with his time, in his previous life. All he knew now was to obey orders, to serve, to anticipate his owners desires and try to meet them. Syla was the only light in his life.

(Lineart by Leone's Mountain Art on Facebook, color by me!)

The girl wiggled in his arms and Loki set her down. He was moving too slowly for her and she rushed off by herself again. Loki paced the apartment, unsure what to do. His hands went to the metal ring around his neck. It was round and narrow, fixed around his neck by the Joton cold welding method, smooth and seamless. Byliestr had used it to leash him, to drag him, to hold him where he wanted him. Loki was used to the weight of it, after so many years. He wondered what Stark thought of it. His new owner liked shinier metals, he liked red and gold, not dull iron. Loki wondered if one day he would replace it with a collar of his own. Something in his own colors and style. Something to show his ownership of Loki, that was more pleasing to his eye, as he had done with the clothes.

Loki would hardly mind being remade in a manner more pleasing to his owner. It would only make him safer, and in turn make Syla safer. He was glad Stark had claimed him, had named him his slave. He would keep him. Keep them both. That is all Loki wanted, for them to be here, and to be safe

Loki decided he would cook dinner that evening. Stark had rescinded his order to make himself useful, but he had not forbidden it. So Loki would do so. It is what a good slave would do. But perhaps first he could rest. He was still shaky from the events of that morning, the shock device, the threats, the fear. He had too much to process in such a short time, Stark's questions, the abrupt change in his situation, in the expectations, in his behavior. Everything weighed on him, he did not know what to think about first.

Before he let himself rest, he cleaned the living area of any crumbs from their breakfast. Then to ensure he was not slacking off, to ensure he had earned some rest should his master check on him, he cleaned the kitchen as well. Syla was padding backward and forwards from the kitchen to their room, the music following her. He worked around her and let her continue her game.

When everything was spotless he allowed himself to sit down, in what he now thought of as his spot, on the floor by the couch. The rug was soft and warm, and he could lean back against the furniture. He would just rest for a little while, then he would plan and prepare his master’s evening meal. Loki's head slumped against the arm of the couch, and his eyes drifted closed.

Chapter Text

It was dark in the penthouse when Loki awoke. He snapped out of his warm doze and looked around, horrified. He had slept the entire day away! He had done nothing! Worse, he smelled food and realized he was too late to cook dinner as he had planned. Stark would not be happy with him, lazing around sleeping when he should have been working.

“Hey, you're awake,” his master's voice came from the kitchen.

Loki tried to scramble to his feet, but Stark waved him back down and walked over with a large, flat, cardboard box. He set it down, sat on the floor opposite Loki and flipped the lid open. The box contained a kind of flatbread covered with cheese and pieces of meat and vegetables. Stark demonstrated that it was supposed to be eaten with one’s hands. At Stark's nod, Loki took a piece and nibbled the edge. It was not a taste he was familiar with, and he was not sure about it, rich and greasy, so unlike the fresh fish they had eaten the day before. Still, he knew well enough not to turn down food, and he had eaten far worse on Jotunheim. He took another bite.

“Syla's asleep,” Stark said, talking around his food. “She was playing in your room and I went to check on her a while back and she was fast asleep. Guess she needs it. And you too, sleepyhead.”

Loki opened his mouth to apologize for his lapse but Stark waved his hand. “It's OK. When I got back from...a bad situation, I wanted to sleep all the time too. I couldn't tell day from night. I would sleep and wake up and drink and sleep some more. My short term memory was shot to shit, I thought I was in control but I wasn't. I was fucked up. You two have come from a far worse situation, so it's going to take time to recover, you know? Try to give yourself a break.”

Loki didn't know what to say to that. He had no idea what type of bad situation Stark could have experienced that could compare to Jotunheim. He was grateful for his kindness, but he could not take time to recover, not when there was work to do. If only he knew what kind of work Stark wanted from him! Stark seemed in a good mood, so Loki decided to risk asking.

“Sir, may I ask you a question?”

Stark looked up from his second piece of the flatbread. “Uh huh, yes and also yes in perpetuity. What’s the question?”

Loki formed his question before he spoke. He was not want to be insulting, to imply that Stark was not a good owner, because he was. He was far, far better an owner that Byliestr or even anyone on Asgard that had kept slaves. None of them, even fine lords and ladies that Loki had known and respected, would have sat down on the floor to eat with a slave. And, Loki acknowledged, he himself likely would not have done so either. But it was too risky for him not to know his purpose, and so he dared to ask.

“Sir, what is my purpose here? What duties do you wish me to perform? How can I...how can I be of service to you?” Loki looked down at his hands as he asked. He could only hope Stark had some reason for keeping him and it was not going to be too unpleasant a duty to fulfill. It was kind of Stark to let him rest and recover, but he was able to work, and he needed to let his master know that he was going to keep his oath.

Stark finished the food he had in his hand before answering. “Loki, I’ll be honest with you. I’m making it up as I go along here. I went to Jotunheim to make a trade agreement, not to pick up a slave, especially not one who destroyed large sections of New York five years ago. And his kid.” Loki’s heart sank as Stark spoke. He had no purpose. There was little more dangerous for a slave, than to be unwanted. Unwanted slaves were sold. They went unfed. They were nothing but a burden on their owner.

Stark took another bite of food and chewed before continuing. “But, now you’re here. And Syla is here. And I’m kinda responsible for you. It’s not like I’m going to turn you over to SHIELD, as long as you’re behaving yourself. So I guess we need to figure out what happens next. I’m still kinda hoping Thor’s gonna come back and wave his magic hammer and figure something out, but that doesn't seem very likely, does it?”

Loki agreed. Unless Thor could persuade the Allfather to lift the geas, the best Thor could do would be to take him to another master, or to claim him as his slave himself. Somehow, Loki could not see that going well, especially under the Allfather’s nose on Asgard. He explained that to Stark, who nodded.

“Yeah, since you told me about the geas I’ve been thinking the same. That it’s me or someone else until Thor can get it off you. So let me ask you. Is there someone else you’d want to...take care of you?”

“No!” Loki shook his head, thinking his many untrustworthy acquaintances and associates on many realms. Fun, clever, useful, they were, but trustworthy, they were not. “No, Sir! I want to stay with you! I can be useful! I can do many things for you, I can cook, I can clean, my magic is at your command, I can fight, if you wish me to! I gave you my oath! Please do not give me away!”

Stark's eyes flicked back to Loki, and he chewed his lip, thoughtful. “Your oath,” he said, slowly. “Tell me about that.”

“When you bought me here,” Loki said, wondering if this was a trick of some kind, “when you found Syla and you told me what...what Shield would do to her if they found her.” Vivisection, Loki’s memory unhelpfully supplied. “I gave you my oath of service, in exchange for your mercy and protection for her. I named the Norns. It is...it is not an oath that can be broken.”

Stark’s eyes widened at that, “This is not the same as the geas, right?” Loki shook his head. He was bound in many ways, bound to Stark’s service. The geas, the oath, the shock device, all bound him and kept him in his role. All he asked was to know what that role meant. How to perform it well.

Stark rubbed his face, the food forgotten. “OK, so even if Thor can break the geas, your oath is still a factor?” Loki nodded.

“Can I free you of it?” Loki shook his head, afraid of the very idea. The only way to break the oath would be for Stark to withdraw his protection and mercy for Syla. If he did that, Loki would not longer be obliged to serve him. But Stark was the only one keeping Syla safe. He was her protector!

“Sir,” he said, trying not to show his shock at Stark ignorance of the Norns, “Sir, I spoke the names of the Norns! If I do not honor my oath their vengeance will be terrible! No one breaks an oath to the Norns who does not bitterly regret it until their dying day! Please do not ask me to! I am your loyal and obedient slave. With or without the geas. Will you not...will you not find some use for me?”

Stark held up his hand, and Loki, recognizing the gesture, shut his mouth immediately.

Stark took a deep breath, and Loki waited. “OK Loki," He said finally, "This is a lot of information to take in. A lot of changes. For both of us. For all three of us. So here’s my suggestion. Let’s take some time...say one week. We’ll wait for Thor to come back. You and Syla need to rest and recover. If it makes you feel better, I’ll find some things for you to do every day. We’ll all just chill for one week. How does that sound?”

Loki relaxed. He nodded, “Yes Sir,” he said, “Thank you, Sir.” The knot of anxiety and stress left his body. Stark was going to find work for him to do. He would be able to show him how useful he could be.

He would have one week to prove himself. One week to prove himself a worthy slave. He would not fail. He could not. His daughter's life depended on it.

Chapter Text

Loki awoke early the next morning in a lighter mood. He had seven days to impress Stark, and this was only the first one. He left Syla sleeping while he showered and dressed. He made an effort to brush out his hair, and on a whim he tied it back in a ponytail. Byliestr had liked it loose but Stark had not expressed any preference, so Loki would make the decision for himself. The burn on his leg from the shock device was almost healed, so Loki applied a final layer of the cooling gel. He dressed in dark blue pants and a simple shirt of soft cloth with no buttons. He looked presentable. He would not look out of place in the penthouse, he would not be a discomfort to his master's eye. He was still too thin, but the marks on his face and neck were fading and hardly noticeable now. When he was ready Syla was still sleeping soundly, and she needed the sleep, so he left the door open and went to the living area.

As promised, Stark had left him a list of tasks, and Loki felt a surge of excitement when he saw it,. He would finally get some clue as to what Stark might want from him. He picked up the notepad and read it.

The list was short, and Loki read it in a few moments. Then he read it again, made sure he understood it. The first three were easy, he was to make breakfast and lunch for himself and Syla, and then dinner for all three of them at 6pm. He could do that. Already he was used to the idea that his master would eat together with them, that they would all eat the same food. Laundry he could also do. He was not familiar with Midgardian laundry methods, but he seen the room where the laundry was done. Jarvis would help him with anything he needed to know. The final one was a mystery. School - Ask Jarvis.

“Jarvis?” Loki ventured.

“Yes Loki, how can I assist you?” came the immediate reply.

“Could you explain this item on my task list, please?” Loki asked.

“Certainly. Mr Stark was wondering if Miss Syla was in need of any educational material, such as books, paper, or pencils?”

Loki was taken aback, but again he reminded himself that he didn’t know about Midgardian conventions. Even Stark seemed ignorant of how slaves were treated on this realm. Perhaps it was normal to educate slaves. “Er...He wishes to teach Syla?” Loki asked, unsure if he was understanding correctly.

“I believe he is suggesting that you teach Miss Syla,” Jarvis replied, “She is of an age to begin such lessons, at least, by Earth standards. Is that not the case for her kind?”

Loki nodded his head slowly. By both Asgardian and Jotun standards she was old enough to learn letters and numbers. Slaves on Jotunheim were not allowed to learn such things, and if they already knew they were certainly not allowed to show their knowledge. Knowledge was a dangerous thing for a slave to have. It was forbidden. Loki had thought that one day he could teach her, but when she was older and could keep such a secret. Loki burdened her enough already, he would not endanger her with this, at such a young age.

But now, on Midgard, things were different. His master was encouraging him to teach her, for whatever reason he had. Loki would not pass up such an opportunity. He nodded. “Yes, please Jarvis. If you could order some paper and pencils, I would be glad to teach her.”

Jarvis confirmed he would place an order and Loki got started on his first task. Breakfast.

Syla wandered out while he was making scrambled eggs and toast. Loki found some cold smoked fish in the refrigerator that he mixed with the eggs, much to Syla’s delight. She loved all kinds of fish. After they ate, he cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes, and Syla helped put the knives and forks back in their correct slots in the drawer. She did like being a good helper, so Loki did not mind that it took her as long to do that as it took him to clean the whole rest of the kitchen. The drawer certainly was very neat when she was done.

With Jarvis’ help he sorted and started the laundry. He asked Syla to give her tunic to be washed but she gave him such a look of panic at the idea that he did not force her. She still held the thing in her hand at every moment, and slept with it as well.

The elevator dinged and Loki went to pick up the bag of paper and pencils. It was bigger than he expected. Inside he found notebooks and pencils, and also colored crayons for drawing, story books with colorful pictures, and books with printed outlines meant for coloring. A treasure trove of things that Loki could never have hoped to provide for his daughter, that Stark casually handed over, as though it was nothing. Loki called to Syla, his voice hoarse. She trotted over to him, climbing up onto the table and rummaging through the pile. She pulled out one of the coloring books, and held it up to Loki’s face. It was a book of animals, the cover showed a colorful butterfly. “Butterfly!” she said, and cupped her hands to create one of her own. “Butterfly!” Her bright golden butterfly hovered next to the book. Loki saw wonder in her face as she finally saw the creature he had described to her so many times. Her illusion adjusted to mimic the picture, growing more details, the soft brush of wings more realistic now. Loki smiled at her and wiped his eyes. He had never seen her smile so much as she had smiled in the last few days.

He cleared his throat, “My little love, you must thank Mr Stark for this gift, when he comes up for dinner this evening.” In truth, he had no idea how to thank the man. Not just for the books, and pencils, but also for the permission to teach his daughter, for her to learn. Effortlessly, Stark showed him anew what his mercy and protection truly looked like, and with every moment Loki was more determined to be worthy of it.

Syla settled at the table with the butterfly coloring book and her new crayons. Loki helped her grip the wax sticks in her fingers and then left her to her work. Her movements were clumsy, her fingers unused to holding such a thing. She would need practice to be able to even begin holding a pencil to write letters and numbers.

The day passed in such a pleasant manner. Loki made lunch and cleaned the kitchen again. He paused to admire each new coloring page Syla produced. Her work was messy and as much outside the lines as inside. Loki thought he would burst with pride and happiness at each page she held up for his inspection, wild colors and all. He planned dinner with Jarvis’ help. He would make Risotto. Jarvis said it was good cold weather food, and indeed the weather had turned cool, the sky dim and overcast. It may even rain later.

He went to put the laundry away, sorting his and Syla’s clothes separately from his master’s. Stark had a lot of clothes, or he had not done laundry in some time, because there was a full basket just for him. Loki carried it to the closet in Stark's room, and began putting it away. He hung all the shirts and pants, and checked the many drawers to find where the rest went. He opened the bottom drawer at the back of the closet and his good mood drained away, like water slipping through his fingers. He shoved the drawer shut. Stark’s toy drawer looked remarkably like Byliestr's. Loki squeezed his eyes shut, attempted to erase the image from his memory. Stark had told him he was not going to use him that way. He had told him and Loki believed him. He did. He had to. Mechanically, he put away the rest of the clothes and went back to the living room to make dinner. It was day one, and he was not going to make any mistakes.

Chapter Text

The elevator dinged again at around 6pm. Loki was ready, standing in the kitchen with all ingredients for dinner laid out. Syla was waiting on her stool, a stack of coloring pages getting crumbled in her hands. Loki had encouraged her to dress for dinner and she had changed into her moon dress, which was her clear favorite item of clothing. Loki was glad he had washed it that day.

Stark exited the elevator and smiled when he saw them both waiting for him. “Hey you two!” He said, holding his arms out to his sides. Loki bowed his head, “Good evening, Mr Stark, Sir,” he said, trying to control the surge of excitement and nervousness at seeing his master. Stark strolled over to them. He was wearing Midgardian formal wear which he was eagerly getting out of as he walked. He pulled off the jacket and unbuttoned the top of the shirt, kicked off the shiny shoes. Loki stepped out from behind the counter to take his discarded clothes and put them away neatly.

“Thanks, Loki,” Stark said as he sat down on his stool next to Syla. “Hey cutie,” he said to her, “What've you got there?”

Syla squirmed at his attention, but held up her papers for him to look at. He took the stack and went through it, exclaiming over each one, complimenting her color choices, her attention to detail, her hard work. Syla sat taller in her seat at his every word, and by the time he was done she was practically levitating. “Nice job, kiddo,” he said, giving the pages back to her.

Syla looked at her hands, “Thank you Mr Stark,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“You're very welcome darling,” he said, blinking rapidly. “And you can call me Tony,” he glanced at Loki, back at his station behind the counter. “You too,” he said, “although probably not if anyone else is around. They already think I'm a liability. Let's not give them any ammunition.”

Look was not sure who 'they' were that Stark was referring too. And permission to call his master by his first name was not something he was expecting. It was not respectful and Loki was not sure it was a good idea. “Yes, Mr...yes, Tony, sir” he said awkwardly and Tony raised his eyebrows at him. “Only if you want to,” he said. Loki nodded and privately decided that he would stick to a more respectful form of address.

“So what's for dinner?” Stark asked. Loki began to cook, explaining the meal as he went. They started up an easy conversation back and forth. Stark leaned over the counter to steal cut vegetables from the board for Syla and him to nibble on. Loki pretended not to notice and acted baffled as to why the number of mushrooms and zucchini slices kept going down. Syla muffled her giggles in her blankie and wriggled so much in her seat that Loki thought she would fall off it.

Midway through the meal the clouds opened. The sound of rain falling on the glass windows became a calming backdrop to their meal. The lights from the city blurred and flowed together until it seemed they were alone at the top of the world in this tower. The risotto was a good choice for a rainy day, and Loki thought to himself to thank Jarvis for the recommendation.

Loki was getting more comfortable in his role behind the counter. He was to cook, yes, but also to entertain, to amuse, to perform. His master wished to relax at the end of his day and Loki's role was to help him with that. He would be a distraction, as well as a housekeeper. He was learning what Stark liked. He did not want a silent, beaten-down slave to creep around in fear of him. He wanted conversation, he wanted to laugh, he wanted someone to welcome him home at the end of his day. Loki could do that. He would do it.

He was about to suggest that he cut them some fruit at the end of the meal when Jarvis interrupted. “Sir, SHIELD is calling for backup approximately 12 miles off the coast. Strike Team One has encountered heavier than expected resistance. And also a giant squid.”

Stark sighed, looking longingly at the rest of the food. He got up from his stool. “Seriously? I'm giant squid backup now? They don't have any quinjets?”

“Shield command is most apologetic, Sir. The bad weather is preventing quinjets from reaching the team. Commander Rumlow is sure that if you can distract the creature the team can make it to shore without further assistance.”

“Fucking Rumlow,” Stark grumbled. “I don't like that guy. I should leave him to the squid.” Despite his complaints he was already up and walking to the balcony doors. Loki’s belly turned over, watching him go. Stark was their only protector on this realm. If he went into danger, they both went into danger with him.

“See you two later,” Stark called over his shoulder, his suit forming around him. He walked out the door and launched himself from the gantry.

“Good hunting,” Loki said to the air. He jumped when Stark's voice came from the ceiling.

“Thanks. I'll bring you back a squid tentacle.” Then a blast of blue light shone through the rain and he was gone.

Loki tried not to show his tension to Syla, but of course that clever girl already knew. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and asked, "When is he coming back?"

Loki tried to reassure her, but he shared the same fear. Without Stark's protection they were both vulnerable. It was one thing for him to leave the penthouse to conduct his business, but quite another for him to go into battle as the lone backup, against an adversary of unknown capabilities, over the ocean, in heavy weather.

The cleaned up the dinner together, tension thick in the air. Loki tried not the keep looking at the clock. Even if Stark's mission was smooth and successful, he would not be back for hours. Syla's eyes were drooping when they were done, but she refused to go to bed. Instead, Loki asked Jarvis to play some music for them. He sat with Syla on the rug, rocking her to the music and letting her eyes fall closed, and her head resting against his shoulder. He carried her to bed and tucked her in.

Loki would wait up. When his master returned he would not come back to a dark home. Loki would wait for him, and see to his needs. He may be hungry, or thirsty, or injured. Loki set out the healing kit, cans of soup that Jarvis said was his favorite, options for hot tea or cold drinks. He would be ready with whatever Stark needed. Whatever he wanted.

Loki stood behind the counter. He waited.

Chapter Text

It was still raining the next morning, spattering on the glass walls of the penthouse. Loki woke up to the sound, stretched out on the rug in the living room, his head resting on his own numb arm. He had allowed himself to sit down there, to take a break from standing in the kitchen, some time after midnight. It was around 6am now, and Stark still had not returned. Loki swallowed down his alarm. Surely there was a good reason for his absence. He sat up.

“Jarvis, may I know where Mr Stark is?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Good morning Loki, Mr Stark has been unavoidably detained. He is expected to return this morning.” Jarvis’ tone was as cool and smooth as ever, and Loki could read nothing into it.

Loki let out his breath. His master would return soon. He had no need to worry. They were still safe. They were not abandoned. Syla still had her protector. Loki got to his feet. His master would return soon, and Loki had no wish to be found lying around on the floor wearing yesterday’s clothes. He washed and changed, tiptoeing around the bedroom to avoid waking his daughter, still sound asleep in their bed.

Stark had obviously not left him a task list for today. He had other, more important things to deal with than leaving instructions for his slave. Loki still needed be useful. Yesterday had gone well, even very well, and today was day two. It had to go even better. To stop his thoughts from spiraling, Loki decided to create his own list. He picked up the notebook that Stark had used.

He paused there, unsure what else he should do that day. He had washed the laundry yesterday, so that did not need to be done again. Perhaps he should clean the laundry area, and his and Mr Stark’s bedrooms and bathrooms. And of course the living area should be spotless when his master returned. He wrote it all down.

That was better. But was it enough? He did not want to be accused of laziness, when he had all day to work. If he started now he could surely get more done. He looked around the penthouse, searching for a few more things to add to the list, to ensure he did not slack off.

That was good. Ten tasks. He should be able to complete the entire list and when his master returned, he would be pleased. Loki set the notebook down, ignoring his shaking hands. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his pulse. Stark was coming back. He was coming back and when he did, he would find nothing but a well organized household and his loyal, obedient slave.

Loki decided to wait to make breakfast until Syla awoke. He should be able to check something off the list before then. The laundry room, perhaps. It was small and had little furniture except the laundry machines and some cabinets. Loki took out the cleaning supplies and got to work.

Syla soon woke up and followed him about the penthouse as he worked. He reassured her that Jarvis had told him that Mr Stark would return soon, and he wanted to have everything ready when he came back. She was unconvinced, looking to the ceiling for Jarvis to confirm the same message, which he did. She ghosted off to work on her coloring books after a while. Loki checked on her as he worked. She sat at the table silently, her coloring no longer wild and expressive as it had been yesterday. Today she was covering whole pages in one color, wearing each crayon down to flat nub before taking up another. Her face was grim, her mouth a flat line. Loki could not comfort her further without lying to her, and he refused to do that. Her trust in him was the only thing in her life she could rely on. He would not risk it for the sake of a few hours peace of mind.

Loki was not even halfway through his list when the sky darkened, fast and deep. He clutched the cloth he was holding and stared outside. Rain lashed the windows, furious. A bright glare sparked through the gloom and the whole building shook. Rainbow light reflected from the adjacent buildings and Loki realized what it was. The bifrost had landed on the roof.

Syla was staring at him, her face a mask of fear and uncertainty.

“Hide,” he snapped, his survival instinct overriding all else. She gathered up her coloring and fled to Stark's chamber, to the secret room. Even if it was only Thor returning, it was better to be safe than to risk her discovery. Loki rushed to where she had been sitting. He wiped the table clean of her fingerprints and kicked a lone green crayon under the couch.

Jarvis’ voice came over the air. “Loki. A delegation from Jotunheim has arrived. They are demanding access. Mr Stark is inbound, ETA 12 minutes.”

Loki wrung the cleaning cloth in his hands. Jotunheim. He knew in his heart why they were here, without warning or invitation. They had discovered Syla's disappearance and were here to demand her return. But he could not refuse them entry. They were representatives of a foreign power, potentially allies of this realm, and allies of his master in particular. He knew his duty.

He nodded, jerkily. “I will entertain them until Mr Stark returns.”

Jarvis paused. His voice, when it returned was uncharacteristically soft. “You could go to the safe room with Miss Syla. I can direct the delegation to wait in the living area.”

Loki shook his head. Such a thing would be an insult, and he knew it. Foreign dignitaries should be greeted and made comfortable, with all respect. Not greeted by a disembodied voice and asked to wait. Besides, if no one was there to greet them, they may decide to explore the penthouse. They may find the room with Syla's clothes, and then there would be no hiding his crime. Loki hurried to shut the door to their room, and to Stark's room as well. He ran his hands through his hair and brushed off his clothes, tossed his cleaning cloth in the trash.

He positioned himself before the elevator doors.

“Let them in,” he said.

Chapter Text

(Audio atmosphere recommended by boredbrooder on tumblr)

The elevator could barely hold the two Jotun who appeared when the door opened. They bent their heads to pass through the door, tall and broad shouldered, narrow-eyed and suspicious. Loki knew them. Yrokin and Dgar, two of Byliestr’s particular favorites. Younger sons of lords, they both had a lot to prove and little qualms on how to do it. Byliestr had allowed them both liberties with Loki. Dgar had little restraint. Yrokin was clever, which was worse. Loki loathed and feared them both.

Loki dug his nails into his palms, his hands behind his back. He belonged to Stark now. They would respect his owner’s claim on him, far more than they had ever respected him. They must.

He bowed low. Loki may not be their plaything anymore, but he still was a slave and as such they deserved his respect. “Welcome to Midgard, and to my master’s home.” He forced out, keeping his eyes down, hoping his voice did not shake as he spoke. It was his duty to greet his master’s guests. He would not fail at this. He would not shame his master's house.

Dgar laughed, a rough sound, low and deep. “The little raekten.” He said, looming over Loki, looking down at him. Loki stepped back, unable to help himself. It had only been a few days, but already he had forgotten how big the Jotun were, how small he was in comparison. His back hit the wall.

Unlike Dgar, Jrokin had little patience to toy with Loki. “Where is your master, slave? We have matters to discuss.”

Loki tried to answer, but the words would not come. He could feel the chill air that surrounded the two, ice beading on their skin, a deliberate show of power in the warm air of the tower. Dgar pushed Loki back against the wall, slipped a hand around his throat, gentle, a mockery of tenderness.

“Mr Stark will return in a few minutes," Jarvis' voice came like a golden light from the ceiling, "Kindly take your hands off his property while you wait."

Dgar grunted. He squeezed Loki’s throat. He had him like a fish on a hook, and all Loki could do was squirm. “Is this one not for the entertainment of his master’s guests?” he queried, holding Loki with one hand, his other hand creeping under his shirt. Icy fingers burnt his warm skin. “Such fine clothes,” he breathed in Loki’s ear, his voice like grinding ice. “Don’t worry little raekten, if your master doesn’t know the purpose of your kind, I do.” His hand flexed and cut off Loki's air. Loki's breath stopped, his chest heaved, tears leaked from the corners of eyes. He could not lift his arms to even try to push his assailant away. He felt weak, limp, pathetic.

(Art by maniploki on tumblr)

“I will not ask you again,” Jarvis stated. Loki wondered hysterically what he would do if the Jotun did not let him go. Was he only a voice in the ceiling or were there defenses he could deploy? And even if there were, would he deploy them in defense of a slave? Or would he just let the two have their way with him until Stark returned? He would not be long, surely!

He did not have to find out, because Yrokin slapped Dgar’s hand away from where it had landed on Loki’s ass. “Leave the slave,” he said, “There will be time for him later.”

Dgar snarled and let Loki go with a shove. He stumbled back, his breath wheezing, his head spinning. He clutched at his throat, sure he would find fingerprints embedded there. Panic wrapped around him like a heavy cloth, blocking his senses, stealing his thoughts.

“Where is your master?” Yrokin demanded, impatient.

Loki tried to reply. He had tried to keep track of the minutes until Stark's arrival but the count had flown from his mind the moment he saw the two Jotun.

Luckily Jarvis stepped in again, “Mr Stark will be here in four minutes. You may wait in the living area if you wish.”

The two strode into Stark's high-ceilinged penthouse. Loki's eyes frantically combed the place for any evidence of Syla, but he found none. He had hidden her, he had concealed her presence here. He told himself it did not matter what they did to him, as long as she was safe. He stayed well away from them, staying against the wall, keeping his eyes down.

A red and gold figure grew in the sky. Loki willed it to fly faster, but the seconds ticked by interminably until the gantry clanged with his landing. As before, the suit fell away, folding and dissolving into nothing. All the while Loki silently begged Stark to keep the suit on. He could not hope to defeat two Jotun without his suit. Stark entered the penthouse, one fragile mortal facing the two Jotun. Stark wore a bandage on his arm, and bruises on his face.

Loki's heart sank. Stark should be returning home to a peaceful haven where his slave would tend to his injuries, not be landing to face the unfriendly ghosts of Loki’s past. Yet again Loki had caused trouble for him, had not delivered on his desire to be useful, helpful, valuable.

Stark did not show any pain from his injuries, although they were fresh. He strode into the penthouse and nodded at Dgar and Yrokin. He ignored Loki, who snapped back to attention and realized the role he should be playing. He scuttled to the kitchen, silent and subservient. He would be ready with whatever his master wanted.

“So, I thought we agreed to three months until our next discussions,” Stark said. He was not rude, but he clearly was expecting an explanation for this intrusion.

Dgar and Yrokin gave him matching expressions of mock concern, betrayed by the hunger in their eyes.

Yrokin spoke, “It is with regret, Lord Stark, that King Byliestr has sent us here. This slave is a thief." He pointed at Loki, who rocked back on his heels as though from a physical blow. "He has taken something of great value to the king, and the king will have justice for his crime.”

Stark’s expression didn’t change. Loki gripped the edge of the counter, as though he could hold onto it and be safe if Stark did not protect him. “Oh yeah?” Stark asked, mildly interested at best, “What’s he supposed to have stolen? He came here with that collar and a length of cloth and nothing else. And I checked under the cloth. Thoroughly.”

Dgar laughed at that, thinking himself and Stark men of one mind. Even Yrokin smirked. Loki’s face heated, to be so causally discussed. Stark was not like them, but Loki understood why he pretended to be. They would think Loki was getting the treatment he deserved here on Midgard. Perhaps they would be less inclined to insist on his return if they thought him well used.

Stark looked between the two Jotun, waiting for their answer.

“He has stolen a child, a child of Jotunheim,” Yrokin declared. He looked around the penthouse, seeing nothing that gave Syla away. Loki had already looked a dozen times but his heart was still in his mouth as Yrokin's eyes swept the room.

Stark raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, and what did he do with a kid?” He asked, not even bothering to deny that the child was on Midgard. That idea was too ridiculous to even deny!

Yrokin and Dgar exchanged glances, “It is not known,” Yrokin conceded. “But the child is gone from Utgard. The slave may have had assistance.” He stopped short of accusing Stark of being party to the crime. The value of their trade agreement must be enough to make insulting Stark a risky proposition. If nothing else, Jotenheim desperately needed trade.

Stark swayed, putting more weight on one side than the other in a way that made Loki think he was hiding more injuries. Loki did not know how he could help him without making him appear weak. He stood in the kitchen, his fingers digging into the hard stone of the counter, his teeth clenched, his breath short. His fate decided by others, as it had been his entire life.

“Well,” Stark said, “Let’s ask him, shall we?” He turned to Loki, and Loki stood in his gaze, terrified that Stark was going to order him to tell the truth. He would have to obey.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Stark demanded, mercifully indirect, vague, open ended as usual.

Loki did not have to fake his terror. One wrong word and he would be dragged back to Jotunheim to face Byliestr’s wrath. “Master,” he said, “You have seen everything I bought from Jotunheim! I have hidden nothing from you! I swear it upon my oath. I swear it.”

Stark raised his eyebrows at the two Jotun. Dgar growled, frustrated at this talking.

“King Byliestr will have the slave back, Lord Stark, to replace what he has stolen.”

“Replace…a child?” Stark repeated, confused.

“The slave is raekten. The king has bred him and got the child from him. He would have another, to replace what he has lost.”

Stark's eye twitched. “Bred him...” he muttered under his breath. Loki cringed. He hadn’t realized until that moment that Stark must have thought that he was Syla’s father. Of course he didn’t know about Jotun physiology. How could he? Stark snapped out of his daze and refocused. “Well. Please convey my regrets to King Byliestr. I’m not sending Loki back. He’s mine now. And I’m keeping him.”

Loki took his first breath on hearing those words. Stark at least was not going to simply hand him over. Dgar huffed but Yrokin forced a smile. A mouth full of jagged teeth, grinding together. “King Byliestr will of course compensate you for the slave’s worth.”

Stark laughed. A hollow, cold laugh that Loki had not heard from him before. He flicked his fingers and Loki jumped and scurried over to him. Stark must want a show of his submission. Of course, he would give him one. He had no pride left to preserve. He dropped to his knees at Stark’s feet and rested his head on his thigh. His master's fingers brushed over his hair, then gripped a handful and wrapped it around his hand. He yanked his head up, turned him to face the two Jotun.

“He's not for sale,” Stark said, his fist tight in Loki's hair, his head twisted back at a sharp angle, displaying him to the Jotun. Loki didn't resist. He could not, Stark's grip in his hair was the only anchor he had. The only thing keeping him on Midgard instead of swept back to Jotunheim and his previous life.

(Art by Achika on Imgur)

Stark shook him by the hair like a kitten, “There's no price you can pay to buy him back. Unless you have any others as pretty and well trained as him, who invaded my planet, brought an alien army to my city, and murdered my friends. I’m keeping him. I have uses for him. If anyone's going to breed Loki now, it’s going to be me. If anyone’s going to have any children from him it’s going to be me. He's mine.”

Stark stared down the two Jotun who over-topped him by at least three feet.

”Convey my regrets to your king.” Stark said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Loki is not for sale."

Chapter Text

Stark waited for the bifrost to shake the building again before he released Loki's hair. Loki was lost without his master’s firm grip, unanchored, as though he would drift away. He put his hands behind his back, head down, and waited for further instructions. He tried to blank out his mind. He had nothing to think about. His master made his decisions, he did not need to think about anything. He needed to behave. Be good, be obedient. Be allowed to stay on Midgard. Earn his master's protection for his daughter. Those few thoughts spun around his mind, orbiting the black hole of terror at the centre that threatened to suck him down.

“Stand down defenses, J,” Stark said, his voice faded, distant to Loki’s ears.

Stark crouched on the floor next to him, a pained hiss of breath as he bent his left knee. Loki focused on the floor, on the way the overcast sky reflected on the shiny stone. He would have to polish it soon, back to a high shine. Get rid of those footprints marring it. He flinched when Stark touched his shoulder, and the touch vanished. Loki knew that was wrong. His master should touch him however he pleased. Loki should learn to control himself. His master’s touch was not unwelcome. It was his right.

“Hey, they’re gone," Stark said, his tone gentle.

Loki didn’t react. He stayed still. He floated inside his body, disconnected. It was better this way. His master would tell him what to do. Until then, he would be quiet, and still.

Stark waited, as though expecting Loki to respond. He had not asked a question, so Loki could not think of what to say. Perhaps he was waiting for Loki's thanks. For his gratitude for not selling him, for not sending him back to Jotunheim, for not revealing Syla’s presence in the tower. Before Loki could form the words, Stark was talking again.

“Hey, Loki, you there? I need to get Syla. I know you're freaking out, but can you keep it together for a few hours until bedtime?”

Loki nodded, slow and careful, as though he would shake apart if he moved too fast.

“OK good! How about we get you over to the couch and put on a movie? Think you can do that?”

Loki tried his best, but in reality Stark half-pulled, half-coaxed him over to the couch. His legs were not working. His mind was scattered. Stark’s voice faded out, when Loki focused again he was still talking and Loki had no idea what he had missed. Eventually Loki was in his spot on the rug in front of the couch, Stark breathing hard next to him.

“OK! OK, wow you’re heavy. You wait there, I’m gonna go get Syla. Hey, it’s OK, they’re gone, remember that. You're safe.”

Loki sat where he was put. Stark had let him sit at his feet before. It was good for him to be here. His master liked it. Stark went away for a time. Loki waited, staring into space, his thoughts coming back to him, slow and uncertain. The Jotun were gone. They had tried to take him but Stark had not let them. He had made his claim on Loki very clear, and refused to sell him, refused to consider even their offer for him. Loki hugged his knees tight to his chest. Stark wanted him. Loki ended his thoughts there. He did not want to think about what purpose Stark wanted him for. He did not need to think about it. His master would tell him what he needed to do, what he needed to know.

A soft cool hand on his cheek brought Loki back to the present. Syla was looking anxiously into his face. “Modi hurt?” she asked, looking him up and down, checking for any injuries.

‘No baby, he’s not hurt,” Stark said, sitting on the couch next to them, “He just needs some time to think. How about we watch a movie?”

Loki faded out again and when his attention came back to the screen a movie about a fish was playing, Syla was in his lap and a tray of food was in front of them. Loki should feel ashamed that he could not even feed his own daughter, but his emotions were far away from him. They lurked on the horizon like a storm cloud.

Loki thoughts floated back, piece by piece. Jotunheim knew Syla was missing, and they knew that he was involved in her disappearance. Dgar and Yrokin had not dared accuse his master directly, but if they did not get what they wanted, they probably would. Or they would try and take him by force, treaty be damned. Worse, Stark now knew his every secret. He knew about the geas, he know about his oath, he knew about his nature. He knew everything, and his power over his slave was absolute. He could do as he liked with Loki, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The movie played out on the screen, Loki faded in and out, the little fish went on a journey and came home again. One of the foundational storytelling structures, Loki thought to himself, inanely. He had enjoyed storytelling, in the past. he was passably good at it and Thor always gave him plenty of material. The hero leaves, the hero returns. Thor had left Asgard many times, and always returned, but every time Loki left another piece of him was chipped away and never came back. When he accompanied Thor to Jotunheim on his ill-fated mission to confront Laufey. When he was swallowed by the void. When he was sold as a slave. Each time, the Loki who left never came back. He came back lesser, more broken, if he came back at all.

The storm cloud drew nearer, and Loki tried to back away from it, tried to keep it at bay for a little while longer. At least while Syla was awake. He watched the movie, tried not to move. Tried not to the attract the attention of his thoughts.

When he came back to himself the next time, Syla was in her sleeping clothes and the sky was dark. Loki looked down at her and she she looked up at him, instantly alert to his movement.

“Modi?” She said, her face tired and anxious.

“Yes, my little love,” he replied, his voice hoarse. Syla picked up a small box with a straw in it and gave it to him. It sloshed and from the picture of the apple on the outside Loki realized it was juice. He sipped from the tiny straw and smiled at her. It was not right that his little girl had to take care of him. He should be ashamed of himself. He probably would be, if he would allow himself to feel any emotions. Numbness was safer, and easier to bear.

The movie must have restarted, because the fish was in the middle of his journey again. Syla caught him up on all the characters names as they came on screen, and Loki wrapped his arms around her and contented himself with the smell of her hair.

(Art by Maniploki on tumblr)

When the movie ended again with the hero’s return, Stark took Syla off to bed, her eyes drooping closed, and her blankie trailing behind her. He returned soon enough, a bottle and two glasses in his hand. Loki sat up straight. His master would question him now, and he would expect the truth from him. He would want to know about his biology. Perhaps he had meant what he said to the two Jotun, that he would breed Loki himself, that he would have children from him.

Stark poured two drinks and slid one over to Loki. “If you want it,” he said, “and try and eat something too.” He sipped at his own drink. He had a wet cloth in his hand that he held up to his bruised face.

“Fucking Rumlow,” he said, and Loki recalled the name from last night. Stark had wanted to leave him to the squid, and it seemed that he had been right. Stark continued complaining while Loki cautiously picked up his glass and took a sip. “That guy! He can’t pilot a boat, can’t give clear directions, shot a fucking flare almost right at me!” Stark poured himself another glass. “Hey, it’s not that I think kiting a giant squid away from a little inflatable boat of tender and delicious strike team members should be easy, but it shouldn’t be so hard. Now I’ve got a nice collection of bruises and a twisted knee for my trouble. Not to mention a long and painfully boring debrief on the helicarrier, when I should have been home taking care of ...of my responsibilities.”

Loki was grateful for Stark's one sided chatter, it gave him time to pull himself together and focus. “Can I get you anything, Master?” he asked, pathetically. He was hours too late to get Stark anything useful, and he knew it. Stark had already got him and his daughter food, he had taken care of Syla all afternoon and evening, put her to bed and had poured his slave a drink with his own hands. Loki flushed, ashamed. He looked at the glass on the table, looked at his hands. Anything to avoid looking at Stark.

Stark grabbed a handful of nuts from the tray between them, crunched them one by one and let the silence grow between them.

“Are you with me?” Stark asked, and Loki nodded. He was there. He was no longer floating in and out. He was ready to talk, to answer his master’s questions.

“I’m not sending you back to Jotunheim,” Stark said.

Loki nodded, “Yes Master,” he said dully. “I understand.”

Stark hummed, crunched a few more nuts. “You remember what I said, right, that there will not be any rapes? That still stands.”

Loki looked up at him. He may as well ask, and know the truth. “You told them...you told them that you had uses for me, that you would breed me, that you would have children from me.” His voice was flat, not angry, not afraid, just resigned.

Stark sighed, “Yeah, I did say that, but let me tell you a secret. It was a lie. I’m not going to do that.”

“You could,” Loki said, “If you wanted to. Now you know that I can...that you can use me that way. That you could have children from me. They would be princes of three realms.” He choked on a laugh. “Asgard, Midgard, and Jotunheim. There would be none like them on any of the nine realms. They would be born to greatness.”

Stark finished his drink in silence, then got up and grabbed the notebook from the counter. He looked at the long list of tasks that Loki had written that morning, then flipped to a fresh page and wrote a few sentences. He tore out the page and gave it to Loki. The words swam before his eyes then snapped into focus.

Loki read it again and carefully set the page on the table. He kept his fingers on it, but Stark beckoned him to give it back and wrote another line.

He slid it over the table, and Loki held it in both hands, smoothing out the paper, reading it over.

“I didn’t know,” Stark said, “About Syla. When you told me she was your daughter, I assumed…”

“You assumed I was her father,” Loki said, a little life coming back to his voice, but his eyes still flicking back to the note. “I did not mean to deceive you, Master. I just didn’t think…”

“It’s OK,” Stark said, holding up his hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. What they did to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

Loki nodded, then shook his head. “It is hard to tell,” he said, “It is hard to tell what is deserved and undeserved. The norns have woven my fate with dark thread. That is all I know.”

Stark poured himself another drink, topped up Loki’s half empty glass.

Loki thanked him, but he didn’t drink any more. His head was already swimming. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. The paper crinkled next to his skin, keeping him grounded. “You may think it strange," he said, "but Syla is the only good thing in my life. I would be dead without her. So perhaps it was not so bad, what Byliestr did.”

Stark shook his head, “It was bad,” he said. “Even though you love her now, what he did is still bad.”

Loki shrugged. “I could have ended it,” he said, “Once I knew he had got a child on me. I could have ended it. There are a dozen ways, herbs and minerals that even a slave can get.”

Stark watched him, letting him speak, the words coming out of him like water from a dam, bottled up too long.

“I didn’t though. I didn't end it. I kept her,” he said, his eyes wet, his breath short. “I kept her. I didn’t get to chose any of what happened to me, but I did chose that. I chose to keep her." He remembered those few days, that horrifying time when he knew what had happened. He knew Byliestr had impregnated him and he was revolted, sickened at the very thought of it. He had even gathered the herbs he would need to end it. But faced with the choice, the first choice he had had in years, he had decided not to. He had claimed the babe in his belly for himself and kept her.

Loki took another sip of his drink, wiped his face on the back of his hand. Stark was still sitting with him, listening, hearing his story. There was no pity on his face, only compassion.

Loki may as well let him hear the rest of it. "I regretted it," he said, "When it was too late. When I birthed her alone and frozen in that place. When I held her in my arms. What kind of life could she have? The child of a slave, a raetkin. I should not have cursed her with that existence. But she saved me, over and over again. Every day, she saved me." Loki finished his drink and let Stark pour him another, he had not drunk alcohol in years, even this weak Midgardian drink was making him woosy.

“I care not what you do with me. I am your slave by my own oath, by my own word. You can have me as you wish, or not. I will give you children if you wish it. I will hold to my oath, my service in exchange for your protection for Syla. Give me to them if you must, but I will not give Bylistr another child. Not again. He will have nothing from me now but blood.”

Stark tapped one finger on the table. “Read the note,” he said. Loki pulled it out of his pocket and read the few lines again. “I know you don’t trust me yet,” Stark said, “but I hope that you will, at least until Thor comes back and we figure something else out.”

Loki nodded. What else could he do? Promises made to a slave meant nothing. Stark may mean what he said now, but if he changed his mind later, there was nothing Loki could do about it. He read the note again, the few lines, the signature at the bottom. Midgardians attached some importance to writing their own names this way, as Asgardians would use the seal of their house. Loki read it again.

“OK,” Stark said, “Let’s get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. We’re going to go to Malibu. I have a house on the beach. One without a bifrost landing site on the roof. If they come back, they won’t find us here.”

Loki went to his room, Syla was already sleeping, her blankie in her hand. Loki set the paper with his master’s promises in the drawer by the bed. He would like to keep it nearby, in case he wanted to read it again. He crawled into bed, turned out the light, and waited for sleep to come.

Chapter Text

“Good morning sunshine!” Stark greeted Loki the next morning when he came into the living room. Syla was already up, sitting at the counter in her sleeping clothes, a plate of eggs and smoked fish in front of her. She waved her fork at Loki and pointed to the stool next to her. Loki walked over to her but did not sit down. Stark had cooked eggs for Syla, and he was standing in the kitchen, where Loki should be. Stark should be sitting on the stool having Loki serve him, not the other way around.

“Good sleep?” Stark asked, and to his surprise Loki found that the answer was yes. He had slept well. He had expected to lay awake all night, stressed and anxious but today he was well rested and refreshed.

“Yes, master,” he said, hovering awkwardly by the kitchen. Stark was unlike any lord he had known on Asgard or Jotunheim. He cooked food not just for himself but also for the child of his slave, he stood while others sat, he talked to Loki as though they were equals. It was nothing but a source on confusion for Loki, but despite that there was a warm glow in his belly. To be a person again, instead of a slave, even for a few minutes conversation, was a heady feeling.

“Hey so we’re heading out of town today. New York in winter kinda sucks. We’re gonna go to Malibu, it’s by the ocean, I think you guys will like it. Less visitors. Better defenses.”

Loki nodded, “Yes, master,” he said, as though he had any choice in where Stark took him.

Stark glanced up at him, “You think you can drop the master again? You were doing fine with that before our visitors.”

Loki caught himself. He had reverted back to calling Stark master even though he had already told him not to. He hung his head, “Yes Sir, I apologize, I…”

“It’s OK,” Stark said quickly, “It’s OK. The jet is gonna be ready at noon at the airfield, so you can pack up your stuff this morning. I need to pack some stuff in the lab too. We’ll leave around 11, OK?”

“Yes Sir,” Loki said. It was all he needed to say. He was glad to be leaving the tower, the bifrost site on the roof made him anxious, and Romanov’s proximity as well. As Stark had said, there were too many visitors.

Stark went down to his lab, and a few minutes later the elevator opened again to a large metal crate, the same kind that had accompanied stark to Jotunheim. Inside were several smaller cases intended to hold clothes. Loki got to work right away. He got Syla and himself dressed and then began to pack up all the other clothes that Stark had given them. Syla insisted on wearing her moon dress again. Apart from the sleeping clothes it was the only item she had worn since they arrived. She put on her light-up shoes and helped Loki arrange the rest of the clothes in the cases. Her self-assigned task was to smooth out each item that Loki placed in the case. Loki thanked her and they worked side by side, Loki packing, Syla smoothing out each item with her small hands. It was slow progress. Loki could only pack one item at a time, and had to wait for Syla to nod that it was smoothed to her satisfaction before packing the next item. It was after 10am when Loki heard the elevator again and Stark appeared in the doorway, holding a large paper bag. “Hey you two,” he said, cheerfully. “I got something for you. Well, not both of you. We have to go to the airfield by car, and you,” he pointed to Loki, “you’re unpopular here, and you,’ he pointed to Syla, “you’re an adorable alien. So we need disguises.”

Loki nodded. It made sense, Syla’s blue skin and red eyes would make her stand out on Midgard. As Odin had done to him when he was a babe, bleaching his skin and hiding his heritage lines, Stark no doubt now wanted him to do to Syla. To make her appearance acceptable on Midgard. Loki could work his magic at his master’s order. He wondered what Syla would look like with such a glamor. Still beautiful, of course, but less like herself. Loki had grown to love her deep blue skin and her ruby red eyes. He sometimes wondered what it would have been like for him, if Odin had not hidden his heritage, if he had not tried to turn him into an Asgardian. Would Asgard have grown accustomed to his Jotun features? Would they have been accepting, willing to move past the war, if the Allfather had adopted a little Jotun babe? Loki had no way to know. Perhaps he would have been strangled in his crib by some Asgardian veteran. Loki readied himself for Stark’s order to transform his daughter. To make her look like she belonged, for her to fit in on this realm.

But the order did not come.

Stark tipped the paper bag out on the bed, and a mass of shiny fabric fell out. Loki could make no sense of what it was until Stark held it up. It was a costume, bright blue, teal and turquoise greens, glitter and sequins woven into the fabric. On the back were two gossamer wings, shaped by wires.

“Butterfly!” Syla squealed, clapping her hands.

Stark grinned at her. “You like it? It’s the perfect disguise. Hiding in plain sight. I got you some glitter as well, and some antenna to complete the look.” Stark rummaged in the bag and pulled out a few more items. A jar of glittery gel, some sunglasses with gems around the lenses, a headband with two spangled bobbles on springs. Loki had seen such extravagant costumes, on Alfheim and at festivals on other realms, but Syla had never seen anything like it in her life. The Jotun did not dress up in such a way. Her eyes were huge as she reached out her hands to take the costume. She ran her hands over it, feeling the silky fabric, the sequins, the gems. She boinged the antennae on the headband and laughed as they bounced wildly. Stark helped her put it on over her dress, then smeared the glitter gel over her face to blend her heritage lines into the costume. Syla admired herself in the mirror, spun in place and watched the costume swirl around her.

She turned to face Loki, her wings bouncing behind her, her dress a mass of color and glimmering gems, her face beaming. Loki had never seen a more beautiful sight, and he could not help the smile that broke across his face.

“You look wonderful, my little love,” he said, his voice hoarse, emotions caught in his throat at the sight of his daughter. He turned to Stark, “But...do you not wish me to...I can cast a glamour on her, if you wish, to hide her skin, her eyes…”

Stark shook his head, “Romanov already saw her, and we have a few blue folks here and there on Earth. Honestly, me with a blue kid is going to cause less questions than me with a non-blue kid. Every time I stand near a kid with dark hair everyone wants to know if they're my secret love child. The costume will attract attention, but she won't. Plus who would want to glamor such a beautiful girl!”

(Art by lokiofasgaaaard on tumblr)

Syla clapped and spun again, too fast this time and she staggered and sat down with a dizzy bump. She giggled, in that moment just a child, safe and happy with adults who cared about her. Loki wished that it could always be that way, that perhaps Stark might grow fond of her, that he might want to keep her. Loki shut off such thoughts. If Stark wanted to grow attached to any children he would surely want them to be his. He would not take in an alien, a child of his enemy, and raise her as his own. Loki realized that that is what Odin had done. Taken the child of his enemy, raised him as an Asgardian. But Stark had not changed Syla, as Odin had done to him. He had not tried to hide or change what she really was.

She was Jotun, blue skin and red eyes, and Stark had called her beautiful.

Chapter Text

Stark clapped his hands. “OK, one down. Loki, I don’t have a butterfly costume for you, so you’ll have to shape-shift. You can change it to a specific person, right? I’m thinking my driver. The car drives itself, you just have to sit there.”

“Yes, Sir,” Loki said dreamily, still watching his daughter spin and twirl in her costume, “If you have an image of them I can take on their appearance.”

“Cool. OK, you finish up here and then we can get going.”

Stark sauntered off, and Loki got back to work packing. Without Syla’s help it went much faster. They were almost done when Loki opened the bottom drawer of the dresser. Syla threw herself in front of the drawer and shut it, standing in front of it, her face a picture of guilt. Loki looked at her, worried, “What is it, my love?” he asked.

(Art by maniploki on tumblr)

She shook her head, and did not move. Loki sat back on his heels. “Darling, we have to pack up our clothes, Mr Stark has told us to. What is in that drawer?”

Syla’s lip trembled and she whispered, “Sorry, Modi.” She stepped aside and sat by the wall with her blankie over her face. Uncertain what he would find, Loki opened the drawer and rummaged through it. At the back, behind Syla's unworn clothes, Loki found a stash of energy bars, at least a dozen of them, all different flavors. Horror clawed it’s way up Loki’s throat. She had been stealing! Stealing from their master, from his kitchen! Loki remembered her trotting backwards and forwards from the kitchen, her music following her. He had thought she was just enjoying the music game, but she must have been sneaking these bars into their room! Loki tried to control his reaction. He did not want to frighten her. Perhaps he could put the bars back and Stark would not need to know.

Stealing was severely punished. Every slave knew that. Even Stark, who had been more lenient with him than Loki could ever have imagined, would not let this pass unpunished. Loki shuddered. Loki would not escape with such a light punishment as the shock device for this. No, stealing food on Jotunheim, when he was carrying Syla in his belly, starving and faint from lack of food, had earned him his time in the pillory. He had been whipped and left there for a full day, free for anyone to use. They had not held back, and Loki had learned his lesson. He had never done it again. Even the thought of it made him nauseous. He could hope that Stark would not do that to him. Surely, he would not?

His mind swirling, Loki scrambled to pull his master's note out of the bedside drawer. He read it over several times, but it said nothing about punishment. Stark had told him something about punishment, early in their stay. Loki wracked his brain but could not remember it. His memory, once so sharp that he could recall texts word for word, now was like a sieve. Memories slipped through and vanished, leaving only their shadows behind.

Syla was chewing on her lip, anxious at Loki’s long silence. He tried to reassure her, but he was terrified of what Stark would do to him. The right words would not come. As though summoned by the thought, Stark’s voice came over the air.

“Hey Loki, can you come downstairs to the lab when you’re done?”

“Yes, Sir,” Loki stammered, his heart pounding. At least only he had been summoned, and not Syla. Loki would be punished in her place, gladly. He folded the note and carefully put it in his pocket. He would know soon enough what Stark had in mind for him.

The packing was done. Loki had emptied the final drawer and sealed the cases. He put the stolen food back in the pantry. Syla knew something was wrong. She trailed after him anxiously, watching her stash of food returned to where it belonged. Loki could hardly blame her for what she had done. They had never had enough food on Jotunheim. The slaves hall only served up meager portions once per day, and sometimes food was denied to them all as a collective punishment for some misdeed. The abundance of food in Stark’s kitchen must have been overwhelming for the girl. After so long without, the fear of going hungry again had been behind her action, not greed.

Loki asked Jarvis to put a movie on for Syla, and she settled down on the couch, still uncertain. Her fingers stroked over the soft fabric of her costume, over and over. She held her blankie tight in her fist. Loki told her he would be back shortly, and went to the elevator. He could hope that whatever Stark was going to do to him, that it would not leave marks where Syla could see it. He did not want her to know that he had been punished, she would only blame herself. But the responsibility was Loki’s alone. He was her parent, he was responsible for her, responsible for teaching her proper behavior. It was right that he would be punished for failing at that task. Loki clutched his hands together as the elevator took him downstairs. He still could not remember what Stark had told him about punishment, but he knew going downstairs was a part of it. Loki vainly hoped that Stark would be forgiving. Perhaps he could try to explain, that Syla had gone without food so many times, gone to sleep hungry and woken with her belly aching even more. Loki had taught her how to survive, but he had never expected they would be in a place where food was just lying around unsupervised.

The elevator deposited Loki at the entrance to Stark’s lab. Loki had never been in this place, and he entered cautiously. Stark had several of the metal crates stacked up by the door, and others open around the large room. He was standing over by a tabletop cluttered with tools.

“Hey, there you are,” he said, and waved Loki over. He did not seem angry, and Loki allowed himself to hope that perhaps his punishment would not be so bad. But then, Stark picked up a tool from the table, a large, long handled pair of pincers, and Loki stopped dead in his tracks. He could not take his eyes off the pincers. What did Stark mean to do to him?

“Take a seat,” Stark said, distracted. He was staring at one of his screens, typing on the glowing buttons. A machine whirred to life above the table, and Stark cleared a space beneath it.

Loki sat on the chair Stark pointed to. He had no choice but to do as his master ordered. He curled his hands into fists, hiding his fingers in his lap, as though that could protect him. If Stark ordered him to put his hand on the table, he would have to obey. Loki tried to breathe. He was getting dizzy. He was afraid, and he couldn’t think straight. Stark was not like that, he was not. He was not going to punish him in such a way, to take that tool to one of his fingers and show him what happened to thieves on Midgard. He knew it, but still his belly churned and his breath wouldn’t come. He second guessed himself, perhaps he did not know Stark as well as he thought he did. Perhaps Stark was out of patience with this slave who caused him nothing but trouble.

Stark was still working on his screen, he had not noticed Loki’s state of turmoil. “OK, so,” he said, “I promised SHIELD some test results, so before we head out I’m gonna set this up. We can do some more at the workshop in Malibu, but let’s throw them a bone and keep them off our backs at least for a few more days.”

He turned to face Loki, finally noticing that he was shaking and pale in the chair. Loki could not take his eyes off the heavy tool in Stark’s hand. “What’s wrong?” Stark asked, and Loki could only shake his head. Nothing was wrong. He would take his punishment and thank his master for it. That was the only thing he could do. Stark set the tool down on the table with a thud, his full attention on Loki now.

(Art by Achika on imgur)

“Something's wrong,” he said, “Did something happen upstairs? Whatever it is, you can tell me. Are you hurt? Is Syla hurt? Did you guys break something? ”

Loki shook his head. Stark wanted him to confess. He could do that. He tried to take a deep breath but could only manage a short gasp. “She did not mean it, Sir!” he managed to gasp out, and then immediately regretted that he had tried to make excuses. He should have just confessed! He tried again. “I put them back! I put them back!”

Stark wrinkled his brow, “Loki, I don’t know what you're talking about,” he said, his voice tense. “If something happened, you can tell me. What did you put back?”

“The energy bars,” Loki said, squeezing his hands between his thighs, his voice low, “The food. Syla took them and hid them. She did not eat any! I put them back! Please, do not punish her, I will take her punishment. You can...you can do it to me.” He nodded at the pincers on the table. He kept his eyes down. By force of will he pulled his hands apart and put them on his thighs, fingers spread.

He hung his head, and waited for his punishment.

Chapter Text

“No!” Stark said, throwing the pincers down with a clang that made Loki flinch. “No, no no! No! Oh my god, no!” He walked away, to the other side of the room. He leaned against the wall there, his hands over his face, his breathing slow and even. A long minute passed before he lowered his hands. He was pale, but he came back to stand by Loki, his movements calm, like approaching a spooked horse.

“OK,” he said, “I thought we covered this, but that’s OK. We can refresh. There’s no torture here. No physical punishment, no whipping, no beatings, no…” he gestured to the tool, his hand shaking, “None of that.”

Loki looked from the tool, to the cleared tabletop, the machine humming above the table, back to his master. “Then… what?” He asked, utterly confused.

“Oh wow. OK. I fucked up. I'm sorry. I didn't think about how this would look. Shit. I was gonna take that off,” he pointed to the metal ring around Loki neck, “and have Jarvis run some scans while we were flying.”

Loki reached up and felt the collar. He was used to it, he hardly thought about it now. He had thought that Stark may wish to replace it with something more to his taste, but not that he would remove it entirely. Slaves wore collars. That was how they were identified as slaves, it stopped them from running away, it allowed them to be easily secured. Yet Stark wanted to remove it, and not replace it?

“But,” he said his voice weak, relief beginning to seep into his bones, “But…the food…from your kitchen...”

“I don't care about that!” Stark snapped, color coming back to his face. “I'm not… I'm not a fucking psychopath, Loki! If you're hungry you can eat! I'm not gonna starve you, and I'm not gonna punish you for eating.” Stark put his hands over his face and groaned, frustrated. “Syla can take whatever she wants. If she wants a food stash she can have one. I should get her a secret mini fridge though, because that girl loves smoked salmon!” Stark chuckled weakly, and shook his head. He leaned on the workbench, facing Loki, took his time thinking what he was going to say next. “Loki, I may not be the best person to get you through this. I’m not a therapist, I’m not an expert on trauma and recovery. Well, maybe on the receiving end, but that doesn't help you much. I'm trying, I really am. Until Thor comes back, we've got to do our best. And it’s OK sometimes, right? Just try to trust me. Did the note help? I can add to it.”

Loki nodded and pulled the paper out of his pocket. It was a little crumpled but he smoothed it down on his knee before giving it to his master. Stark wrote a few more lines and gave it back.

Loki was embarrassed by how comforting he found the note. He knew his memory was bad, and having such things written down, where he could check them and read them over, stopped him from second guessing himself. He read the note and put it back in his pocket.

“I apologize, Sir,” he said, “for misinterpreting your intention.”

“It’s OK,” Stark said. “It’s OK. One step at a time.” He took a deep breath and waggled his fingers at the collar. “So you wanna let me get that thing off you?”

Loki ran his fingers around the collar again. It had been around his neck for five years and Loki suddenly could not stand it for another moment. "Yes! I mean, Yes please, Sir," he said, his voice thick. He tipped his head back and bared his throat, ready for his master to cut the metal.

“You...er...you wanna take it off yourself?” Stark asked, holding out the pincers handle first. Loki took the tool, his hands shaking with the desire to be rid of this marker of his servitude. He tried to position the cutters on the collar, but he couldn't see what he was doing. His hair kept getting caught, the collar sliding out from the grip of the cutters.

“Can I help you?” Stark asked. He waited for Loki's nod before he pulled back his long hair and held the collar steady with both hands. Loki finally got a firm grip with the long handled cutters and applied his strength to the tool. The angle was awkward, and Loki's hands were slick with sweat, but he forced the handles closed, inch by inch, until with a dull thud the metal of the collar parted and the cutters clicked together. Loki grabbed the collar and twisted the metal out of it’s smooth circle, yanked it away from his neck. He could not stand to touch it, or hold it in his hands, the evidence of five years under Byleistr’s thumb. He threw it onto the table, into the clear space Stark had made. It fell with a loud clatter. It was ugly, dull metal, scratched and pitted from years of wear, twisted into an S shape, like a snake.

Stark let go of his hair, gently tipped his head to the side to check the skin where he had cut the collar. Loki let him do it, no longer afraid, knowing that his master only wanted to see if he was injured. “Little scratch, nothing serious,” Stark muttered, “Nice job.”

Thank you, sir,” Loki said. The mere words unable to convey his swell of emotion at seeing that metal ring broken and cast aside.

Stark smiled at him, “Call me…” he started, then corrected himself, “If you want to, you can call me Tony,” he said.

“Thank you, Tony,” Loki said.

“You’re welcome, Loki,” Stark replied, gently.

Loki felt foolish for his earlier fears. He resolved to do better and to try and trust Stark...Tony... more. He was on Midgard now, not Jotunheim and Tony Stark was his master, not Byliestr.

His and Syla's situation had changed, and Loki was just now realizing how much it had changed for the better.

Chapter Text

Stark displayed some pictures and video of his driver, the man Loki was to disguise himself as. Loki studied the images. Shape-shifting took concentration, and he would prefer not to have to do it more than once. While he watched the screen, Stark finished packing the metal crates with equipment from the workshop. Loki debated asking Tony for permission to go back upstairs to reassure Syla that he was well. She would be worried about him being gone for any length of time. He was about to ask, when Jarvis spoke, “Agent Romanov is in the elevator, accompanied by Mr Hogan, Sir.”

Stark dropped the heavy device he was carrying and swore, “What the hell? Why are they here?”

“You asked for your jet to be ready, Sir, Mr Hogan is probably here to drive you to the airfield.”

"Shit. I love that guy. He's so on top of things. But shit. Couldn't he slip up just once?"

"Romanov?" Loki asked, proud that his voice did not shake. He had not forgotten what she had done to him on her last visit.

"Yeah, she likes to drop in unexpectedly. Probably lying in wait for Happy to pass by!"

Loki held up his hands. “Do you wish me to transform?” He asked, not wanting to be in Romanov's steely gaze again. Stark shook his head, “That's Happy Hogan,” he said, pointed at the man on the screen. “Pretty sure Romanov is gonna be suspicious if there's two of you.”

“The elevator will arrive in 11 seconds, sir, I have directed it to the lab.”

“Shit” Stark said again, looking around the lab, as though looking for another door to escape through. There wasn't one. “Shit. OK, Plan B. Get in.” He pointed to one of the empty crates and Loki’s stomach dropped. He went to the crate. It was large, about 4 feet square, certainly large enough to hold him if he bent his knees and bent his head. The geas was behind him, gravity pulling him to the crate, irresistible. "Sir," he tried to protest, "I will face her if necessary…” but Stark cut him off.

“Syla's upstairs. I can't have two of you. Get in. It won't be for long.”

Loki was already climbing into the dark crate, his pulse racing. The newly unfamiliar push if the geas forced him onward. Stark so rarely gave him a direct order, he was unused to the smothering feeling of compulsion when he did.

Loki got in the crate, on his hands and knees, and Stark lowered the lid, leaving him in virtual darkness. Just as the elevator dinged the lid opened a crack and something dropped in, hitting Loki's back. The lid clicked shut again and a latch snapped into place. Loki reached around until he could pick it up what Stark had tossed in. It was the small portable device Stark often had in his hand. At Loki's touch the screen lit up, showing a portrait of the Iron Man armor.

Loki breathed, trying to stay calm. He heard voices, muffled but still audible. A glimmer of light made him aware that there was a small section of the crate covered with mesh, an adjustable vent over it. He could survive on very little oxygen, but he was glad he did not have to. The angle of the vent was not good, he could see some movement reflected off the many screens, but he could not see anyone directly. Stark was talking to two visitors, they sounded friendly, unrushed. He tried to stay still and listen. Stark had said this would not be for long. Perhaps he would be able to escort the two of them out of the lab and Loki would be able to get out. But where would he take them? To the penthouse? To where Syla was watching a movie in her butterfly costume? Romanov had turned her weapon on him when he had been in Syla’s shape, and he had no doubt she would do it again. Loki had done his very best to protect Syla from as much casual abuse as he could for her whole life. He had hidden her, shielded her, taken blows for her, but now he was locked in this box and his daughter’s protection was entirely with his master. He would be glad to stay where he was if it kept Romanov away from Syla.

“So this is a surprise,” Stark was saying.

“Shouldn’t be,” Romanov said, “We all saw the bifrost land yesterday. Did you forget to call Shield and debrief?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” Stark said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Um...I’ll just take your luggage down boss,” came a male voice, and the noise of wheels rolling across the lab floor drowned out much of the conversation.

“Hey!” Stark's voice cut through the background noise just as Loki’s crate lurched. “...be careful with that one,” he finished quietly, as though realizing there was nothing he could do without raising suspicion.

“Sure thing boss,” the man said, and Loki's box tilted and began to move. Loki held his breath and braced himself against the sides of the box. He must not let his weight shift, or make any noise. The box was dark and the sides pressed in on him. The movement was making him dizzy, and he tried to quiet his breathing. The elevator moved downwards, and then he was moving again. The man, Happy Hogan, Loki assumed, was as good as his word. He was careful with the crate, he handled it smoothly and carefully, and when he placed it with as gentle bump and the wheels retreated, Loki dared to let his breath out. He peered through the vent. He was on a vehicle of some kind. Probably a transport. Out of the back of the transport he could see a shiny black vehicle, long and sleek. Stark’s driver kept his car in fine condition, and he handled his luggage with care. Loki crushed his irrational jealousy. The man was good at his job, and Stark valued him for that. There was absolutely no reason for jealousy. He should be more worried about his situation. He was locked in this crate, and Romanov was lurking around. Syla was alone in the tower, with Jarvis watching her for sure, but Loki’s heart ached to be with her, to reassure her.

The device in his hand vibrated soundlessly and the screen lit up. A message displayed on the screen.

Loki took a moment to figure out how to activate the device. An alphabet of light keyboard popped up on the screen. He of course knew the correct response

The phone vibrated again. Loki read the message and replied.

Loki waited. The crate has a thin rubber lining and it was not overly uncomfortable. He could not stretch his legs out, but he lay on his side with his knees tucked up, his head resting on one arm. The screen showed a clock and he checked the time every now and then. He took long, deep breathes. Stark’s driver came and went with more crates. He loaded up the transport, causing Loki's crate to gently rock, but by luck he did not block the view out of the back. About 45 minutes had passed before the elevator opened again on Stark, holding Syla’s hand, Stark’s driver with them. Syla was tucked behind Stark, trying to stay away from the strange man, but it seemed more from shyness than fear. Stark and the driver talked for a few more minutes, then Stark and Syla got into the back of the car. The driver closed up the back of the transport and cut off Loki’s view, and his light. It began to move.

The device in his hand buzzed.

Loki responded to that message, and to Stark's reply.

Almost as soon as he sent the message, the device buzzed again this time with a different message, "Stark2 Calling". Loki touched the green button. He had seen Stark do it before.

"Hey! You doing OK there?" Stark's voice came from the device.

"Yes Sir, I am well," Loki replied, wondering why his master wanted to speak to him after he already sent him a message.

"Modi!" Came the voice in the background, and Loki realized why he had messaged before he called. Syla was in the car with him.

"Modi, where are you?"

Loki didn't hesitate to reassure her, "I am very close to you my little love, in a secret place."

Syla squealed, "Where?" she demanded.

Stark chuckled, "He's going to meet us on the plane, OK cutie? Remember I said I didn't have a costume for him? He had to hide instead."

Loki added, "That right. I am hiding, but I will be on the plane with you. I love you so much, little butterfly."

"I love you so much too!" She said, and tears stung Loki's eyes.

They said their goodbyes and Loki held the device tight in his hand, connecting himself to his daughter thought it. It buzzed against his chest.

There was a pause, the gentle rocking of the truck was more calming that Loki had expected. He was not calm as such, but he was not panicking. He was uncomfortable but the discomfort was bearable. Stark knew where he was, and he was not going to leave him there. It was safer for him to be here, packed up in a box, traveling with the rest of Stark’s property. It was fine. Syla was comfortable, riding in the car with Stark. The darkness and the enclosed space was pushing on his every sense. He felt small, he felt inconsequential. He tried to push those feelings away, but they came crowding back. Loki tried to resist. Stark had just that morning allowed him to cut his hated collar off with his own hands! And he was only in this box because Stark was lying to his allies and concealing his daughter’s presence from them. He should be glad to be here. Loki ran his fingers around his throat where the collar had been, stroking up and down without feeling any harsh metal. He breathed easier again. The phone buzzed.

He replied back instantly. Stark still cared about him. He was thinking about him.

The transport bumped over some kind of rougher road and Loki dropped the device. When he retrieved it another message was waiting.

Loki smiled. Stark seemed to value the more casual form of address. That was information Loki could use. Loki formulated his reply to appeal to Stark.

The reply came quickly, and Loki thought he might rather like this method of communication.

Loki thought about it, Stark liked to be entertained, he enjoyed Loki's conversation, he liked to laugh. Loki decided to take a chance. He typed a reply and the response came in seconds

Loki smiled, a warm feeling in his belly. It was rather ridiculous that he could be enjoying such a conversation, locked in a box on the back of a truck, but the glow from the removal of the collar and his newly found trust in Stark made it seem more of an inconvenience than a punishment. He shifted to a more comfortable position, tucked the phone against his chest, and waited to be let out.

Chapter Text

At the airfield, Loki could see again, the door of the transport was open and Stark’s jet was waiting. Syla emerged from the car with Stark, giggling as the wings of her costume blew out behind her in the stiff wind. She was excited, bouncing around, looking everywhere, even checking under the car. Stark peered into the transport, even took a few steps towards it but the driver had waved him away.

"I'll take care of it boss, you should get the kid on board, looks like the weather's turning,” he said. Loki gave up trying to control his dislike of the man. With a lingering backward glance, Stark held out his hand to Syla and they boarded the plane.

Hogan did take care of it. He may be coming between Loki and his master, but he did a good job. He loaded each box into the hold of the plane himself, taking care of each one. Loki's box had been loaded first so it was offloaded last. He braced himself and remained perfectly still as his crate was moved. He wanted to find fault with Hogan but he was as smooth and gentle with the crate as Loki could wish. The noise of the doors closing rattled through Loki's box. It was dark, and a tinge of fuel hung in the air. The engines began to whine, shaking the hold and vibrating the crate.

Loki swallowed. He was fine. His knees were aching from the cramped space, and his back, and his neck as well. His stomach was churning from the foul air. And it was dark. Darker than the transport. The sides of the crate pressed in. Loki checked the phone. No messages. He tried to take deep breaths but the air made him nauseous. The smell of fuel was stronger now. But he was fine. This was fine. Syla was with Stark in the comfortable passenger area of the jet. This was fine for Loki.

The noise grew louder, and the jet began to move, jolting the luggage in the hold. Loki’s box slid a bare inch, and Loki suddenly questioned if Hogan had secured the crates. What if he had not? Loki would be flung helplessly around the hold. He tried to reassure himself. Hogan had been very careful with the crates. He was a good employee, Stark trusted him. He had almost certainly secured them.

Loki tried to settle back into his state of calm, but it had fled. He checked the phone again. Should he send a message? It felt like hours since he had been put in the hold, but his rational mind knew it had been only a few minutes. It seemed longer. In a cold sweat, Loki feared Stark was going to leave him here for the whole flight. He had resisted getting into the crate, he had argued, he had not obeyed unquestioningly. He had even made Stark repeat his order! Loki wrapped his hands into his hair, tugging at the strands, the dull pain calming him down. Stark had said he would get him out on the plane, and he had no reason to lie. The box was locked, and if he decided to leave Loki in there until they arrived, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t get out. He may be strong enough to break the box, but to do such a thing would be to go against his oath. It would invite the wrath of the norns, and there was little Loki feared more than their dark weaving.

The engine noise grew to a roar, and Loki was thrown forward as the crate tilted up. Disoriented, he didn't know if the plane was tilting or just the crate. Did planes tilt when they became airborne? He had a vague memory that they did, that this was normal, but the noise was pushing on his senses, the dark and the enclosed space and the motion was making him dizzy, and the smell of fuel was making him sick.

He pulled out the phone again. Stark had told him to trust him he had told him to ask questions if he needed to. He would not be angry if he begged to be released, surely. Loki tried to compose a message, but could not find the words. In the end he just sent one word. Stark's reply was almost instant.

(Art by leones mountain art on tumblr)

Moments later a door banged open and light filtered through the vent.

“Loki? Where are you?” Stark’s voice came, almost drowned out by the noise.

“Sir!” Loki called, “Here! Here!”

“Loki?” Stark tapped on the box and relief flooded through Loki’s body at the sound.

“Yes!” he said, holding himself back from pushing on the lid by force of will.

“OK, I've got you, hold on.”

Metal scraped against metal, then the latch snapped open and light flooded into the box. Loki blinked up at his master, shielding his face against the sudden brightness. Stark held his hand out.

“OK, all done, you did great. Out you come.”

Loki took his hand and sat up. The floor of the jet was tilted, the vehicle was rocking and swaying. Stark saw Loki's expression.

“Kind of a bumpy take-off. That’s New York weather for you. It’s fine, I’ve done this a million times. Jarvis is flying. I was gonna wait until we were level, but I guess you had enough, huh? I get it, it's kinda noisy down here.”

Stark kept up the chatter and Loki climbed out of the crate. His legs were shaking, his back cracked as he stood up. Stark helped him out, steadying him on the shifting floor of the hold.

“OK?” he asked. Loki nodded, even the swaying hold was a vast improvement on the crate.

“Cool, let’s get you upstairs, there’s kid who’s desperate to see you. She already checked all the cabinets up there. You can go on up and surprise her.” Stark pointed to the narrow staircase leading to a door above. Loki headed up. It was really more of a ladder, narrow and tilted to the side with the angle of the plane. Loki climbed, swaying as the plane rocked.

The voice of Jarvis came over the speakers, barely audible above the engine noise in the hold. “We are about to hit some turbulence. Brace yourselves.”

There was a thump and the plane rocked. Stark was coming up the staircase, he must not have heard Jarvis' warning. Loki reached out to steady him, but he was too slow. The plane jerked and Loki’s hand closed on air. Stark's fingers slipped off the rail and he fell backwards with a cry, slow motion, his eyes wide. There was nothing Loki could do but watch his master fall.

The floor slammed into Stark. His head hit the edge of the step with a sickening crunch. His body went limp.

Chapter Text

Loki was by his master's side before he knew it. He must have jumped from the doorway into the hold. He felt for a pulse, shaking fingers pressed to Stark's throat. He almost fainted with relief when he felt the fluttering beat. Stark was alive.

“Jarvis!” Loki called, unsure if the AI could hear or see them in the hold.

“Loki, what has happened?”

“Mr Stark is hurt!” Loki blurted, trying to keep back his panic. His master was injured because of him, but Loki could not waste time on emotional outbursts. He needed to help him, not worry about what his punishment would be. A trickle of blood seeped from under Stark’s hair, bright red against his tan skin. Loki pulled off his shirt and carefully lifted Stark’s head, placed the folded cloth underneath. The plane leveled off and the engine noise reduced to a more manageable level. Loki was able to think a little better.

“Loki, is Mr Stark conscious?” Jarvis' voice was calm, but insistent.

“No,” Loki said, gingerly feeling Stark’s head for fractures, and thankfully finding none, only a large and swelling bump on the back of his head. “He hit his head, but there are no fractures. He will have a concussion.”

“Prolonged unconsciousness could be an indicator of brain injury,” Jarvis said. “My protocols will force me to seek medical attention if his condition persists for more than 2 minutes.”

Loki understood. His master's health and safety must come first, but if Jarvis had to land the plane, Shield would almost certainly know about it, and want to know why. Without Stark to protect them, Loki and Syla were vulnerable. They would be taken away.

As though summoned by the thought, Syla poked her head through the doorway.

“Modi?” She asked, and scrambled down the staircase, the wings of her costume not hindering her in the slightest. “Tony hurt?” she said, putting her small hand on Stark’s cheek.

“Yes my love, he fell,” Loki said absently. His brain was already thinking on the worst case scenario, that Stark would not regain consciousness and Jarvis would land the plane. How could he protect Syla if such a thing happened?

The girl broke through his thoughts, “Heal him, Modi,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Loki had told her about healing magic, thinking one day that he might be able teach her to use such skills.

“I can’t darling,” he said, “I can’t use any magic without Mr Stark telling me to.” Syla pouted, but Jarvis spoke up again.

“Loki, Mr Stark has authorized me to make medical decisions on his behalf, within defined parameters. I am able to agree to treatment if he is unable to do so. Magical healing is within the allowable parameters.”

Loki stared at the ceiling, hope blooming in his chest. Stark trusted Jarvis to pilot his plane, Loki readily believed that he trusted him to make medical decisions for him. He swallowed. “Order me,” he said, his mouth dry.

“Loki,” came the calm voice, “I order you to heal Mr Stark.”

Loki felt the rush of power gathering inside him. He had so rarely felt it for five years, locked away from his power. One thousand years of study and research and experimentation stripped from him in an instant by Odin's geas. Grief at his loss overwhelmed him for a moment, he bit his lip and the taste of blood bought him back. Jarvis had given him an order, but he had no knowledge of magic to tell Loki what spells or methods he should use. There was a dizzying array of possibilities in front of him, and he had to choose.

Stark moaned, the pool of blood under his head growing.

“Loki,” Jarvis said, “Do it now or I will land this plane and call an ambulance.”

Loki snapped to his task. He gathered his power in his hand, let it trickle slowly into Stark. Very slowly, drop by drop. He had never healed a Midgardian before, he did not know how his body would react. He had been taught taught from a young age that the best healing magic simply powered the body to work its own healing, only faster. There were other methods, some that forced the body to go against it's instincts, but in this case Loki would be cautious. He let Stark's body heal itself, drawing power from Loki to do so. Seeing little reaction, Loki allowed more power to flow, then, still seeing no change, he let the trickle become a flood.

Within moments, Stark's eyes opened. He glanced from Loki to Syla, both watching him, concern on their faces.

“Mr Stark, are you well?” Loki asked, at the same time as Syla patted his cheek and asked, “hurt?”

Stark sat up, “I'm fine! Better than fine! What happened?”

“You fell,” Loki said, then realized that he was trying to avoid blame for the incident. He corrected himself, “It was my fault, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have waited until you released me.”

Stark waved his hand, as though brushing aside such a comment, “I mean, did you just use magic on me?”

Loki nodded, suddenly fearing that he had done the wrong thing. “Yes sir,” he replied, “I healed you, or, I enabled your body to heal itself. The spell I used is very safe, Sir, I have used it on others, even on Thor! Many times!”

Stark nodded, and looked down at his own hands, wrinkling his brow as though confused by something. “OK, lets get upstairs, shall we? I’ve spent too much time in this hold.” Loki could not put his finger on it, but something was different about Stark. Unease grew in Loki's chest. Something had happened as a results of the spell. Something unexpected. Loki didn't say anything. Perhaps he was reading too much into things. He would watch Stark closely and ensure he really was well.

This time, Stark went first up the staircase. Loki stood at the bottom while he climbed, but as he said, Stark showed no sign of any injuries at all. He fair bounced up the ladder, followed by Syla, and finally Loki climbed up. He closed the hold door, and the engine noise faded away, leaving the main cabin quiet and calm. Stark sat in one of the large leather seats, he glanced at his own hands again, still thoughtful. Syla climbed up next to him in what was clearly her seat, her blankie was resting on the seat, and a box of juice with a straw was in the holder in the arm. Loki remained standing. He was unsure what to do. Stark was well, but surely he would have something to say to his slave, responsible for injuring him. Loki clenched his hands behind his back, waiting. He was learning Stark’s ways. He could be reasonably sure now that Stark would not hurt him. He put his hand on the pocket of his pants that held his note. The crumble of paper reassured him. Stark had told him that he would not punish him that way, and Loki was trying hard to believe him.

Loki studied Stark’s face, still nagged by the feeling that something was different about him. He looked well, he looked healthy, no trace of any lingering injury. But that was the change,Loki realized, the tiredness, the greying hair, the wrinkles in his skin about his eyes and mouth - all were gone!

Jarvis must have realized something was different, as well, “Sir,” he said, “How do you feel? Your life-signs are unusual.”

“What do you mean unusual?” Stark said, his voice anxious. He had sensed something too.

“Perhaps you should look in a mirror, Sir,” Loki said, hanging his head. He knew what had happened. His spell had been too general. He should have focused his power on the injury, but he had given Stark’s body power to heal itself and left that power undirected. He had inadvertently healed other injuries that Stark had been hiding, as well as the damage caused by age. Stark looked ten years younger. The intermittent shake in his left arm was gone. He was not favoring the leg he had injured battling the giant squid. The swelling on his face from that same fight was gone.

Stark gave him an odd look, but got up and looked in the mirror behind the serving area. His eyes went wide as he took in the difference.

“Oh shit,” he said, spinning back around to face Loki, "What did you do?"

Chapter Text

Loki took a step back. “I'm sorry!” He said, knowing it was wholly inadequate. Syla sensed the tension and froze in her chair, silent and still. Loki had taught her to do that in any situation where she could not run away or hide. Only her eyes moved, darting from Loki to Stark and back again.

“Master, please forgive me!” Loki blurted out, for the first time in many days feeling the urge to kneel. He didn't, because he knew Stark didn't like it, and he didn't want to anger him any further.

Stark noticed Syla's stiff posture, the fear on her face. He took several deep breaths.

“OK,” he said, keeping his voice even and calm, “Just explain what happened. Why do I look 35 again? Nothing hurts, and that's not… That's not usual for me.”

Loki tried to mimic his tone. Easy and level, to avoid scaring his daughter. She had seen him beg often enough, she did not need to see it again. He explained what he had realized, that his magic had boosted Stark's healing and his body had applied it generally. He had not directed the power nor had he been careful enough with how much power he provided. He looked at the ground, ashamed of his carelessness.

Stark listened to him. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched, but he did not yell, did not threaten Loki with punishment, did not even scold him for his mistake. Loki was nauseous. It was his fault his master had been injured, and his fault that the spell had gone wrong. It made him feel even worse that Stark would have no outlet for his anger, if he did not punish Loki. He deserved punishment, and Stark deserved to express his feelings about what Loki had done.

Stark took several more deep breaths. “I’m gonna go sit up front,” he said finally, “You two stay back here, make yourselves comfortable, ask Jarvis if you need anything.”

Before Loki could reply, Stark turned his back and disappeared through a narrow door at the front of the plane. Loki stared after him. He did not know what to do. Stark clearly was unhappy with him, but he had not done anything to him, he had not even raised his voice. Stark had told him there would be no torture, but there were many other ways to punish a slave, especially one bound by a geas as he was. Even ordering Loki back into the crate would be considered a mild punishment on Jotunheim, but Stark had not even done that.

Syla was watching him, her body stiff, her face tense.

“Is he angry, Modi?” she asked.

“I think so, my darling.” Loki said, as usual unwilling to lie to his daughter.

“Is he going to hurt you?” She said, knowing too much for her young age. She had seen to much, seen Loki punished, beaten, whipped, humiliated. Loki would give anything to be able to shield her from that, to have her think that her parent was strong and could protect her from harm, but that would be a lie. He could protect her as much as a slave could protect anyone, and he could give her the truth. That was all he had to give her.

“No,” Loki said, feeling the paper in his pocket, “He won’t hurt me.”

Loki looked at the door Stark had gone through. He did not know how to feel. He had done wrong, but he had not been punished. He thought he would feel elated, as he had in his previous life when he had got away with some mischief or prank. But all he felt was an aching hollowness, as though something was missing. Perhaps he could think of a way to punish himself, so that he would not feel this way. Maybe Stark expected him to do that, to perform some penance and show how sorry he was. Loki was not sure that was the case. He was not sure of his situation at all.

He wondered what he should do. How would Byliestr have punished him for such a thing? It was a futile comparison, as Byliestr would never have let him out of the crate in the first place. If Loki had failed him the way he had failed Stark, Byliestr would not restrain himself from punishment just because Loki had had good intentions. He could have Loki whipped, give him to his guards for their sport, deprive him of food, have him chained outside in the courtyard overnight, the freezing wind stripping any slight warmth from his bones. Byliestr was not overly imaginative, but his punishments were effective.

Loki sat with such dark thoughts as the sun followed them across the sky. Syla was a quiet bundle in his arms. After several hours, the door from the front of the plane opened and Stark reappeared. Loki stood up, faced him, ready for whatever he might say.

“Alright you two, we’ll be landing soon,” he said, making no mention of what had happened earlier. “It’s a short drive to the house, we’ll be there before it’s dark so you can see the place. Seat-belts on.” Stark pointed to the luxurious chairs and Loki reluctantly sat down. He helped Syla click her seat-belt on and then did his own. Stark sat opposite them. He had found a hat with a brim that shadowed his face, dark blue with Stark Industries written on it. Loki didn’t know what to say, but Syla had no such problem.

“Are you angry with Modi?” she asked, her voice soft, her face turned away from Stark. Loki held his breath at her boldness. Stark was angry with him, that much was obvious, and he could only hope that Syla did not draw his anger on herself as well.

Stark took the hat off and rubbed his hand over his face. “A little,” he said, “Not much. I know he was trying to help.” Stark looked at Loki. “I know you were trying to help,” he repeated, his voice weary. “I have a history of people making modifications to my body without asking first, you know? And it freaks me out. So I'm working through that.”

The plane tilted down and the engine noise changed, muffled by the luxurious cabin walls. Loki felt even worse at his master’s words. He did not want to be the latest one to betray him in such a way. He wanted to be useful, valuable, he wanted to earn his owner’s trust the way Mr Hogan had. But this was not the way to get it. He hung his head.

“It was a mistake,” he said, “I was rash, I used too much power to heal you.” He hesitated before he said, “I will accept your punishment for my error.”

Stark gave him a soft smile and said, “Read the note.”

“Yes master.” Loki said, sure he was not communicating his meaning, his desire to be punished and forgiven. “There are other punishments, other methods of discipline.”

Stark hummed. “Discipline mean teach,” he said, distractedly. He put the hat back on and pulled a large pair of dark glasses from his pocket and slipped them on.

Loki seized on that, ‘Teach me then, master. I will not let you down again.”

“I’ll think about it,” Stark said, “But listen, I know it was a mistake, don’t stress about it. I’m upset, but I'm not angry with you, OK?”

Loki nodded, not sure of the difference.

Stark sighed, “And this isn’t any kind of punishment, but you will need to get back in the crate for the ride to the house. You can keep the phone.”

Loki nodded again. He had expected to be put back in the box when the plane landed. Stark had said it was only a short way to his house, and of course he could not have more people get off the plane than had got on it.

The plane banked and circled to descend. Out of the window Loki saw the ocean, deep grey with white tips under an overcast sky. It was coming towards winter in the place, but Loki did not mind. He was not in the mood for bright sun, and even the cool days of Midgard were nothing to the bitter chill of Jotunheim.

Chapter Text

This time when the crate opened, Loki was in Stark’s house. Cool light flooded the room from a large bank of windows, the noise of crashing waves provided a backdrop. Loki loved it as soon as he saw it. The house felt cozy. The grey sky outside contrasted with the warmth inside, seabirds floated in the sky, the breaking waves showed their bright white tips. Stark helped Loki climb out of the crate, his legs and back stiff from the cramped space. He didn’t even care about that discomfort, to have arrived in such a place. Syla was pressed up the window, her hands smearing the glass, hypnotized by the ocean.

“Modi,” she breathed, “Modi look, no ice!”

Stark held on to Loki’s elbow, sensing his unsteady balance as he tried to walk. “No ice,” he agreed, “but the water’s plenty cold this time of year. If you watch you can see dolphins, even whales sometimes further out.” He walked Loki over to the large windows. At the touch of a button the glass slid back to open the whole side of the house to the patio. They walked out, the salt air fresh in their lungs, the ocean freeze blowing Syla’s wings, making them bounce and play behind her.

“This whole place is secured,” Stark explained. “I have anti-surveillance running 24/7. Nothing moves within half a mile of here without Jarvis knowing about it. You can come outside, go down to the beach, use the pool. No one can see us here. It’s not like New York, no neighbors here to get mad at electrical interference. I can run high intensity shielding here without pissing anyone off. Well, it pisses off SHIELD, but who cares about them.”

Stark seemed more relaxed already, as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders. The crashing waves and cool ocean breeze drew a smile to his strangely youthful face. Loki felt the same way. This was a good place. He was not afraid to be here alone with his master. He was not worried about why he had been brought here, to this isolated place, with no neighbors, as he would have been had Byliestr taken him to such a place. It was peaceful, and Loki had no fear of his master’s intentions.

“OK,” Stark said, after a few moments. “I’m gonna unpack stuff in the workshop, you two can take the guest room,” he pointed to the door, “and get settled in.”

“Yes Sir,” Loki said automatically, “Do you require assistance?”

Stark hesitated, then said, “No, not right now. How about you take care of dinner? Jarvis stocked the kitchen already.”

Loki agreed, and Stark vanished down a spiral staircase, presumably to his workshop below. He had not mentioned Loki's magical mistake again, but Loki was sure he was still unhappy with what he had done. Loki hoped that he would come up with some method of discipline that would satisfy his rules, and still allow Loki to earn his forgiveness.

Syla looked up at Loki, her eyes bright, “Modi, water?” she asked, pointed down to the beach and the crashing waves. Loki smiled at her, sharing her enthusiasm for the idea, but unable to do it. He would unpack their room and see to dinner first, and if there was still light he would take her down to the ocean after that. She nodded, understanding that he had to work before he could spend time with her. It was always that way.

“Sir,” Jarvis announced, “Prince Thor has arrived at the tower, would you like me to give him any message?”

“Awesome J!” Tony’s voice came from the speakers, “Tell him to meet us here. His magical hammer can get him here faster than the jet, right?”

There was a short pause, “Prince Thor is en-route. At his current velocity, he will arrive in approximately 90 minutes.”

Loki’s heart jumped in his chest, to see his brother again. Perhaps he had news. Had he told Odin that Loki was now on Midgard? Had he asked about the geas? Thor was not known for his diplomacy, and when he and Odin disagreed the consequences could be explosive, to say the least. Of more immediate concern, Thor would be present for dinner. Loki had to plan that, and he had only 90 minutes! He carried the cases with his and Syla’s clothes up to the guest room, which was a bright room overlooking the ocean. He didn’t unpack though, he went directly to the kitchen. The refrigerator was indeed stocked, and as he rummaged through it Syla snuck up behind him and poked her head under his arm. He gave her a hug and asked what she thought they should eat for dinner. She pointed at a packet of her favorite smoked salmon, and Loki noticed there were four packets of it stacked up in the fridge.

With Jarvis’ assistance Loki decided to make a creamy smoked salmon pasta, topped with breadcrumbs and cheese. Jarvis had not given him a bad recommendation yet, and given Loki was unfamiliar with most Midgardian food, he had little choice but to trust him. Syla was dubious about her favorite fish being mixed with other ingredients, but Loki assured her it would be tasty. He doubted that the other diners would want to eat cold smoked salmon from the package for dinner, even if Syla would. Jarvis suggested he chill some wine and warm up some crusty bread, and within 45 minutes he had everything lined up. All the ingredients were ready, the table outside on the patio was set, wine was chilling in the refrigerator. Surely his master would be pleased. To have his house ready to receive guests, ready to make the prince of Asgard welcome. He put the finishing touches to the table. The sky was darkening and the moon starting to shine silver over the ocean, so he set out some fat white candles.

When everything was ready he turned his attention to himself. He had been working hard, he had twice that day been locked in a shipping crate, and his shirt had a dark stain where he had mopped up Stark’s blood. He was not presentable. He needed to change, to clean himself. He would not shame Stark's house by serving his guest looking such a mess.

Syla too needed to change, or least to brush her hair and wipe her face. Loki doubted he would entice her out of the butterfly costume. He picked her up off the stool she was been watching from, and lifted her easily in his arms. He carried her up to their new room, and left her to sort through the cases and put her own clothes away while he showered. He dressed himself and brushed out his hair. It was so long still, and he had not gathered the courage to ask his master if he may cut it. He was almost certain that Stark would give him permission, but still he would need to ask. Even if he would have said yes, he would not be pleased if Loki did it without asking. Loki let his hair dry while he helped Syla freshen up. As he expected she wanted to keep the butterfly costume on, and he had no heart to deny her. A quick wipe with a damp cloth, a brush through her hair and she was as good as new. He put his still damp hair back in a loose braid, long enough to drape over his shoulder. He looked presentable. Fresh and clean, the dark pants and a green shirt contrasting his pale skin.

All the shirts Stark had given him had short sleeves, and Loki felt a twinge that he could not cover more of himself. He had used to prefer long sleeves, high necks, multiple layers of clothing. He mentally scolded himself. Not a week ago he had been barely covered by a single wrap of cloth, and now he was complaining that his master wanted his arms bare? He was in danger of becoming spoiled. It was irrelevant what he would once have preferred to wear. Stark could have him naked if he wished it, or dressed in any number of humiliating ways. Loki should be grateful that he was allowed to wear these clothes, not be wishing for even more things that he did not deserve.

He took a deep breath. His brother was returning. As much he as may wish Thor would drop from the sky and release him from the servitude of the geas with a stroke of his hammer, Loki knew it would not be so easy. Even if Thor had made that request of the Allfather, it was unlikely to have been granted. Moreover, even if it was granted, Loki had bound himself with his own oath, and even the Allfather himself had little sway with the norns. No, better not to hold out hope. Better to be grateful for what he had. Grateful for this safety, for Stark’s mercy, for the comfort and food that he provided, most of all for the protection he gave his daughter. It would be so for the rest of his life. Stark owned him now, and he would own his every breath, his every action, until the end of his days.

Chapter Text

Thor touched down lightly on the beach, the setting sun behind him. Sand kicked up from his feet as he skipped and caught his balance, but there was no crash of thunder, no dramatic flash of lightning. Watching him, Loki thought for the first time that he may not be the only one who had changed in the last five years. Thor waved up at the house on the bluff and launched himself into the air for one final hop to land on the patio. He was wearing a dark poncho over his usual armor in place of his bright red cape, and Loki wondered at the change.

“Brother, Niece!” Thor called and held out his arms. Loki's breath caught in his throat, he crossed the patio in two steps and threw himself into his brother’s bear hug. He had come back. He had come back. Moments later Syla pulled at the leg of his pants.

“N’cle!” She said, and Thor swept her off the ground and squeezed her between them, to her delight, crushed wings and all. Thor beamed at them both, holding Syla easily in one arm, his other hand cupping Loki’s neck. “Brother, you look well,” he said, looking Loki up and down. He took in his new clothes, his freshly washed hair, his face filled out even from just one week of good food and good sleep. He turned to Syla. Faced with his bright blue eyes at such close range, she squirmed and held out her arms for Loki to take her. Thor all but tossed her over, making her squeal again. “Niece, you look well also, I see your wings have grown in!” He ruffled her wings and she buried her face in Loki's neck, then looked up to say, “They're not real, N’cle”

Thor smiled at her, put one muscular arm around Loki's shoulder and turned to face the house. Stark chose that moment to walk out, having given them privacy for their reunion. Look fretted for a moment that he should not have greeted Prince Thor as a brother before his master had greeted him as the head of his household. He should not have greeted Thor in that manner at all, as he was a slave in this house. But he pushed such thoughts away. Stark clearly did not care. He strolled over and clasped arms with Thor, wincing at his tight grip before Thor remembered he was Midgardian.

“My friend,” Thor said, another effusive greeting on his tongue before he noticed Stark's altered appearance, even in the dim twilight. “What has happened?” He asked instead.

Stark grimaced. “Just a little magical mishap,” he said lightly. “Nothing to worry about. We can talk about it later. You hungry?”

Thankfully, Thor accepted the subject change and nodded. “I have news,” he said, “good and bad, but let us talk over a meal, as friends and family should.”

Loki jumped to start cooking but it turned into a group effort, all of them crowding into the kitchen. Thor cut and buttered the bread, Stark opened the wine and mixed the salad, Loki finished the crunchy top of the creamy pasta in the oven. Syla darted between them, snagging tastes and bites from them all. They carried the food out to the patio and Loki served them in turn, Stark first, of course. When everyone had a plate of pasta, bread, and green salad Loki only hesitated a moment before he sat at his place around the circular table. Stark's meaningful look at his seat and firm nod was all it took. The sun was down and a cool breeze came off the ocean as they ate. Stark shivered and ran inside to fetch a sweater. He bought extras out and offered them each one. Thor and Syla shook their heads but Loki accepted. He was not cold, but an extra layer would be welcome, long sleeves and a floppy hood that hung down his back. Perhaps Stark would allow him to keep this garment. He would not have offered it to his slave if it was one he valued, after all.

They ate for a few minutes, relaxing in each other's company with good food shared between them, until Loki could stand it no more. “Please, tell us your news, brother,” he said.

Thor nodded. “Aye. First the bad news. Father refused to lift the geas. He would not hear of it. He berated me for a full hour in the great hall when I asked him and he refused to even tell me why. He is beyond reason in this matter.”

Loki's appetite faded away. He had expected no different from his not-father. Odin had sentenced him to this life, and had him sold at auction in chains like a common criminal. Loki had not thought that he would have changed his mind. He did not know what crime he had committed to make his former father hate him so, unless it was the crime of existing. The crime of being loved by Frigga, by Thor, even after his planned use came to nothing.

“And Moth...Frigga?” He asked, dreading to hear that answer.

Thor smiled. “She would not discuss it,” he said, and Loki could not understand why he would smile at such a thing. Thor continued, “She did take me on a tour of the tour of the Royal Library, including the restricted section. She showed me many interesting volumes, reminisced about how she used to teach magic to a certain young man.” Thor reached under his cape, pulled out a slim book with a jet black cover. “I fear the good lady almost had to hit me over the head with this before I took her meaning,” he said with a rueful smile. “Now that her scholar is gone, she has to make do with an oaf like me. I have not your subtlety, brother.” He gave the book over to Loki, who opened it with suddenly trembling fingers.

(Art by Achika on Imgur)

He knew at once what it was. Written by a nameless master-mage of ages past, it contained the necessary spells and incantations to enslave an unlucky victim under a geas. Such knowledge was highly restricted, forbidden, hardly even admitted to exist. Some thought the Allfather could merely channel the Odinforce to his will, but Loki knew that Odin had studied magic. He had been a mage of vast power even before the death of his father Bor and his coronation as Allfather. This must be the very book that Odin had used to cast the geas on Loki.

The table was silent as he leafed through the pages. There were not many, the knowledge to cast such a dark spell could be distilled to just a few chapters. When he reached the end, he looked up again. Even Syla was sitting still, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth, her eyes wide.

Thor spoke, “Can you...do you think you can undo it?”

Loki closed the book and set it aside. He put his hands in his lap, clenched to fists where no one could see. He looked at his plate. “I cannot perform any magic without the permission of my master,” he said, “and even if I could undo it, I have given my oath. I made a vow before the norns and such a thing cannot be broken.”

“Stark will release you from your oath,” Thor declared, but Loki shook his head, still not looking at Stark, who had not yet agreed or disagreed with Thor.

“He cannot. The oath was accepted. My loyalty and obedience in exchange for mercy and protection for my daughter. The terms have been fulfilled, the oath is binding and cannot be reversed. The norns witnessed it. Thor, you must know they do not look kindly on those who try to unravel their weavings.”

Stark finished his wine and poured himself another glass. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he said, “Lets worry about the geas first. Can you undo it?”

Loki nodded, then shrugged, “It is possible, Sir. I would need to study the spells, to find the gaps where I may be able to slip them loose. It is a rare spell that has no weaknesses, but this one is many layered. It will take time.”

“OK, well let’s start there. Jarvis can help you, he’s a quick learner.”

Loki could do nothing but agree. He would study the spell, if that is what his master wanted him to do, but he did not dare hold out hope that he may be released. That he may one day be free, to use his power as he pleased, to take his daughter and raise her wherever he wished, to teach her magic openly. He cut off those thoughts. Such dreams would only bring him pain and disappointment. His place was here now. He had made his bargain, and it was a good one. Stark's protection and mercy for Syla was worth far more than Loki's freedom. When he had it, he had not used it well. This was better, to serve and obey. He knew it was better.

Even as he told himself that, his eyes lingered on the slender black book by his side.

Chapter Text

Loki could not sleep that night. Of course he could not. They had been up late eating and talking, until Syla was almost asleep in her chair. Loki had carried her up to their new bedroom and tucked her into bed. He even spent some time putting away their clothes, but still he was wide awake, the moon high over the ocean. He decided to go to the patio and enjoy the sounds of the waves. Stark had given him permission to go outside, he was not confined to this room, but he felt a thrill of nervousness when he cracked the door and crept downstairs. The house was dark, the only light coming from the full moon outside. Loki could see well enough, and he noticed the doors leading out to the patio were already open. He stepped out and saw Stark was there, reclined on a comfortable lounger, a blanket over him and a glass of wine in his hand. He was looking up at the sky, the stars bright in the cloudless night.

Loki tried to back away, to leave his master in peace, but he must have made some sound. Stark turned his head and saw him standing there.

Loki stumbled over his words. “I apologize for disturbing you, master, please excuse me.”

Stark smiled at the sight of him, beckoned him over to join him. So summoned, Loki went out to the patio. The night air was chill and fresh, it woke him up even more than he had been. Stark had an empty wine bottle next to his seat, and another half full on next to it.

“Hey you,” he said, his smile warm, his beckoning hand wavering in the air. “Sit down,” Stark shifted his feet on the lounger and Loki knew he was meant to sit with him, on the same seat. He did, sitting where Stark’s feet had been, only a few inches separating them. A slight thread of anxiety grew in him when he realized Stark was intoxicated. He had drunk a few glasses of wine with dinner, but it seemed he had not stopped drinking since then. Drunk people were unpredictable, Loki knew that much. An unpredictable master was not a good thing for a slave. Stark seemed happy and content enough for now, but that could change. Loki would need to tread carefully. Stark awkwardly pulled the blanket to cover them both, spilling a little wine as he did so.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you. About a lot of things, actually. First up. I’m not mad at you about the healing. I’m over it. I do kind of want my old face back, but you can do that, right? Maybe when I’m less drunk. But having the aches and pains gone is good. It’s very good. I was kind of freaked out at first, but you know, I kind of realized, I’m not the only one here who had their body messed with. You know exactly what that’s like. And I’ve done it to you, I used the geas and made you do things, I made you get in that fucking box in the first place, even though you didn’t want to. So...I'm not mad. OK?”

Loki followed his master’s somewhat rambling words, trying to ensure that he understood, “Then, will you not discipline me, master?” he asked, still unsure that forgiveness could come without being earned.

Stark shook his head, “I wasn’t gonna.” he said, but then noticed Loki’s anxious expression.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, seeming taken aback when Loki nodded. Loki could hardly even explain it to himself. He wanted to pay for what he had done, he wanted to feel he had earned his master’s forgiveness.

“OK, OK,” Stark said, a mischievous look on his face, gesturing wildly with his glass and spilling a few more drops of wine. “You can rub my feet. If you do a good job I’ll forgive you.” His feet tapped at Loki's thigh under the blanket.

Loki hung his head, “Please do not mock me, master,” He said, unsure what game Stark may be playing with him. If Stark wanted a foot rub, he would give him one, of course. He would be happy to be of service. But such a thing was hardly a punishment for the mistake he had made.

But it seemed Stark was serious, he refilled his glass, lay back on the lounger, wiggled his feet up onto Loki’s lap. He raised his eyebrows as if to say 'get on with it' and after a few confused moments Loki did. He rearranged himself on the chair, sitting astride it facing his master. He smoothed the blanket over Stark's feet and over his own lap, then began to work. He had strong hands, and he knew how to do this. He knew all the pressure points and areas to work, and even though he had no oils or lotions to help, in moments Stark let out a delighted cry. “Oh that’s good! Oh you’re definitely forgiven, no question, just keep doing that!"

Loki did. He gave Tony a very thorough and attentive foot massage, from his toes up to his calves. When he was done, Tony was sprawled back on his chair, his drink forgotten in his loose hand, his head thrown back, occasional moans coming from his parted lips. The sight drew Loki’s eyes. He had not had such an effect on anyone for years. Even when Byliestr or his friends were pleased with Loki's performance they did not let him take control, they did not let him go at his own pace, or take the lead. They certainly did not show their pleasure in such a way. With them, Loki was just a thing to be used. Perhaps he may please them with his submission, but it was only a matter of how well he took what they did to him.

In the past, before his true nature was revealed, when he still was a prince, Loki had rather enjoyed playing such games with his lovers. To work them into an exhausted state of pleasure with his hands, his mouth, his tongue. To tease and deny until they were nothing but such a pliant mess of sensual need and desire that they would beg him to end it, beg him to have them as he pleased. And then he would, until they both were wild and drunk on pleasure.

A tiny spark lit in his belly at the thought, but he doused it immediately. He should not think of his master that way. It was impossible. There was no possibility that he would allow his slave such liberties. Slaves did not do such things, slaves obeyed orders, they were used as their masters pleased and that was all. Stark had already told him he would not use him that way. That he would not bend him over and take his pleasure from Loki's body. Loki believed him, and he also knew that that was the only possibility for such relations between a slave and their master.

Loki glanced up, Tony was watching him, his eyes dark in the moonlight. He slid his feet off of Loki’s lap and crossed his legs under the blanket. “You like that?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yes, Tony,” Loki replied, honesty coming unbidden from his mouth, “I do.”

Tony cleared his throat, his eyes coming back into focus, “Um, yeah, me too actually, but with hindsight that was a bad idea. Super bad. I should not have asked you to do that. That’s a dangerous path to start down.”

“Tony, I am happy to serve you in such ways,” Loki said, needing Tony to know that he knew his place.

“Yeah, I know,” Tony said, waving his hand between them, “that’s the problem.” Stark looked at the glass in his hand, at the half drunk wine bottle next to him. He took a deep breath. “OK I want to talk to you about the geas, and the oath, but maybe tomorrow morning. I think we’re done for tonight. You can stay out here if you want.” Tony picked up the bottles, his glass, bundled the blanket awkwardly in his arms and vanished into the house with a swift goodnight. Loki would have said he fled into the house but surely he would have no need to flee from his slave. There was nothing Loki could do to harm him, after all. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he had drunk too much wine and suddenly felt the effects. Loki shrugged and walked to the edge of the patio, looking out over the ocean. In the darkness he could only see the bright track of the moon, the gleam of the white breakers. The rest of the ocean was a dark mass, moving and surging against the shore, powerful but unknown.

Chapter Text

Loki woke early the next morning, bright cold sunlight flooding the room. Syla had wriggled around so her head was under the pillow, and was still sleeping soundly. Loki left her in the bed. She still was recovering from her first three years on Jotunheim and if she needed sleep, he would try to get her sleep. Loki dressed and put on the soft jacket that Tony had given him the night before. It fit him well, so it must have swamped Tony when he wore it. It was dark grey with the letters MIT in red lettering. Loki did not know what it meant, but he liked having an extra layer and the option to pull up the hood if he wanted to.

Thor was already up, drinking coffee on the patio. Loki went to join him, leaning on the railing by his side.

“Brother,” Thor greeted him, his coffee steaming happily in the cool air.

Loki nodded, and they looked out over the ocean together. Thor turned to Loki, his blond hair blustering around his face in the ocean breeze. Loki noticed a dark braid in his hair, behind his ear. Perhaps from Jane Foster, he thought, and did not mention it. If Thor was wearing a love-lock for her, their relationship must have ended. Thor gripped his shoulder, looked into his eyes. “Loki, is Stark treating you well?” He asked, his gaze intense.

“Yes,” Loki said, with no urge or reason to lie, “He is. He is treating us very well. Better than he needs to. He is very kind.”

Thor nodded, satisfied. “You seem well,” he said, “Much more like yourself. And my niece is happy, she likes Stark.”

“He is good to her,” Loki said, “He is a good man. It is...it is very different here.”

They stood together for a while, Thor fidgeting in a way that meant he was working up the courage to ask something else. Loki waited, and sure enough a few minutes later Thor blurted out, “Loki. I know some of what you suffered on Jotunheim. Stark has not...he has not...has he?”

Loki shook his head, “He has not,” he said, feeling the crumpled paper in his pocket. Tony’s promises to him, written and signed. Thor exhaled his relief. “I did not think it,” he said, “but neither did I think father would disown you so utterly that he would spit with rage at the mere sound of your name.”

Loki watched the waves crash on the shore, watched the seabirds glide through the air. “I can only think that Odin never cared for me, even as a babe.” The words floated out of his mouth, distant from him even as he knew they were the truth. “I was a serpent at Frigga’s breast, put there by his own hands. He should not have done it, taken me from Jotunheim, lied to me, lied to all of Asgard. Perhaps now he knows it was a mistake, but he can never admit it. He cannot go back and undo what he did, but he can do the next best thing. Take away my name, take away my freedom, my magic, my...my family.” Tears sprang to Loki’s eyes. His family. He had had one once, one that he thought he belonged to, who had cared for him. But that had been fractured, broken apart. He had been extracted like a rotten tooth and discarded. Now he only had Syla that he would call family. Even Thor, even his beloved brother still called Odin father. Thor would do his duty to Asgard and Loki loved him no less for it. The same with Frigga. Both of them were bound to Asgard, bound to Odin in a way that Loki no longer was.

Thor wrapped Loki in his arms and hugged him, and for a moment Loki didn’t think, just let himself melt into it. He had once yearned to be Thor’s equal, but now he knew that was impossible. Now, he would settle for his affection, for this.

“I can stay until the evening brother,” Thor said when he stepped back, allowing Loki a moment to wipe his eyes, his own eyes damp and shining. “I must take the book back to the library when I leave. Can you make a copy in one day?”

Loki nodded, sure that Jarvis could copy the pages of the book quickly. “I will take care of it this morning. Perhaps you can take Syla down to the water? She has never seen an ocean without ice.”

Thor enthusiastically agreed to that plan. After breakfast Tony and Loki prepared to go down to the lab to copy the book, while Thor chased Syla down the wooden steps on the cliffside to the beach. Syla still refused to wear anything but her moon dress, and she had talked her uncle into detaching the wings of her butterfly costume and looping them around her shoulders. The chill day did not bother her at all. She kept her feet bare and sprinted towards the water, Thor chasing behind her.

“We can watch from the lab,” Tony said, easily reading the tension in Loki’s shoulders as his three year old daughter ran full speed to the breaking waves of the Pacific ocean. “Jarvis has full surveillance on the beach and search and rescue capabilities up to 800 feet down. She’ll be fine.”

In the lab, Jarvis was already showing a full screen view of Syla and Thor splashing in the water. The girl shrieked with laughter as her uncle pretended he was going to throw her into the waves. Loki had never thought to see her so carefree, acting as a child should, not cowering and hiding herself away. Living, not just surviving.

Tony set up the scanning equipment while Loki watched. He wanted to scan each page on multiple frequencies. They had to give the book back so he did not want to miss anything that may be important. Loki had no idea if the book held any secrets other than the words and diagrams written on the pages, and he had no objections to being thorough. The actual scanning process took a couple of minutes per page. Once the pages began to show up on Jarvis’ screens, Loki was distracted from the mechanics of scanning and began to read. Jarvis quickly adapted. He made notes of Loki's muttered comments, and linked comments together that covered similar topics. He made a live translation of the pages and found areas of commonality and dissonance in the text, drawing Loki's attention to such discrepancies. Tony turned the pages and scanned, turned and scanned. Jarvis was his own creation, and as a research assistant there was none better.

The pages were all scanned in a couple of hours. Loki was torn between wanting to study the text more and wanting to spend time with his brother. Thor won, and they went back upstairs to find Thor and Syla trying to sneak back in to the house. They were wet and sandy, their hair wild and their clothes salty and almost certainly torn. Syla had a collection of pebbles clutched in her fists, and probably more in her pockets. Tony folded his arms and gave them both a look. Thor laughed and held out his arms, threatening Tony with a wet, salty hug. Tony yelped and pointed them both to the laundry room and threw some towels and robes in after them.

Trusting Thor to take care of Syla, Loki began to make lunch for them all. He put together a simple but hearty platter of bread, cheese, cold meats, fruits and of course Syla’s favorite fish. While he worked Tony sat at the counter and watched.

“Hey,” he said, after a few minutes, “What will you do, if you can get free of all this.” Tony waved his hand in the air, indicating Loki’s situation. Loki knew at once what he was asking. He wanted to know if Loki would be a danger to his realm. If he would take up his ambitions to rule, to subjugate others, or to take revenge on those who had hurt him. Tony had to grant his permission for Loki to even attempt to lift the geas. If he did not, there was nothing Loki could do to free himself.

Loki chose his words with care, aware of the decision Tony had to make. “I would take Syla to a safe place,” he said, almost unwilling to imagine it himself. “A peaceful place, where she can be a child, and grow and learn as a child should. Maybe I could find a place by an ocean,” he smiled, Syla’s joy in the water fresh in his memory. “All I want is to be a good parent for her, to let her know peace and happiness. To make up for the first years of her life, when I could not give her that.”

Tony nodded, grabbed a piece of cheese from the board and nibbled on it. “No vengeance?” he asked, “No conquering?”

Loki looked at the fruit he was slicing, making careful, even cuts. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I...I do not deny my actions of the past, but what led to them...such circumstances will not happen again. I know you must have little trust for my words, but I will make you any oath you wish if you will grant me permission to lift the geas. I still will be your sworn slave, but I will no longer be... a puppet on a string, as I am now.”

“If there's anything else,” Tony said, his head to one side, watching Loki twining his fingers together. “Tell...you probably should tell me.”

Loki swallowed. There was something else, but it was only a suspicion, he did not know for sure. There was a strong chance that lifting the geas would help him even if his oath still bound him as Tony's slave. He decided to tell Tony what he suspected. He had sworn to be loyal as well as to be obedient. Loyalty was not shown by withholding information.

“Tony, it is not my wish for this to happen, please understand that." Loki began, nervous about even voicing such a thing. He took a breath and carried on. "My oath was made to you. If you were to...to die before me, I may be free of it at that time. The geas was placed on me by Odin, I know it will persist past your death. If I outlive you, I will remain a slave, and whoever inherits your property will own me also.

My oath binds me as your slave, but the geas binds me as the slave of whoever claims me. If the geas remains, I could never be free, even if I lived for five thousand years. Even if I served another hundred masters."

"Huh," Tony said, taking the news of his slave anticipating his death rather more calmly than Loki had feared. "OK, well, despite the magical healing boost, I am pretty sure I'm not gonna outlive you. So I guess we better get that geas off you, hadn't we?"

At that moment, Thor and Syla emerged from the laundry room, somewhat cleaner, wrapped up in fluffy robes. Syla's robe dragged on the ground, Thor's came above his knees. Loki smiled at them both, at the charming and absurd picture they made. Syla's cheeks glowed a lighter blue, and Thor's were reddened from the wind. They all sat down to devour the meal Loki had prepared, and tell of their adventures. Syla showed off her collection of pebbles, but even as Loki exclaimed over each one, he revisited Tony's words in his mind.

He had agreed to allow him to try and lift the geas. Even if Loki was to be a slave, it would be to a kind master, and it would only be for one mortal lifetime.

Chapter Text

The corridors and halls of Utgard were freezing. Always freezing cold and covered in ice. Loki shivered in the thin wrap of cloth he was allowed to wear. He scurried through the halls, bare feet on chill rock, looking for his daughter. A shadow crept behind him, in the corner of his eye, behind his back, out of sight, but deep and dark and terrible nonetheless. Loki walked faster. He did not dare to run. A running slave attracted attention, and attention was what he was desperate to avoid. He had to find Syla. He had to protect her, had to shield her from the shadow, from the horror, but it was always with him, always just behind him. Dread was eating him alive. She was lost. She was a slave, a raekten slave as he was and it was only a matter of time before she grew enough for his Jotun masters to notice her. He would do anything to protect her from that, but she was young and he was already beaten down and used up. He knew it, he would offer himself in her place but it would not work forever. He needed to find her before the shadows did.

(Art by Achika on Imgur)

He could hear her voice in his head, calling for him, soft and small. She never made a loud noise, but he could hear her. The ice on the walls formed into sinister shapes, shadows jumped into sharp relief; grasping hands, cruel teeth, the lash. He looked over his shoulder and there was nothing but blackness behind him. He stumbled and fell, something grabbed his ankle. He screamed and kicked out, but there was nothing there. He scrambled to his feet and ran. A hand grabbed his hair and he fell again, rolled on the rough ground, cuts on his skin layered over old bruises. Still no one was there but the shadow, and the echo of mocking laughter.

Loki woke with a scream in his throat. The sensation of hands on him, fists in his hair, cold laughter, and pain. Always pain. He was in a frenzy of fear, he didn’t know where he was, why he was wearing soft clothes, why he was warm, why there was a calm voice saying his name.

“Loki, it’s OK, you’re safe, you’re safe, it’s Tony, you’re safe Loki, you’re not on Jotunheim, it’s over, you’re safe now.”

The scream died, his breath harsh in his ears, his heart pounding, shivers covering his body, blankets torn to shreds in his hands. The dream lingered over him, five years of humiliation and servitude soaking his skin like sweat. He was on Midgard. He was on Midgard. He was on Midgard.

“Syla,” he croaked, her absence the first thing he noticed.

“She’s right here,” Tony said, and sure enough she was at the end of the bed, peeking over the piled up blankets.

Tony handed Loki a bottle of cold water, and he drank from it, the cool water washing away the nightmare.

“It was a dream,” Loki said to the two red eyes watching him, “Just a dream, my darling. I am well.”

Syla climbed back onto the bed, scrambled up to put her small hand on his cheek. Tony sat on the bed, yawning. He was wearing his sleeping clothes, shorts and a sleeveless undershirt.

"Nightmares are the worst." he said, in the tone of someone who knew. "Sometimes it helps to talk about it."

“Was it about the king?” Syla asked.

Loki nodded, then shrugged. It had not been about Byliestr, or about anyone, just a drenching of fear and helplessness that he could not escape from.

Syla’s little face screwed up, “I hated the king!” she declared, “He hurt you! I wished he would die!”

Loki wrapped his arms around her, her body shaking and stiff. He did not know how to comfort her. He could not make her any promises. He still was a slave, and although he may have a kind master now, that could change in a moment. If Stark’s fight with the giant sea-creature a few days ago had gone badly, they could both be in SHIELD laboratories right now. Test subjects, experiments, separated from each other and likely never to see each other again. Loki pushed that thought away. Tony had said he could release the geas. He would be a slave to Tony Stark, and no other.

“Can the king come here?” Syla asked, an edge of panic to her voice. She must have thought herself safe, here in this comfortable house, with her uncle and her Modi, and Stark, who she seemed to trust. Now Loki's nightmare had reminded her that the safety she enjoyed was merely imagined.

Loki did not know how to reply. Not two days ago Byliestr had sent an envoy to Midgard to try and recover Syla. If Tony had not lied to them and protected her, they would have taken her, or taken Loki in her place. Tony stepped in.

“Hey, let me show you two something,” Tony said. He urged them both out of bed and into the living room. They were all in their sleeping clothes, rumbled and tired, but Tony coaxed them along until they stood before the huge glass doors. The sun was coming up behind the house, the ocean sparkled like a diamond.

They admired the view for a moment, Syla held in Loki's arms. Loki was not sure what Tony wanted them to see. Surely not just this beautiful morning.

“Jarvis, arm all defenses,” Tony said. In less than a second the house transformed around them. Gun turrets sprang from the ceilings and from the patio and cliffs outside. Metal shields slammed down over the glass. Armored figures appeared, and Loki grabbed Tony’s arm before he realized they were drone versions of the Iron Man armor. Syla clung to him, her eyes wide.

Tony turned to look at then both, his hard eyes a contrast to his untamed hair.

“If anyone comes here, they’ll have to deal with me before they ever get to you. King or not,” he said. In that moment, Loki believed him. Believed that he would and could protect them.

Tony looked at Syla, snuggled in Loki’s arms. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said, “Or your Modi, OK? I’ll take care of you both.”

Syla nodded seriously. Loki felt something pass between them, an unspoken promise from Stark to Syla, a recognition of Stark's acceptance of his oath. Stark's side of that bargain was mercy and protection for Syla. He had more than fulfilled that condition from the first night Loki had come into his possession.

Loki shivered. He felt the eyes of the norns on him, he felt the bonds of his oath pulling tighter around him as more threads were woven. It mattered not, he told himself, it was an oath he was happy to keep.

He would be Stark's loyal and obedient slave until the day he died, and his daughter would be safe.

Chapter Text

“I tried, on Jotunheim,” Loki said, sitting on long curved couch on the patio with Tony as the sun rose. Syla was asleep on his shoulder, but he and Tony had wordlessly given up on more sleep and made coffee.

Tony sipped his drink, waited for Loki to continue.

“I really did try to be good. To be what he wanted me to be. Not at first. At first I fought him and resisted the geas and found loopholes and tried to escape. He would punish me, but I thought I could handle it. It was only pain, it was nothing to me." Loki paused and glanced over at Tony. He was listening.

"Then, I stole some food, and he found out, and he was so angry. He...he punished me but not like before. Before it had been just a game to him, and I didn't even realize, he was toying with me. But that time he put me in...in the pillory in the main courtyard and he left me there."

Loki wiped his face, careful not the disturb the child sleeping on his shoulder. He didn’t know why he was telling this to Tony, except that the words built up inside him and would not remain unsaid. His dream still lingered and he needed to talk. Tony reached over and laid his hand between them, palm up. Loki took it, the grip grounding him.

"After that, I never knew who had....who had had me. Anyone could have, guards, servants, other slaves, even those who had been kind to me. Everywhere I went, they looked at me differently, they all knew. That I wasn't anything special. I had been punished and publicly used by dozens of them, and they all knew what I was."

Tony squeezed his hand, and murmured, "I'm so sorry Loki, I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"After that, I tried to be good. To be pleasing, to behave. I did whatever he told me to do. I thought that if I could just behave the right way, that he wouldn’t hurt me. That he wouldn’t put me back there. But he knew he had broken me. He knew I was afraid of him. He played with me. He toyed with me. He would act angry and laugh when I tried to appease him. He would threaten me. He made me tell him I liked...that I liked…what he did.”

Loki paused, he hefted the comforting weight of Syla on his arm, felt her little snuffle against his neck. He buried his face in her hair, calmed himself. Tony was listening, waiting for him to continue, if he wanted to.

“He never stopped, no matter what I did. He hurt me, he let his friends hurt me, he cared nothing for Syla, even though…” he did not say it out loud. Although Byliestr had got her on him, Loki considered Syla to be his child alone. Byliestr was no parent to her. He was nothing. He could have no part of her. Loki had held the herbs in his hand and decided that the babe in his belly would be his. He had claimed her whole and entire. Even her heritage lines, that should have mapped her history from both parents, to Loki’s eye were beautiful. They were a new beginning. Her heritage would be her own.

They sat together, the three of them, as the day warmed and Syla stirred and woke. She squirmed in between them, her eyes half closed, and dozed as they talked. As much as Loki wanted to be useful and valuable to Tony, he could not help his relief that Tony chose not to make him his bed-warmer. Even if he would be kind, even if he did not cause pain, the thought of being touched in such ways, of being so vulnerable, made him shudder. For five years Loki had been forced to accept violation after violation. He had been helpless to prevent his owner using him in any way he pleased. This was different. He thought of the note, carefully folded in his nightstand. Tony’s promises to him. He had signed his name to it. Loki did not know how closely that bound him. It was not an oath such that Loki had made to the Norns, no, he had only written his own name, not the names of any gods. But still, Tony Stark’s name was worth something. He would not write it to a lie.

Tony yawned, and Loki was ashamed he had woken up the household with his nightmare. “I am sorry for disturbing your rest, Tony," he said.

 (Art by Achika on imgur)

Tony shook his head. “When I was in Afghanistan, I was kidnapped by terrorists and held for three months. It was just me, and one other guy. He saved my life, with this,” Tony pulled his clothing aside and ran his hand over the scarred circle on his chest. “They wanted me to build them a weapon, and they tortured me until I agreed to do it. They threatened my friend, they drowned me, over and over. And I agreed to do what they wanted. To make them stop hurting me.”

“Did you do it?” Loki asked softly, astonished that his master could have been through such a similar experience.

Tony shrugged, “I pretended to. I put on enough of a show and when the time was right I escaped. But my friend died there. I couldn’t save him.”

They both looked out over the ocean, the sunlight dancing on the water, the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. It was so peaceful, so calm.

“I’ve had nightmares about it ever since," Tony said. "That I’m back there, that I’m drowning again, that I'm trying to agree to do what they want but they don't listen, and it doesn’t stop. So no apology is necessary. It was three months for me, and I knew my friends were looking for me. It was five years for you, and your own parents sent you there. It’s going to take some time to process. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Loki nodded, he squeezed Tony's hand and they watched the water together.

Chapter Text

Loki was about to offer to make breakfast when Jarvis interrupted, “Sir, there is activity at the tower.”

“What kind of activity, J?”

“I am not sure, Sir. I am detecting a heavily shielded presence on the roof. There is a great deal of interference.”

Tony sat up. “Passive lock-down. Show me.”

“Passive lock-down is already in place, Sir.” Jarvis sounded offended that Tony thought he would not have already taken such a basic precaution. The big screen in the living room lit up and they all three hurried inside to see. Syla was awake now, her eyes wide, her arms tight around Loki’s neck.

The screen showed various angles of the roof of the tower. The runic pattern of the bifrost landing site was clearly visible, as well an aircraft landing area. Blurred figures drifted across the screen, translucent, barely there at all.

“What kind of shielding is that, J?”

“Variable interference patterns, on multiple frequencies. Certainly Earth based, but it does not match with any known SHIELD technology, or any other technology I have observed.”

“Hmm. OK try and crack it, don’t let them know they're busted. Passive measures only.”

Loki stood close to Tony. “Is it Agent Romanov?” he asked, fearful of another encounter with her, even though the tower was many hours away from them.

Tony shook his head, “She would just walk in the front door. I let her come and go as she pleases. It’s better to keep her in plain sight.”

They watched the screen. The blurred figures were working on a set of doors that Loki assumed would lead to the tower interior.

“They are trying to decrypt the door controls,” Jarvis reported. “I am not familiar with the device they are using. I have analyzed their interference patterns and can remove their shielding without detection.” The picture cleared and the figures revealed themselves. They were wearing grey tactical gear. It blended well with the rooftop so well that Loki suspected it may have been created specifically for this mission. They carried slim weapons, Loki was not overly familiar with Midgardian weaponry, but the style looked odd. They had no badges or emblems on their clothing. One of the figures turned and they were able to make out his face.

“Rumlow!” Stark exclaimed, “That asshole! I saved his life this week! Why is he breaking into my tower?”

“I can find no trace of this mission on SHIELD servers, Sir” Jarvis reported.

“So either it’s top secret within SHIELD, or this is not an authorized mission. What the hell!”

They watched the team work on the door. Tony paced the room, muttering to himself that he always knew Rumlow was bad news.

“Shall we let them in? See what they want?” Tony mused out loud, then he decided, “Yeah...OK. J, make them work for it but let them in. Let’s see where they go.”

As they watched, the doors finally opened and the five figures slipped through. Jarvis switched to inside cameras. The strike team descended the stairs, swift and purposeful, weapons drawn, pausing and checking at all corners and doors, until they reached the penthouse level. Tony growled at the faces of the team he had aided just a few nights ago.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Tony said, watching the men he had thought were allies attempting to break into his home. “This feels well planned, not a rogue op. Strike team one may be a-holes but they’re not amateurs. J, call Romanov on a secured line.” A few moments later Romanov’s voice came over the air.

“Stark,” she said, all business as usual.

“My favorite spy. Is this line secure?”

Romanov confirmed it was, and Tony continued. “Hey, quick question, why is Strike Team One breaking into my penthouse using unknown tech, on a mission that is not anywhere on SHIELD servers?”

There was a pause, then Romanov replied, “Strike Team One is officially on a training exercise in Nevada. Are you and your guest in a secure location?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “We are.”

“Does the strike team know they're made?

“No, they’re using heavy interference shielding, they think they’re stealth.”

“Good, let’s keep in that way. I don’t know what they’re doing. If it’s a SHIELD mission its above my grade, which is unlikely. Or it’s unauthorized, which is also unlikely. But it’s one or the other. Who have you pissed off?”

“Hey!” Tony said, “I’ll have you know I am a delight!”

Romanov snorted, the first real emotion Loki had heard her express. He began to understand that she and Tony may not just be allies of convenience, but actually friends. Cautious friends, to be sure, but Tony must have some trust in her to to have her access his tower as she pleased, and to call her when he suspected his allies may have betrayed him. It did not help the uneasy feeling in his belly at the sound of her voice. She had not been gentle with him on her last visit. But she was his master’s ally and friend, and it seemed he had few enough of those.

“Didn’t you just assist with their mission with the Giant Squid?”

“Yes, and to be honest I thought Rumlow was incompetent then. He couldn’t get his boat under control, he was shooting flares too close to me, he needed way too much help.”

“Hmm,” Romanov said, “Are you think it was a setup?”

“I am now,” Tony said bitterly, “that asshole. Next time the squid can have him.”

The figures on the screen still were at the penthouse door, which remained stubbornly locked. They were communicating by hand signals, none of them spoke a word, which added to the sinister and surreal quality of seeing them there, in Stark’s tower.

“OK let’s get them out of there.” Tony said eventually, “J, bring up the elevator, make some noise.”

“Don’t you want to see what they want?” Romanov asked quickly.

“I’m not letting them into the penthouse. Whatever they want, we can assume it’s something I don’t want them to have.”

Jarvis activated the elevator. The noise startled the interlopers and after a flurry of hand-signals they retreated back up the stairs and onto the roof. A ship that looked like a modified quin-jet flew down and picked them up. They were gone in moments.

“Start a file, J, find out everything you can about Rumlow and strike team one. Romanov, let me know what you find out.”

Romanov disconnected the line, and Tony looked at his two companions. “OK well, seems like we’ve got some new enemies. But don’t worry, we’re safe here.”

“Where‘s the secret room?” Syla asked, and Loki realized he should not have let her watch the screen. She would only be scared to see armed intruders in the building they had stayed in for a week. It was too late though, she had seen it all.

“Same place,” Tony said, “but remember what I showed you earlier? This house is very well defended. But let's find it.”

They went to Tony’s bedroom, a clean bright room with a whole wall of glass overlooking the ocean. Tony's bed was large, the sheets and blankets rumpled and twisted. “Think you can find it?” Tony asked, and Syla immediately headed to the closet and started looking behind all the cabinets. While she searched, Tony turned to Loki, his face serious. “Hey,” he said, “Listen, I meant what I said, this place is secure. But if anything happens, if anyone gets in and tries anything without my say so, you have my permission to defend yourself and to defend Syla by any and all means necessary. OK?”

Loki nodded, then gasped as another restriction of the geas peeled away. He did not even remember when he had been forbidden from defending himself, from using his strength and his magic to protect himself or others. But Tony's words gave that back to him. It was as though he had regained feeling in a lost limb. It would simply not have occurred to him to defend himself. To beg, yes, but to fight? No. Loki felt nauseous at the reminder of the power of the geas. It did not just forbid him, it twisted his mind, it made him blind to what was right before him. He was suddenly desperate to begin studying the spells from the book Thor had brought. He could not be fast enough to get that curse off him. His skin crawled with it.

“Here!” Syla yelled excitedly, and a portion of the closet wall slid back, revealing a small room with a heavy door, supply cabinets and a low bed.

“Good job, cutie!” Stark said, “So you know what to do, right? Come right here and hide if anything bad is happening. Jarvis and me and your Modi will take care of the rest.”

Loki nodded, agreeing with Tony. The safest place for Syla if any trouble came to their home, was right here in this safe room.

Syla looked between the two of them. "Yes Modi," she said, looking at Loki, then at Tony, "Yes Fadi."

No one breathed for a moment, then Syla realized what she had said. Her eyes grew wide. She clapped her hand over her mouth, turned on her heel, and ran from the room.

Chapter Text

Tony and Loki stared at the door, then at each other. Neither one spoke. Loki had no doubt Tony's shocked expression was mirrored on his own face. At least Tony did not seem to be angry. Syla had no claim on him, no right to call him by that familial name. Tony liked her, yes, he seemed to enjoy spending time with her, but he certainly had not taken her into his household in any way except as the child of his slave. He had given her his protection, given her clothes, food, safety, music, he had showed her kindness that she had never known. He had unknowingly stepped into a void in her life. And in every tale and legend of the Jotun and Aesir, the person that filled that role was called Fadi .

Except Syla had no father. She belonged only to Loki. He was her only parent. He had birthed her and fed her from his own body and shielded her from the worst of their life on Jotunheim. Even what Stark gave her now, Loki had earned with his oath and his obedience. She had no father, and she needed none.

Stark shuffled his feet, “Umm, so, it's probably best we don't confuse her…with stuff like that.”

Loki leapt on that. “Yes, Sir. I mean, yes Tony. Yes. I am sorry. She is…she is confused. I will tell her not to call you that.” Loki was ready to run from the room as Syla had done, but Tony held up his hand.

“I'm not mad about it. She's not in trouble. Let's just be clear, OK?” Tony ran his hand over his face and Loki caught a glimpse of a strange expression, longing mixed with sadness, but it was gone within a moment. “I'm gonna grab a shower, then head to the workshop. You can get started on the book if you want, or do whatever you want. Just stay inside the defenses.”

Loki nodded. He certainly did not need reminding of that. Tony vanished into the bathroom and Loki left the his chambers, closing the door gently behind him. Where to find Syla. She had no doubt already found a dozen hiding places in the house. She had had time to explore and it was her instinct now to find places to hide. It may be cheating but Loki asked Jarvis where she was.

“Miss Syla is on the patio, Loki. She is under the couch.”

Loki walked out to where they had sat that morning, the three of them together with Syla tucked in between. There was no sign of her, she was well used to staying quiet and still. If not for Jarvis' help, Loki could have taken hours to find her. Loki lay down on the ground by the couch. Sure enough, she was under there, curled up tight with her face turned away, her blankie over her head.

“Hello, little love,” Loki said. She didn’t react, but he was sure she was aware of his presence.

“May I be here with you?” Loki asked, and saw her tiny nod. He lay with her for a few minutes, until she turned her face towards him. Her cheeks were wet, her eyes puffy. Loki held out his hand to her, and she shuffled a little closer.

“You are not in trouble, darling,” Loki said, unsure why she was so upset over her mistake.

She nodded, her face miserable, half hidden by her blankie. Loki did not want to hurt her, but he had to be clear with her that she should not use that name for Tony.

“Darling, Tony is a good man, but he is not your Fadi,” he said, careful, unsure how she would react.

Syla gulped down her sob and nodded again, “I know,” she whispered miserably. “I know, Modi.”

Loki wiggled his fingers and Syla finally reached out and took his hand. He waited another minute before asking her, “Do you wish that he was?”

Syla gulped again and nodded, then shook her head, and hid her face again. Loki’s heart hurt for her. She had had so little in her life, so little, and she never complained. All she wanted was what other children had. Children in the stories she heard, children she saw all around her on Jotunheim, even in the heritage lines on their faces. Loki swallowed the lump in his throat.

“There are...” he paused and started again, “There are many ways to make a family, my darling. I don’t have a Fadi, and neither do you.” He took a deep breath. “Our family is me and you. Just us two. Maybe in the future, there might be more. But for now, there is just two.”

Syla crawled out from under the couch and snuggled next to Loki, her face hopeful. “When there is more,” she said, “Then can Tony be my Fadi?”

Loki could not give her anything but the truth, but he could not bear to be cruel about it. “I don’t know,” he said, “Tony is my master. He is kind to us, and he cares for you, but he is not...he is not family. I don’t know if that could change.”

Syla seemed to accept that. Loki could wish things were different, that she could have a father who loved her, and who cared for Loki too, that they could have a family. But that was not their life. That was not reality. The reality was that Syla’s father had abandoned her, just as Loki’s father had abandoned him. They had each other, and that was all. That was enough.

Chapter Text

Loki and Syla spent the day side by side at Tony’s large dining table. Loki was working on the spell book, and Syla had her coloring books and pencils spread over the rest of the space. Jarvis displayed the scans of each page on a screen but Loki preferred to make notes on paper. He asked Syla for the use of one of her notebooks, as Tony had provided many different varieties for her. She thoughtfully selected one with a fuzzy blue cover and a picture of a rainbow unicorn. He thanked her, and opened the book to see that each page had a pale outline of the unicorn on it as well. He smiled at her and accepted the glitter pen she offered him. “Thank you darling,” he said, and made a mental note to ask Tony if he might get a plain notebook for himself, when he was next ordering supplies. And perhaps a pen that did not sparkle, glow or contain scented ink. For now, this would work.

He started by drawing. Spells were words, yes, but they came together in a pattern, each word calling to others, forming a complex web. The more elements there were to a spell, the more difficult the web became to understand. The geas had many elements. Multiple spells that called to each other, reinforced each other, that wrapped the unlucky target in their web. Spells for control, for memory, for decisions, for obedience, and more, all woven together. Such a web could be unwoven, but it would take a great deal of energy to break the bonds. Far easier to find the gaps in the threads and slip out from inside. That was Loki’s preferred method. Sneaky and tricksy, for sure, but effective. The geas could remain intact but he would no longer be caught within it.

To do that, he had to find the gaps. He had to understand each word of each spell, the meaning behind the words, the positive and negative forces that each one brought to the whole. It was slow, painstaking work. He had barely scratched the surface of the first spell when he was distracted by his master’s voice.

“Hey, Syla! Look!”

Loki looked up, shocked to see the sun already low over the ocean. Had he been studying all day? The table was strewn with completed coloring pages, along with a few wrappers from energy bars, and empty juice boxes. Syla was already trotting over to where Tony crouched by the glass doors.

“I thought it was too late in the year for them, but look!” He pointed to the big pot of flowers out on the patio. There were still a few late blooms clinging to life, and Loki stood up to look at what he was pointing at. Syla saw it first, “Butterfly!” She said in a thrilled whisper. Sure enough, a small creature with bright blue and white wings was fluttering between the flowers.

(Art by Achika on imgur)

Syla pressed her face up to the glass, staring in wonder at the creature. There were no such things on Jotunheim, the bitter cold would not allow them to survive. Syla only knew of them from Loki’s magic lessons, and then from books, and now she saw one with her own eyes. She made grabby hands at it, tried to run outside, but Tony stopped her.

“If you touch it,” he said, “you’ll hurt it. The wings are delicate. You have to be very careful. Maybe if you’re lucky, one will land on your hand, but you have to let it fly away when it wants to. You can’t hold onto it.”

So warned, Syla crept outside, inching closer to see the butterfly. Before she was even halfway to the pot, it had flown away. She watched it disappear, then turned back to the adults, her face shining. “Come back!” she demanded, and Tony laughed. “We can leave out some sugar water if you like, but she might not come back. I’m not the boss of butterflies!”

So sugar water had to be prepared and set out on shallow dishes. While they did that Loki cleared off the table and put away all of Syla’s artwork and her food wrappers. He felt a twinge of guilt that he had not even noticed her getting up and down to feed herself, but he supposed she would have got his attention if she had wanted it. If she had been happy coloring and snacking all day, who was he to argue.

It was already close to dinner time, and Loki had nothing ready. Tony had not told him to prepare every meal, but Loki still felt that urge to be useful, to make sure he was earning his place and fulfilling his oath. A quick consultation with Jarvis and Loki was ready to make spaghetti with marinara sauce and garlic bread. Jarvis assured him it was quick and easy. He was in the kitchen pulling out his ingredients when Tony and Syla came back inside. Tony pulled up a stool and sat at the kitchen counter. He grabbed a couple of little tomatoes from Loki’s board and popped them into his mouth.

“We all good?” he asked, glancing over at Syla, who was watching through the window in case the butterfly came back.

Loki nodded, “Yes Tony. We talked. She is aware you are not...that you are not her father. It was a ...not a mistake, but a moment of confusion for her. But she is well, she understands.” Loki began to cut the tomatoes. He did not mention that although Syla knew Tony was not her Fadi, she wished that he was. Loki could not blame her. Tony could protect her, he could provide for her. He could give her things that Loki never could. Loki did not even dare to think it to himself, to weigh if Syla would be better off with Tony than she would be with him. If he did that cold calculation, he would have no choice but to act on the outcome, and he could not bear to do such a thing.

Tony took another tomato. He looked over at Syla again, his face unreadable. “I would never do anything to come between you,” he said. Loki’s heart turned over to hear those words out loud, as though Tony could look into his secret shameful heart and see his fear. That Tony would be a better parent to the girl than he could be.

He looked down at his hands, guilty. “She deserves better than me,” he said softly.

“No,” Tony said, “No, she couldn’t have done better than you, Loki. She’s lucky to have you.”

Loki glanced up and Tony was watching him, his eyes dark, thoughtful. Loki did not know what to say to that, but he was saved by Syla’s thrilled whisper, “Butterfly! Modi! Tony! Look, look!”

They both went to her summons, and sure enough, the blue and white butterfly was back. It gently alighted on the saucer of sugar water and rested there for a moment, opening and closing its wings. Syla’s little hands opened and closed in time, perhaps thinking about grabbing the beautiful creature. She did not try to get close this time, she just stared, her eyes wide in wonder. After a few seconds, the butterfly launched back into the air and flew away, unconstrained, the sunlight glowing though its wings.

Chapter Text

That evening, Tony drank sparkling water at the kitchen counter while Loki cleaned up from dinner. Tony leafed through the unicorn notebook, studying the patterns Loki had drawn to analyze the first spell. His brow was furrowed, but he asked intelligent questions and seemed to understand the answers. Once he understood what he was trying to do, he encouraged Loki to use Jarvis to help him map the spells.

“I mean, obviously this is very you ,” he said, holding up the fluffy notebook and the glitter pen. “I understand why you want to stick with it. It totally goes with your look, black leather and fluffy unicorns is a classic combination, on Earth and Asgard both...”

Loki wrinkled his nose at him. His gentle teasing was light and playful, so unlike the rather more pointed remarks he had put up with from Thor and his friends throughout his youth. He found himself liking it, drawing out the task of cleaning the kitchen so that he could banter further with Tony.

“I’m not the one who chose it,” he said, feigning indignation. “Far be it for me to question your good taste. Surely, a prince of Midgard such as yourself would only purchase the very best, the most stylish, the most exquisite…”

Tony snorted at the description of the unicorn as exquisite , and Loki grinned at him.

Tony’s face dropped, the humor vanishing. “Hey,” he said, “Listen, you don’t have to cook every day, and clean up, and you know…” he waved his hand, indicating them both and the house.

Loki tilted his head, “What would you have me do, Tony?” he asked, his teasing tone also gone. “You may not like it but I am your slave, twice bound. Would you have me defy the geas and my own oath to your service?”

Tony looked at the bubbles in his glass, slowly rising and popping. He had no reply.

“Please, if there is any service you wish of me, tell me and I will perform it. But do not think me unhappy to do such things, to prepare your meals and keep your house in order. It is very little. And you have done so much for me. For us.”

Tony nodded, glanced over at Syla, half asleep on the plush couch, her blankie in her hand, watching an animated show on the screen. Two girls and a blue dog-like creature frolicked on the screen. How different for her to relax in the company of trusted adults, to enjoy some childish entertainment, to fall asleep with a full belly, and without first seeking a safe hiding place. Loki could never do enough for Tony to repay him for what he had done. He continued cleaning.

Tony watched Loki for a while longer. “What will you do, when you lift the geas?” he asked.

Loki heart lifted at Tony's confidence that he could lift the geas. He also was glad that Tony had not had second thoughts about allowing him to do it. Still it would do no good to let him doubt Loki's loyalty.

“I will do whatever you tell me to do, Tony,” he said, “I will still belong to you. But only you. Unless…” a cold thought struck him, and he wished he could stop himself from talking. “Unless you wish me to serve another. I suppose, if you gave me such an order, I would be bound to obey you.”

“I won’t do that,” Tony said quickly, and Loki nodded, relieved that he would not be passed to a new owner if Tony tired of him. Even though he would be freed from such an arrangement if Tony died before him, there was still much to fear. Loki did not believe there could be two such kind masters as Tony Stark on this or any other realm.

“What if I ordered you not be my slave anymore?” Tony asked, casually.

Loki folded up the cleaning cloth he had just rinsed out, and then dried his hands before he answered. He had not considered that Tony may try to be rid of him that way.

“I made an oath to be your loyal and obedient slave, in exchange for your mercy and protection for Syla. If you give me such an order, the oath will be broken. No,” he said slowly, thinking it through, “Not broken, but bent, it will not be balanced. The norns weave our fates, mine and yours and Syla’s. An oath made to them is woven into their cloth. A thread of certainty to hang other threads from, to control the branching of destiny. They dislike to unpick their weaving. There is a reason to invoke their names is such a fearsome oath. Those who break their vows live to regret it most bitterly. If I am no longer your slave, then Syla will no longer have your protection. And she will need it. They will make it so. Please, do not give me such an order. I will serve you. One mortal lifetime. It is not a high price to pay.”

Tony looked into the distance. “One mortal lifetime,” he said, thoughtful. “How many extra years did you give me when you healed me on the plane? Five? Ten? How many will you give me next time? How long will that mortal lifetime be?”

Loki stared at him, his blood running cold.

Tony shrugged, “I'm not all that noble, Loki. When it comes time, I'm just as much afraid of death as anyone.”

Loki swallowed. If Tony ordered him, he could heal any of his injuries and illnesses, he could reverse the damage of aging to some extent. He could not make Tony immortal, but he certainly could extend his life significantly.

Tony nodded at his shocked expression. “Yeah, you get it. We’re on a dangerous road, and we need to get off of it as soon as we can. I can see where it leads and I don’t like it.”

“We can’t go back,” Loki said, “I can’t break my vow without bringing a curse on to our heads, mine and Syla’s both. Please, do not make me do that! Tony, please do not!” Loki twisted his cleaning cloth to still his hands from shaking.

Tony held up his hands. “I won’t,” he said, “I won’t if you think it’s going to turn out badly. But if we can’t go back, and we can’t go forward, we need to think of another option.”

“Go sideways,” Syla declared, climbing up on her stool next to Tony. She had heard them having an intense conversation and obviously thought her contribution was needed.

Loki smiled at her, her tired face, her hair rumpled on one side where she had been laying on the couch. “Of course,” he said, “Clever girl. Why didn’t we think of that?”

She looked at them both, pleased with having solved their problem. “I’m tired, Modi,” she said, when she was sure she had their full attention. Tony and Loki exchanged an amused glance. Loki put away his cleaning cloth and picked her up from the stool.

“Then let us get you to bed, my darling.”

They said goodnight to Tony, and Loki carried the sleepy girl up the stairs to their room. She mumbled into his shoulder, wondering if they would see any butterflies tomorrow.

“The butterflies come and go as they please,” Loki said, thoughtful. “We must keep our eyes open and enjoy them while we can. That's all we can do, my little love.”

Chapter Text

They got into a routine, and after a few days it seems that they had always lived this way. Loki studied the spell-book in the mornings. He filled the unicorn notebook with patterns, cross-references, analysis of the gaps between the spells. Several leather bound notebooks had appeared on the shelf, but Loki for some reason felt loyal to the unicorn. He did use the fountain pen with black ink though, and gave Syla back her glitter pen. He was getting closer to understanding the geas. It would not be long before he was ready to make an attempt to untangle himself from it.

In the afternoons, he and Syla would walk on the shore in Stark’s protected cove. The weather grew colder and wilder and Syla only loved it more. She loved the waves crashing on the breach, the cold spray dampening her clothes, the wet sand clinging to her bare feet. Her collection of interesting pebbles grew, and she began to tell Loki stories about each one. She cast little illusions as she told him her tales, crabs and moons and butterflies blooming from her hands with ease.

In the evenings when the sun was down, Tony would come up from his workshop and Loki would cook for them all. Tony spent all day in the workshop, he said he had not had such a long creative run in years. Every day he had new ideas, new inventions, a flow of thoughts made real by his own hands.

Loki made sure he ate. He took him his lunch at midday, but politely insisted that he join them for dinner. Tony needed a break, it was good for him. Once the focus came back to his eyes he was good company, talking with Syla about her lessons - she was learning her alphabet - or listening to her stories. They would eat and talk until Syla could no longer hide her yawns, and Loki carried her protesting off to bed.

Sometimes Tony would go back to the workshop after dinner. On nights when he didn't, he and Loki would often sit out on the patio, bundled in blankets with hot drinks. When the skies were clear, they would watch the stars, talk about Loki's progress with the geas, or talk about nothing at all.

Loki could hardly remember being so content. Even on Asgard he rarely had so few royal duties that he could study and spend time with friends and family for weeks on end. He allowed himself to live in the moment. To forget that when his studying was done he would attempt to free himself from the geas and change his destiny.

It was too much to think about, and so he didn't. He would no longer be bound as a slave for his entire long life. He would no longer face thousands more years of servitude, of being handed from owner to owner, sold or inherited or stolen. Instead, he would serve only Tony. Only one mortal lifetime, as long as it may be. And when he had done that, when he had paid the price that he was so willing to pay, he would be free. He tried not to think that his freedom would only come with Tony’s death. He liked the man. He trusted him. He enjoyed his company. He was fond of him. Tony had saved him and his daughter from a life of pain and misery. Loki's mind turned on the problem, but he could not see any way out. He could not break his oath, he could not bend it in such a way that would attract the displeasure of the norns. He had to honor his oath and remain as Stark’s slave. He could think of no other way.

Weeks passed one after the other, and as winter progressed, such storms battered the shore that even Syla did not want to venture out. One such storm was rattling the windows when Tony came up from the workshop at midday. He rarely emerged until evening, and Loki jumped to his feet.

“Tony,” he said, “You are hungry? I will make lunch, please, give me but a moment.” Tony’s expression was putting him on edge, but Loki couldn’t place why. He was not angry, not upset, but something was wrong.

“Hey Loki, hey cutie." Tony waved at Syla, who waved back and returned to her alphabet. "Actually I am hungry, I’ll help you,” Tony steered Loki over to the kitchen and checked to make sure Syla wasn’t following. He sat in his habitual place at the counter and took one of the cookies that Loki had made that morning. He bit into it and made a face. “Uh, wow, what is that? Spinach? Walnuts?” Loki colored and nodded. He had been experimenting with recipes to make treats for Syla. She did not care for sweet food. Perhaps the spinach was a touch too far. It was probably very bitter to Midgardian tastes. Syla liked it though, and Loki lived for her happy smile.

Loki no longer worried about using Tony’s food for his own and his daughter’s needs, instead of eating scraps and leftovers as slaves did on Jotunheim. Tony cared nothing for the grocery order and gave Loki free reign to buy anything he liked. Loki had almost fainted when he saw the price of the smoked salmon Syla ate for breakfast every day. He had tried to switch to a cheaper version but Jarvis had simply ordered Syla's favorite kind anyway.

Loki began making a quick lunch, sensing that Tony was not hungry at all. He was proved right when Tony looked around and cleared his throat.

“OK, hey, so,” Tony took another nervous bite of the spinach cookie and grimaced again. “It’s coming up to time for the Jotun delegation to visit. We have a trade deal to fulfill. SHIELD has been on my case about getting ready for that. It’ll be in New York.”

Loki froze and tried to keep breathing. He reminded himself that they were coming for their trade deal, their treaty. Nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with Syla. Tony was watching him, carefully gauging his reaction. When he nodded, and his hands starting moving again to make lunch, Tony continued.

“They won’t stay in the tower. I already told the security council, they can land at the tower but they need to go somewhere else. The tower isn't actually a great location for them anyway. Ceilings are to low." He laughed nervously. "I’ll have to be there for a while, in New York, to prepare and to attend the discussions. So, I guess, what I’m getting at is, do you want to stay here, or do you want to come with me?”

Loki stared. He had not had to make such choices about his life, about his movements, for a long time. For years he had just reacted to his situation, trying to chose the least bad option and avoid punishment. Since coming to Midgard he had learned to trust to the safety of Tony’s protection, but still he had had few decisions to make. Now, Tony was asking him to make a choice. To stay in Malibu, or to come back to New York with him.

Tony filled the silence. “You can decide, it’s up to you. If you want to stay here, that’s fine with me. If you want to come, also fine. You don’t have to see any of the Jotun delegation, you can stay in the tower. Syla too. So think it over.”

Loki nodded and finished the plate of sandwiches he was making. He already knew the correct response. He was Tony’s slave. He had little excuse not to accompany him on his trip. He could be useful. He could make his journey less tiresome. He could be his companion, cook for him, entertain him, talk with him, keep him company. He also could be of help in the trade discussions. He had no doubt that on Midgard, there was no one who knew more than he about the Jotun, the way they thought and their values. If he intended to honor his oath, there was only one choice he could make.

To weigh against that, he was fiercely attached to the beach house. It was safe and secure, the rain tumbling outside only made the inside more welcoming. He had found some measure of peace here and he was loath to leave it. It was a haven for himself and for Syla, the first true home she had ever known. But even as he thought that, he questioned himself. Would they be safe here without Tony’s presence? Tony was their shelter, not his house. Tony was the one who had given them every comfort and safety they had. If Loki wanted his master's protection, he should be at his side. He and Syla both.

Chapter Text

The day came too quickly. Loki tried to cling to the peace and safety of Tony’s beach house, but once he knew they would be leaving, it had fled. He had known it would not last forever, living in that house away from all other cares, but while there was no end in sight he could forget that. Now, the days ticked down and their time there was coming to an end. Loki did not know what New York would bring, but it could not possibly bring the calm and comfort of their time in Malibu.

Syla had taken the news stoically. Her face closed down and her shoulders hunched, she had simply nodded when Loki told her they would be leaving. That night, Loki had spied her stuffing her collection of rocks and sea-glass into the lining of their suitcase. He had not stopped her. Better to let the girl have her secrets. It was how she had been raised for three years, and it made her feel safe.

The day before they left, they all three of them went for a long walk on the shore. The day was clear and cold. Tony bundled up in a warm coat but Loki wore only the hooded sweater Tony had given him, and Syla wore just her moon dress. The dress was getting tight over her shoulders and Loki noticed she had grown even in the short time they had been with Tony. Good food, good sleep and safety agreed with Syla, as they would any child. She was no longer the skinny little thing she had been when they arrived. She had rounded out and grown taller and stronger. Another debt that Loki owed to his master. Another debt that would never be paid off, no matter how many meals he cooked for him.

(Art by Achika on imgur)

They stayed in the cove for hours, protected by Tony’s defenses. They skimmed stones, made sandcastles, took turns chasing Syla around the sand as she squealed, until their faces glowed and their hair was wild from the wind. The sun was going down when they stumbled back to the house, hungry and tired. They went to wash and change, and Loki was already cursing himself for not planning dinner ahead. Tony was hungry and now he would have to wait to eat. That was not good service. Loki thought about making something quick, sandwiches or cheese and crackers, but he wanted to make something hot. Tony was the most chilled of any of them, and he should have hot food. Loki hurried downstairs to get something started, but found Tony already there in the kitchen. He was unpacking a plastic bag, setting out containers of steaming rice, meat and vegetables.

He grinned at Loki’s surprise. “OK, I can’t cook, but I can order. Actually Jarvis ordered, but I asked him to! Still counts. It’s our last night here, you don't need to cook.”

Loki helped set out the food, his mouth watering at the smell. They all sat together at the dining table, instead of at the kitchen counter, and filled their plates. It was very good, spicy and filling. They ate as the moon rose and the stars came up outside. By mutual agreement, no one mentioned the move tomorrow. Instead they talked about the beach, about Syla’s progress in her lessons, about movies they had watched together. They ignored the air of melancholy over the table until Syla finally addressed it. “I like it here,” she said, her voice trembling. Loki knew that for her, that was a firm declaration that she did not want to leave. She still shied away from disagreeing or arguing directly with Loki. He had been forced to train her to accept his instructions and act on them without question, and for three years that had kept her safe. It was a hard habit to break, but Loki was trying to increase her confidence in small ways.

“I like it here too,” Tony said, sipping at his sparkling water. He looked at her kindly, the little blue girl he had allowed into his home. “I wish we could stay. But I have to go back to New York, and your modi decided that it was best if you two come along with me.”

Syla nodded, no longer eating, just staring at her plate. Loki’s heart wrenched in his chest. Perhaps he had made the wrong decision. There was still time to change his mind!

“My darling,” he said, “Tony will let us stay here, but he must go. It would be just us two.”

“No!” Syla said, her head jerking back up, “No. Stay together.” She put her hands out and grabbed Tony and Loki across the table. One little hand fisted in each of their clothes. Loki took her hand in his, and Tony did the same, his eyes shining in the low light.

“OK,” Tony said, “We can stay together. That’s a good idea.”

Loki agreed. They should stay together. There was no one on this realm who cared for him and Syla the way Tony did. Loki did not know why, he only knew it was true. He had come to Tony as a beaten down slave, an easy target for any abuse Tony had wished to send his way. But Tony had not treated him like that. He had been kind, he had sheltered him and his daughter, fed them, clothed them, allowed them not just into his home, but also into his life. Loki realized that was the reason he had decided to go back to New York. Not just because of his oath, or for the protection Tony could offer, but because he had treated him like a person, like someone with value. Loki did not want to lose that.

Just like Syla, he wanted them to stay together.

Chapter Text

And Loki was well. He was back in the crate on the way to the airfield, but this time they had had time to prepare. As well as the phone, he had a blanket, a couple of pillows, and a small satchel containing a bottle of water, energy bars, and the unicorn notebook. Tony had also installed straps inside the crate for Loki to hold onto. He still felt a jolt of anxiety when the lid closed and locked, but far less that the first time. He was determined that he would not panic when the plane took to the air. He would wait and be patient and trust Tony. He held the phone tight in his hand. It was necessary for him to hide. Tony had arrived with only Syla, as far as outside observers knew, and he must leave only with her as well. Tony had decided against having Loki disguise himself with an illusion. SHIELD ran facial recognition on anyone new they saw Tony with. If they didn’t find a match they would ask questions. Better to stay out of sight.

The crate bumped a little as it was loaded onto the plane. Loki had heard Tony a few minutes earlier, telling the workers to take extra care with his delicate equipment. Evidently, they were not as diligent or skilled as Hogan at loading. As soon as the rattle of the closing hold door vibrated through his crate, Loki relaxed. He was on the plane. He could expect to be released as soon as they were flying level. But, only moments later he heard a door open, and the lid of his crate clicked and swung up. Tony was there, his face aged as it had been before Loki had worked his magic. Even though he had been the one to restore his appearance, Loki still startled to see the grey hairs, and crows feet around his eyes. Tony had no care for it though, he seemed pleased to have his distinguishing features back. It was all superficial, only Tony’s appearance was restored. Inside, he was as healthy as he had been ten years ago.

“Hey,” Tony said, peering into the box. “We’re about to taxi, you can come upstairs now if you stay away from the windows.”

Loki gladly clambered out. He did not like being in the crate, no matter how much he trusted Tony. It reminded him too much of what he was. Property, not a person. People didn't travel in crates, only prisoners and slaves were packed up to be transported in such a way. Loki didn't look back as they climbed back up to the upper section. Tony pulled down the shades on the windows and Loki took his seat next to Syla. They were on their way. Tony went up front to pilot the plane for takeoff. Jarvis could do it just as well, but Tony said air traffic control liked to know that a real person was present. AI’s flying planes made them nervous.

Syla already had her seat-belt on for take off. One of the many colorful books Tony had provided was open on her lap, her finger pointing to each word as she read. She had learned her letters with ease, and was now able to puzzle out simple words by herself. It took her a long time to read a single page, but she refused help. As with bathing, dressing, and so many other things, once she could do something by herself she no longer wanted assistance.

Loki got out the unicorn notebook to distract himself from this Midgardian method of travel. He was sure Tony would not use an unsafe vehicle, but compared to the smooth, spell-powered, flying boats of Asgard, this plane was barbaric. It was powered by a combustion engine! Loki shuddered, and focused on the notebook, that was now filled with Loki’s notes. He had analyzed every spell that made up the geas, and each word within the spells. He had then analyzed how they all interacted with each other. He had notes on all the positive and negative forces and how they combined to make a complex web. Like any spell, there were gaps, and the gaps were what Loki needed. The geas was complex and well made, but no spell-web was perfect. Mages often relied on secrecy to safeguard their workings. If no one knew how the web was constructed, it was virtually impossible to find the weak points. But Loki had the key, in the spellbook his moth...that Frigga had provided. With that knowledge, he was able to understand the construction of the geas and find the gaps. He had done it before, with less complex spells. He rather enjoyed picking apart the workings of other mages, learning from their mistakes and improving his own abilities.

Loki had identified the gap in the spellwork that he would use to make his attempt to free himself. It was not the largest, but it was the most likely to fail with the right push. To create that push, he needed to increase the positive and negative forces in that part of the web of spells. That meant he had to cast another binding spell on himself. He had to add another element to the geas. His hope was that the additional spell would push the geas out of alignment and allow him to slip out while he cast it. The geas would be intact, but he would be free. If he failed, he would have bound himself further and gained nothing from it. There were several bindings he could chose from, and for the past few days he had been wrestling with the choice. The more powerful the binding he cast, the more likely it was to succeed, but also, the more firmly he would be bound if he failed.

Tony came back to sit with them once the plane was in the air. The takeoff had been far smoother than it had felt from the hold on the way out of New York. He saw Loki studying the notebook and asked him how his work was going. Loki told him he was almost ready. His analysis was finished and now he had only to make his decision on the spell to cast.

“Hmm,” Tony said, “Yeah, tough call. What would the new binding spell do? I mean, if it doesn't work first time?”

“It, er, the spell I think will be most effective has a strong push against some of the elements already in the geas. I believe I can cast it and push enough that the geas will release me.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, “Uh huh. But what does it do?” He had noticed that Loki tried to dodge his question.

Loki did not meet his eyes. “If I fail to remove the geas, the additional binding will take effect. Perhaps...we could discuss it later?” He flicked his eyes over at Syla, and she looked up and glared at him.

“I’m not listening!” she said indignantly, and Loki smiled at her.

“Of course not, darling,” he said, and she hmphed and went back to her book.

Tony’s brow furrowed and Loki could tell he would not drop the matter. The truth was, the spell with the highest likelihood of success also held the greatest penalty for failure. If he failed to free himself, Loki would be bound with a compulsion to offer himself to serve his master’s physical needs. Tony was not interested in Loki that way now, but he may change his mind if Loki was more willing, more eager, to serve him. Loki could only be thankful that the creator of the original geas had not included such an aspect to the spellwork. Surely they did not, because the victim of the geas could be ordered to perform any such service anyway. Loki twisted his fingers together. This was his best chance at freedom. If Tony did not like the potential for failure, he could forbid him from doing it. There was no help for it though. He could not perform the spell without Tony’s permission. Tony certainly would not give his permission without understanding the spell. Loki hoped that he could convince Tony that it was worth the risk.

If he failed to free himself and the additional binding took hold, he had little doubt he would end up in his master’s bed. Tony had refused him because he was unwilling, but once that barrier was gone.... Loki thought back to the night he had rubbed Tony’s feet in the moonlight. Tony had liked his touch, he had enjoyed it, wanted more of it. They both knew, even though they had never spoken of it.

At least if that came to pass, Tony would be kind. He would not hurt him. He would be gentle. Maybe in time, Loki thought, twisting his fingers together in his lap, he could even come to enjoy it.

Chapter Text

The next time the crate opened, the bright lights of the workshop dazzled Loki’s eyes. He blinked, and instead of Tony’s face looking down at him, he saw the golden glow of his brother, Thor.

“A fine way to travel, brother,” Thor gruffed as he reached in to help him out.

Loki was momentarily speechless, he had not expected to see Thor again so soon. He had especially not expected to be seen packed in a box like cargo. Still, his sunny smile chased away some of the weight from Loki's shoulders. As he helped Loki climb out he reminded him of the times he himself had hidden in undignified ways to escape some trouble or other. Usually trouble of his own making.

“Brother,” he said, “Do you recall the centenary celebration on Alfheim? I swear I could see no escape from marrying that Duke’s daughter! But you had Fandral steal a fish-cart and stuffed me into a barrel to leave the city. I stank of fish for a week after, and could not go home until every last scale had washed out of my hair! Tell me true - did it really take four hours for that damn cart to get out of the city? Or did you two dawdle and gossip your way through the streets to teach me a lesson?”

Loki smiled at the memory. They had been so young and foolish, their greatest worry was a stern telling off from their parents. At the time, he had been furious with Thor, led into trouble by his own lust without a thought for the consequence. He and Fandral had not hurried through the streets, a rushing fish-cart would attract more attention than they wanted. But perhaps, stopped off for lunch had been purely born out of petty revenge.

“Thor, I can assure you, we did nothing that a couple of lazy fish merchants would not have done. We could not risk attracting the notice of the guards.”

Thor grinned at him, reading between the lines all too well, and Loki forgot entirely about the indignity of his own method of transportation. At least he did not stink of fish and shine with scales when he emerged.

He looked around Tony's workshop. “Where is Syla?” he asked.

“She and Tony are upstairs. Let us go, brother.” Thor wrapped one arm around Loki’s shoulders and headed to the elevator.

There was a short burst of activity as they all settled back into the tower, but by the time night fell they were comfortable again. Loki was pleased to learn that Thor would stay until the Jotun delegation had successfully departed. Midgard's entry onto the inter-realm stage was being carefully orchestrated by Asgard, and Thor was their representative.

They ate from a shared platter of sandwiches, that Loki quickly prepared. Syla was already half asleep in her seat, but she managed to eat a little before laying her head in her arms. Loki soon put her to bed and returned to face Thor and Tony both looking expectantly at him. Thor was fairly vibrating in his seat.

“Brother, is it true you have found way to free yourself from this cursed geas?” he said, as soon as Loki sat down again.

Loki nodded cautiously. He explained what he had found, but stumbled when it came time to explain what would happen if he failed to release himself.

“The additional binding will become part of the geas. It cannot be reversed,” he said, and then trailed off.

Tony waited, and even Thor noticed he had not told them the full story. Loki took a deep breath. He looked between them and then focused on Tony.

“I will desire to be your bed-slave,” he blurted, then buried his face in his hands.

“Um,” Tony said, shock obvious in his voice.

Thor cracked the beer bottle he was holding, foam spreading across his hand and the table, ignored by them all. He did not react with anger, as Loki had been expecting, rather with concern.

“Loki, you...the risk is too great! You cannot! You will turn yourself into a...a willing concubine?”

“And what am I now?” Loki shot back, despair overcoming him. “What am I now? I am at the mercy of my owner . If Tony were to order it, I would be on my back for him in a moment. Willing or unwilling, it matters not!”

“Hey,” Tony said weakly, but Thor waved his hand, he knew Tony had no such intentions.

“Not just Tony!” Loki continued, “Every other owner I will have for the rest of my life can use me as they please! The risk is worth it. I must try. Brother, Tony, please.”

Thor opened his mouth to argue, but Tony jumped in. “OK, look, this is up to you, Loki. I won’t stop you if you want to try. But if it doesn’t work, you know I still won’t ...do that, right? Magically enforced willingness is not real.”

“It will be real,” Loki said, “it will be real to me, truly, I will only wish to fulfill your desires, whatever they may be.”

Thor looked sick, and Tony shook his head. “Loki, I will not ever want to fuck you while you're..." he waved his hands in the air, wordless. "While you can't say no. No matter how much you tell me you want it. It's gross and creepy and I won't do it. So if that's going to be a problem, if this binding takes effect, is it going to punish you if I don't...you know?"

Tony was hardly able to string his words together, but Loki understood him well enough. With Thor sitting right there, Loki did not mention all the ways he could be of service. If Tony truly did not desire him in any way, then Loki also would not desire it. That was how the binding spell worked. But Loki suspected Tony did harbor some secret desire for him, for his hands maybe, for his mouth, for his touch. Whatever it was, Loki would fulfill it. He would want to. He would need to. Tony may resist at first, but Loki did not doubt he would change his mind. They would have years together, after all.

He shook his head, "No Tony," he said, "If, as you say, you have no desire for me, then nothing will change between us."

Tony looked at him, his golden brown eyes deep and knowing. He heard everything Loki did not say, and clearly he did not like it.

“OK, so let’s sleep on that," Tony said eventually. "If you want to try it in the morning, you can.”

Thor nodded morosely, and Loki also agreed, relieved. He knew he would not change his mind.

The three of them talked a while longer, Tony let Thor know about the rogue strike team, and they strategized together. Loki just listened to the two of them. It was as though a dark cloud grew over him the more they talked. He had foes on all sides - the strike team, Romanov and SHIELD, the Jotun, the Norns and even Odin himself. In contrast, his only friends sat around this very table. He felt the vast imbalance of it as an emptiness in his belly. Would it not be better for him to accept his place, for him to become Tony’s slave in all ways? He had caused him so much trouble and all Tony had done was treat him kindly. In exchange for Tony's kindness, Loki had harbored a stolen child in his house, he had spent endless amounts of his money on food and clothing, he had put Tony in a position to lie to his allies, and he had put his trade agreement with Jotunheim at risk. Surely Loki was not worth so much. He was a criminal and this life of servitude was his punishment. He should surrender to it, accept it. Cease this struggle. The dark cloud almost smothered him. His shoulders shook and his throat ached with the need to speak his surrender. To tell his master that he had changed his mind, that he did not want to try to free himself.

Something stopped him, some tiny spark that refused to be doused. Syla. What of her? What crime had she committed, that she should suffer the same sentence as Loki? That she should have spent the first years of her life afraid and hungry and alone? The spark became a flame, and it burned through the fog settling over Loki's mind.

“The geas!” he said, panicked, clutching at Thor and Tony, as though they could save him from what was inside his own head. “The geas is trying to protect itself. Tony, now, please, I must do it now!”

Chapter Text

“Yes!” Tony blurted, his confusion apparent but not enough to stop him from reacting to Loki’s distress. "Yes! Do it now!"

Loki’s fist tightened in Tony’s shirt, a dark wave washing over him as he tried to focus on the spell he needed to cast. He lost all thought for a moment as the geas seemed to realize what was about to happen. He tried again to bring to spell to his mind and again it was lost to swirling confusion.

“Order me!” he gasped, "Order me!" Thor came to crouch beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him. Tony scrambled around the table as well, taking Loki’s shoulders in his hands. The two men exchanged a single, desperate look before they both refocused on Loki, trembling between them.

“Loki,” Tony said, “I order you to cast the new binding and escape the geas. Do it now!”

Loki shook as the order took hold. The geas could not refuse to enforce it, obedience was the very foundation it's web. Loki had to obey, but it would not be easy. He took a deep breath, felt Thor’s arm around his waist and Tony’s hands on his shoulders. He drew strength from their presence, paused for single, eternal, second, then cast the spell.

The geas resisted. It twisted and writhed as he cast the binding on himself, the forces of the new spell pushing against the weak areas of the web of the geas, attempting to become part of it, but also repelling it. Loki held it all in his mind, balanced on a knife edge. The elaborate spell web, the maps he had drawn of the forces of each word, attracting and repelling, with himself in the center, trapped. The binding pushed into the web, forcing it's way in, driven purely by the strength of Loki's casting. The strain on the geas grew, visible to his arcane senses. He pushed more power into the casting, increasing the tension in the whole. If he failed to break free of the web, the new binding would be very strong. The effects would be highly unpredictable. He didn't allow himself to think of it. The gap was not growing enough. He did not have room to slip out, to free himself. Frantically he shoved more power into the casting, draining himself of his reserves, pushing everything he had to twist the geas, to push it apart, and finally the gap grew. It expanded as the new binding warped and bent the geas, the strain was too much, they could not fit together.

The spell was almost fully cast, Loki had drawn it out as much as he could and his reserves were empty. It has to be now. He gave one final push, every last scrap of arcane energy he had, from his heart, his lungs, his belly, he held nothing back. At the pivot, with all his energy gone, he wrenched himself out from the center of the web. The geas sucked at him, pulled at him as he fled it, a dark whirlpool that wanted only to drag him back, to drag him down. Thor’s arm held him firm, Tony’s hands squeezed his shoulders, both of them steadying him, giving him the support he needed to pull himself free. A final surge and the geas closed, the web sealing and closing.

Empty.

Loki cried in agony and disgust as the layers of orders and compulsion peeled back from his mind. Layers of dirty paint that had smothered him were stripped away one after the other. Like day breaking, like clean air flooding his lungs, like falling into a cold, clear wave, he was free.

He let go of the balance of energy he was holding in his mind, and a split second later, realized his mistake. The geas had rejected the new binding. The combination had been too unstable, the power of the new binding too much to be absorbed into the spell-web. With nowhere else to go, the new binding snapped back like a bowstring and implanted itself deep into Loki's mind.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and silently, gently, he crumpled.

Chapter Text

Loki opened his eyes. He was hungry. Starving. Like he hadn’t eaten in days. Like he could eat, and eat, and never stop. He sat up. He was in the holding cell, alone. The bright light and the glass wall, the curtained shower area, all exactly as he remembered. He wracked his brain, why was he here? He paced the room, unable to recall earning any punishment, or being disobedient in any way. He had done exactly what Tony had told him to. He had released himself from the geas.

He sat back down with a bump. The geas. It was gone. The dark cloud over his head, the suppression of his thoughts, his desires, all gone. What he had thought was hunger he knew now was something else. An appetite that took far more to satisfy than simple food. Without the geas,what he had been forced to deny could now be expressed. Tony, his master, his owner, no longer had him under his thumb, he was no more a mere puppet for him to pity. He was free of that, and now Tony could finally claim him as he wanted to.

He looked around the room, excited at his realization. “Jarvis?” he asked.

“Loki, I am glad to see you awake. Mr Stark is on the way down.

Loki paced the cell, watching the door. When it finally opened and Tony stepped through, Loki felt nothing but joy, his head span with it.

“Tony!” He said, pressing his hands to the glass, “Tony, I am so glad to see you!”

Thor walked through the door after Tony. Loki glanced once in his direction before directing his attention back where it needed to be.

“Hey Loki,” Tony said, and Loki was confused by his wary tone. Thor likewise was watching him carefully, both holding back from approaching the glass.

“Tony…” Loki said, suddenly unsure, “Tony, why am I in here?” Tony and Thor exchanged a glance. “Well,” Tony said, “Thor and Jarvis both detected an energy surge right before you passed out. So this is a precaution. How do you feel?”

“I am well, Tony. I am very well! I did as you ordered and removed the geas! Now nothing stands between us.”

Thor and Tony exchanged another glance, and the tension in the room increased another notch, although Loki did not know why.

“Erm, what do you mean Loki?” Tony asked, his voice calm and level. Thor began to pace behind him.

Loki put his hands back up on the glass. He could only wish Tony would do the same, or that he would let him out and finally he would feel his warm skin pressed to his. He tilted his head to one side and smiled at Tony.

“Tony, you know my meaning, do you not? You have no need to hide your desires any longer. I feel the same way. Release me, and I will be glad to show you.”

Tony's face fell and he shook his head, “Loki, you may not realize it, but you cast a spell on yourself when you broke the geas. You warned us that it could happen, that you would feel...that you would feel like you wanted me sexually. But it’s not real. It’s the spell. Can you reverse it?”

Loki whined in frustration, banged the heels of his hands against the glass. Why did Tony not understand? Without the geas they were free to be together, it could not be simpler. How could he convince the man? Thor had folded his arms and was glaring at him from the back wall. Perhaps Thor had told Tony lies, to keep him from having Loki as they both desired. Thor had always been suspicious of Loki’s relationships with men, although he had been a lot better at hiding it in recent decades.

Loki circled his hips, stretched his arms up to let his shirt tug above his waistband. “There is no spell, Tony. You must have detected the release of the geas. It was most powerful. Will you not let me out? This is your home, you can send my brother away, he need not stand in our way.”

Thor snarled, and Tony held up his hands. “Loki, OK, you may not believe me but it’s true. I like you, but there is no way I have any sexual desire for you while you’re under this spell. It’s not real. It’s fake.”

Loki smiled sadly, “Tony, why would you lie to yourself? I know the truth and so do you. You cannot deny your desire. You wish to breed me, to have me bear your children. You do not need to hide it! I want the same thing!” Loki paused, Tony’s shocked face told him perhaps that Tony had not even been aware of his desire. But that mattered not, Loki knew the truth. Tony's face froze, he stepped back from the glass wall.

“No!” He said, “No! Loki, I wouldn't! You're not yourself, you don’t know what you’re saying!”

“I do know! I do know! Tony, you must believe me, I want it too! To bear your children, to birth them and raise them, how could you think I do not? It is all I want.”

Thor stepped forward, his face glowering. He took Tony’s arm, a little too tight for comfort if Tony’s wince was any indication. “How do you know?” he rumbled. “How are you so certain of Tony’s desire if he denies it to your face?”

Loki gaped at him, searching his mind for the source of his certainty, but he found only white noise. “I…” he began, but trailed off. He only knew that he knew, beyond any doubt, that Tony desired for Loki to carry his children. But...how did he know?

Thor continued, “And what of Syla, your daughter? You have not even asked for her! Her name has been the first word from your lips every time you were apart. What of her?”

Loki stepped back from the glass, confused. Syla! How could he have forgotten about her? Her face slipped into his mind, but thoughts of her did not bring the usual rush of love and pain to his heart. She was there, but dulled. Was that the geas? Could that be the removal of the geas affected him in such a way?

Thor was staring at him, Tony's arm still held in his hand. “Brother,” he said, “Search your heart. You know I speak true. Tony have never told you this desire, has he? How do you know with such certainty? Your daughter, where is she in your heart now? Loki, believe me, believe us, you are ensorcelled. You must break free.”

Loki felt a tug of concern. He tried to cast a quick cleansing spell but nothing happened. His power was utterly drained.

“I have no energy,” he said, uncertain. How had he freed himself from the geas? It was a blur. Surely he could not have broken it by force, even using all his power. He should have cast a spell with opposing forces to twist the geas…and there it was. He remembered it, but even as he did the memory squirmed under him, trying to squirm away. The new binding spell, he had poured so much power into it! He had nothing left, nothing even to counter the effect, never mind to remove it. He looked up, horrified. He had escaped one magical prison only to trap himself in another. This one more insidious, more dangerous, more twisted even that the geas.

“No…” he whispered, his heart lurching, “No! I will not remember! I will forget! Thor! Tony! Help me!”

Tony and Thor stared helpless at him. Neither had any delicate abilities with arcane power, the could not help him. Thor could summon lightning to blast the whole tower to the ground, but he had not Loki’s ability to craft fine spells. Tony had no connection to the arcane energies of Yggdrassil at all. Loki sat on the bed, his head in his hands. He knew why he was locked up in here now, to stop him from throwing himself at Tony. Despite his escape from the geas, Tony still was his master through his oath. The new binding spell allowed him to know Tony’s true desire, which even Tony himself had not known. Loki prayed he would not act on it, but without a doubt he must be tempted.

Loki wanted to throw up. He had thought his humiliation was over but apparently it was not. He had accidentally bound himself with this need to fulfill his master’s desires, and worse, to share them. Byliestr had done a very thorough job breaking Loki, but even he had not succeeded in making Loki desire his owner. But Loki had just begged for Tony to breed him, and meant it! Loki groaned aloud, his head on his knees. He sat for a minute, taking deep breaths, allowed his mind to settle. He soothed himself, white noise washing back through his mind. A few moments later, the white noise subsided and Loki had no idea why he was curled up on the bed.

“Tony,” he said, standing up, “will you not let me out? You must know I would never leave you. I belong to you. Take me to your bed and breed me, in any manner you wish, I will not be content until your seed is in my belly! Tony please, do not hold back!”

Tony shook his head and backed away, his back hit the far wall. His face pale, his eyes wide and shining. “Oh Loki…I'm so sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't know...I swear I would never…”

Thor growled and tugged Tony’s arm, pulling him towards the doorway.

“Loki,” Tony’s voice broke, but Thor did not stop pulling him away, “Loki!”

Thor slammed the elevator button with his fist. “You will not come here without me.” He shook Tony, forced him to look away from Loki. “Promise me!”

Tony nodded, his eyes flicking back to the cell, Loki standing pressed up to the glass of his cell. Thor huffed and shoved him into the elevator.

“We will return, brother,” Thor called, “and we will free you of this poisonous spell. Do not fret.”

Loki craned his neck to watch Tony until the door closed, and then they were gone.

Chapter Text

Tony dreaded the elevator door opening to the penthouse. The living room was washed in morning light, and a small girl in yellow pajamas stood facing the elevator, her face hopeful.

“Modi?” She said, peering into the elevator.

Tony crouched down to her level. “I'm sorry,” he said, “Your modi is still not well, he can't come up right now.”

Thor shuffled his feet, and Syla folded her arms. “Modi!" she demanded, her bottom lip beginning to tremble.

“Soon,” Tony said, resorting to a white lie, “I'm sure he'll be well soon.”

Syla was not fooled. Tony was unsurprised, his lie was unconvincing and the girl had been separated from her modi many times by Byliestr. She knew what that meant. Her face closed down, and she looked at the ground. Her crossed arms turned into a protective hug across her belly.

“Syla…” Tony said, his heart in the process of breaking, “um… How about we do some art together?”

Syla shook her head, her hair falling over her face to hide her expression. “Tired,” she said, her voice low. She backed away until she reached the hallway, then turned and ran to her and Loki's room.

Tony looked at Thor. Neither of them had any suggestions. Syla was right not to trust them. She knew Tony was Loki's master, and she knew what masters were capable of. For all she knew her modi was lying beaten and bloody in some unused hallway, or had been lent out for some entertainment. It had happened before, after all.

“Shall we let her see him?” Tony asked, and Thor shrugged helplessly.

“You saw how he was. He did not even speak her name, as though he had forgotten her. I do not know if she should see him like that. We could wait, if his power recovers I am sure he can unspell himself.”

Tony sighed. He wanted to do right by the girl, but he didn't know what that was. Loki was all she had. Was it better for her to wait a few days to see him, or to see him physically healthy but not caring about her? If Tony kept them apart she would blame him, but better that than to have her lose her faith in Loki's love for her. Tony resigned himself to be the bad guy, as much as it hurt his heart to do so.

While he was thinking through those unpleasant options, Thor was obviously thinking of something else. His heavy hand landed on Tony's shoulder. “Tony Stark, we must speak.” Tony knew what this was going to be about. One shovel talk, coming up. Tony steeled himself.

“Tony Stark, I respect you as a warrior and a friend, but I must tell you this. If you take advantage of my brother in his…state…every bond between us will be broken.”

Ouch. And not just the vice-like grip grinding the bones in his shoulder.

“Thor, man, I'm not going to do…anything. I don't even...I didn’t even know, OK? It's not something I ever thought about.”

“You deny it then? The spell is lying?” Thor was not letting it go, and Tony didn't blame him. He had trusted Tony with his beloved brother, and if it turned out his trust was misplaced, there would be consequences.

Tony shook his head, ashamed as he was, there was no point lying about it. He wriggled out of Thor’s grip and threw himself onto the couch. “I guess it’s true. I mean, if I met him and he wasn’t my fucking slave and he wasn’t under a spell making him like me, and he was genuinely into me, and then sure. But that’s not what’s happening here! It’s gross and disturbing and I would never, ever abuse him that way.”

“Give me your word you will not be alone with him, until he is in his right mind.”

Tony put his hands over his face, he could feel Thor’s gaze drilling into him from across the coffee table. “Fine. I give you my word. I won’t be alone with him while he’s like this.”

Thor nodded, somewhat mollified. He sat down on the plush seat opposite Tony, breath huffing out of him.

Tony decided not to let that painful conversation linger in the air. “So our plan is to wait and see if his magical energy recovers enough to unspell himself? Any idea how long that could take? Or if he even can do it?”

"In the past, Loki has been able to recover his magic quickly. He is connected to the power of Yggdrasil in a way few are."

Tony had little choice but to accept that, and with nothing else to discuss, Thor decided to see if Syla would talk to him.

Tony tried to distract himself reviewing plans for the Jotun delegation visit. The party would have to land on the roof of the tower, which made Tony's skin itch. The portal Loki had opened years ago had torn a hole in that spot and apparently it was a bad idea to punch such holes through the fabric of Yggdrasil. If the bifrost landed in another location close by, there was a danger of them ripping together and forming a rift.

So as little as the liked the Jotun landing on the roof, he would have to allow it. They would be met up there with an honor guard and as quickly as possible loaded into a quinjet to their home-base on Midgard. Their home-base was a fantastic ice palace that had been built on the Great Lawn in Central Park. The New York winter was well underway and Tony had helped things along with some new freezing technology. The ice palace was huge, built to accommodate the Jotun in comfort and also to impress them with Midgardian ingenuity.

Tony had come up with a lot of the design for the ice palace, and he was proud of it. Tony’s advanced scouting mission to Jotunheim had primarily been to arrange this summit. He had hoped Loki would be able to advise on how to tailor the structure to Jotun tastes. He had even looked forward to taking Loki there, to walking through the glittering ice structure with him...but that was not to be.

Tony was noodling on the ice palace designs when Thor came back, shaking his head.

“She will not speak to me. She is in bed with the blankets over her head.”

Tony was about to say that they should think about taking her to see Loki, or at lease let them talk on video, when Jarvis interrupted.

"Sir, Loki appears to be casting..."

He could not even finish the sentence before a green and gold shimmer formed in the center of the room, and Loki appeared. Tony and Thor leapt to their feet.

"What are you doing here?" Tony said, dumbly.

"Tony," Loki purred, "You well know why I am here. I am here to be with you, as you desire me to be."

"I mean, wait, no, I mean, how can you teleport?" Tony backed away, he would have hidden behind Thor if the coffee table was not in the way.

"The geas is lifted Tony, and you have given me no orders on the subject. But that matters not. I am here now. Are you not glad to see me?"

The pounding of little feet sounded down the hallway and Syla skidded into the room. "Modi!" she cried, and Loki turned to her, confused.

"Syla..." he said, his confident expression falling from his face. "Syla, my little love." His face twisted and he clutched at his head. "I have a headache," he said softly, and Thor leapt to catch him as he fell to the floor.

Chapter Text

Loki awoke back in his cell. He cursed whatever forces were conspiring to keep Tony and him apart. Outside the cell, two figures caught his eye and he leapt up from the padded shelf. One of them was Tony!

“Tony!” he said, unsteady on his feet, a headache fading into the background, “Tony, why are you punishing me? I know you want me. Am I not pleasing enough to take to your bed? Tell me how you want me, what manner of dress or appearance will please you and I will comply!”

Thor slammed his palm against the glass, electricity skittering across the reinforced material. “Loki! Stop this madness! Listen to yourself!”

Loki startled back, he shook his head and the fever clearing from his eyes for a moment. A fuzzy buzzing noise seemed to come from all around, confusing him, and Thor pressed his advantage.

“Loki, think! For as long as I have known you, you have been the most prideful wretch with your lovers! Never have you entertained any who did not pursue you most ardently first! I have seen love-struck fools chase all over the realms on ridiculous errands for a chance to earn your favor, and seen those same poor creatures stumble from your chambers after such nights as you allowed them. Never have you begged for affection! Never have you changed the slightest thing about yourself to entice those who did not already desire you. And you have not lacked for company! But now you beg for Stark to tell you how to change yourself to win a place in his bed, when he clearly does not want such a thing! Brother, you must know this is not natural. You must fight it!”

Loki backed away from the glass, and fell back onto the bed while Thor berated him. Loki searched his past, but he could not find any memories to contradict his brother’ words. In his youth, he had been prideful, he had scorned any who did not prove themselves worthy. He was a prince! Or he had thought he was, but now he was no such thing. He was no prince, no Odinson, not even a free man anymore. That was why he no longer thought so highly of himself. Who would be interested in him now, if he did not beg? If he did not change himself to meet their desires? Tony may desire to breed him but something was holding him back, and Loki needed to know what it was. His head cleared, and the white noise faded into the background.

“Tony,” he said, his brother’s words drifting away like sand, “Tony, you must know I will do whatever you wish. Speak your desire and I will meet it!”

Tony flushed, his face was tight, his hands clenched to fists beside him. Thor made to speak again but Tony interrupted him. “For now, Loki, my desire is for you to stay in the holding cell. Can you do that for me?”

Loki scowled. That was not at all what he wanted to hear. If he stayed in this cell he would have little chance of meeting Tony’s desires, and he said as much to Tony.

Tony huffed, his arms flailing helplessly at his sides. “Loki…” he almost tried to reason with him, but knew that he was going to lose that battle. Loki was not reasonable at the moment. “OK look, I didn’t want to do this, but ... I order you to stay in this cell.”

Thor whipped his head around to glare at Tony, and Tony had the grace to look ashamed of himself. He did not back down though. “Thor, he’s not in his right mind! We can't have him wandering the tower, or worse, wandering New York!”

Thor reluctantly nodded, and they both turned back to Loki, expectant.

After a moment, Loki nodded, letting his shoulders slump and his head hang down. “I understand,” he said, his voice dull. He sat back on the padded shelf and looked down at his hands, subdued.

When the elevator door closed he did not move. JARVIS would still be watching. After a few minutes sitting in his defeated pose, he allowed himself to lie down, facing the wall. He did not know exactly where the visual monitoring devices were, but he could try to minimize what they could see while not making it obvious he was doing so. He had too little magical energy still, or he would have created an illusion of himself and made himself invisible to the sensors. He had to conserve what power he had, and so he had to appear cowed. Thor had Tony under his influence somehow, and he needed to get Tony alone. Surely then he would find his true desires with Loki, he would use him as he wanted and plant his seed in his belly. Loki held himself back from putting his hand on his stomach. He knew where Tony’s seed would grow in him, where his child would be nurtured until he birthed it.

He would conserve his energy until the evening, and then he would find Tony.

A niggling thought tried to surface in his mind, but whenever he tried to focus on it, that buzzing noise came back. He couldn’t locate the source, and it was making him uneasy.

“JARVIS?” he said, thinking to ask the AI where the noise was coming from, but when JARVIS said, “Yes, Loki?” he found he couldn’t remember his question.

“Never mind,” he said, and then moments later he forgot he had even asked anything. He would wait until this evening, and then find Tony alone. That was all he needed to do. Once Tony did not have Thor looking over his shoulder, Loki knew he would not refuse him.

Chapter Text

It was very late when Loki risked the tiniest spark of magic to check that Tony was alone in his room. He lay still on his thin mattress, hiding his use of magic from JARVIS’ observation. He needed to make his move quickly, before any alert sounded. He ran through his checklist in his mind. Create an illusion of himself. Bend the light around his real form. Teleport to Tony’s room. Seal the door. Wake Tony. And then...he would be rewarded. Some missing consideration nagged at him but he couldn’t think what it was, so he pushed the uncomfortable feeling away. He ran through his list one final time. His magical reserves contained enough power, Tony was alone, and there was no need to wait. He cast his series of spells in quick succession, lastly pulling himself through the firmament into Stark’s bedroom.

The room was dim, lit only with the glow of the city outside. Stark was a softly breathing shape on the bed. Loki glided towards him, hardly able to believe he was so close. He had only a little magic left, and he used it to seal the room. As soon as he put one knee on the bed Tony snapped awake. He sat up, his hands posed as though casting a spell himself. Perhaps instinctively trying to summon his armor. It would not work, of course, the room was sealed even to JARVIS.

“Peace Tony,” Loki said, “It is only me. We are alone now.”

Tony squinted at him, blinking. “Loki?” he queried.

Loki confirmed it was him, and crawled fully onto the bed. Tony scooted back from him. He was wearing a light shirt, his arms exposed, and Loki was dizzy at the sight of so much tan flesh and muscle. He reached out one finger to slide down Tony’s arm but his hand was slapped away.

“What are you doing?” Tony hissed. “Why are you here? I told you to stay in your cell! JARVIS? Call Thor!”

“You know why I am here, Tony,” Loki murmured, reaching out again, and having his hand slapped away again. Something still was not right, and Loki did not know what it was. They were alone, in private, undisturbed. Loki moved quickly before Tony could back away again. He swung one leg and sat astride Tony’s thighs, pinning him to the bed. He put both his hands on Tony’s chest, felt his racing heartbeat.

“Oh shit,” Tony said, stilling under his hands, looking up at him, his eyes dark and shining. “Oh shit. Oh shit. JARVIS?”

“JARVIS can't hear you Tony. We are alone, just as you desire.” Loki pulled his shirt off over his head. He took Tony’s hand and placed it on his own heart, mirroring his own gesture. Tony would feel his excitement, his heartbeat pounding blood through his veins.

Tony let his head fall back on the pillows, surrendering his arm and hand to Loki’s control. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Loki,” he said, then coughed and cleared his throat, “Loki,” he tried again, “Listen to me. Focus. You disobeyed my order. What about your oath? The norns?”

Loki frowned. The uncomfortable feeling came over him again, that he had forgotten something. Something important. He shook his head, tried to chase it away, but it would not so easily be dismissed. An oath, a promise floated into his mind and would not be dislodged.

“What about Syla?” Stark asked, his voice low, and Loki jerked back on the bed as he finally remembered. His oath! He had broken his oath! He grabbed his head, frantically trying to keep the memories in place. He had forgotten, and he would forget again. He pulled at the spell sealing the room, broke it and took back what power he could to preserve his memory. Immediately he did so JARVIS spoke, “Thor is on his way, Sir.” And indeed moments later Thor burst through the door and the lights came up. The sight of his brother, shirtless, sitting astride Tony’s lap stopped him short for a moment, but a glimpse of Loki's anguished face turned his rage to worry.

“Brother! Stark! What is this?” He demanded.

“I broke my oath!” Loki gabbled, looking between Thor and Tony, desperate to get the words out before he forgot again, “I broke it, you have to punish me. If you punish me perhaps the Norns will not. Please! Do not argue, there is no time. Just make me obey, I don’t care how. Syla’s life depends on it!”

Tony looked as though he would argue but one look at Thor’s horrified face and he shut his mouth. Both the Asgardians were equally horrified, and Tony found he could not dismiss their reaction as mere superstition.

“Stark, do it,” Thor snapped. Loki’s hands were gliding back towards Tony’s chest again, his panicked face smooth and seductive once more.

Tony screwed up his face, but held up his hand in the same quick gesture he had done when Romanov had been in the apartment. Loki still wore the shock bracelet around his ankle, an insurance against SHIELD more than anything else. He barely thought about it anymore. He had a split second to realize what Tony had done before it activated. He fell helplessly to the bed, his muscles locked and straining, fire burning through his every nerve. He writhed on the bed, soundless, helpless, for what felt like minutes. Tony lowered his and and the pain cut off. Loki lay limp on the bed, nothing but confusion in his mind. Tony scrambled out from under him and stood next to Thor, looking sickened. Thor had his arms folded across his broad chest, his face carefully blank.

“Tony,” Loki croaked, reaching out his hand. Tony did not comfort him, his hands clenched his fists by his sides. He closed his eyes and then squared his shoulders and opened them again.

“Loki, tell me why I punished you.”

Loki shook his head, “I don’t know! I don’t know! Tony please, I only want to be with you, to fulfill your desires. I know you don't desire to hurt me! I don't understand!”

Tony looked at at Thor but he didn't meet his gaze. He only shook his head, looking away. Tony raised his hand again and Loki threw himself off the bed. His knees hit the floor and he caught himself on his hands. “Tony please don’t hurt me! Tell me what you want and I’ll do it! I will! I swear…”

Tony cut him off “No! No swearing, no promises, no oaths! You disobeyed my order, and you had to be punished. Do you understand?”

Loki nodded frantically. Tony had told him to stay in the cell. He had thought such an order to be irrelevant, that Tony’s desire for him was more important. But he had been wrong! “Yes, yes, Tony I understand. I deserved it. I understand.”

“OK,” Tony lowered his hand. “Loki, if you disobey you get punished, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, yes I understand. If I obey, then you will have me?” Loki looked only at Tony’s bare feet. He did his best to piece together this new information. Tony was testing him, he wanted obedience before he would take him to his bed. He could do that. He could obey, and when Tony was satisfied that he would be compliant and submissive to his desires, he would then have him as he wanted to, he would take him and breed him and use him as he wished. Loki shivered with anticipation. He stayed kneeling, thinking he was beginning to understand what Tony wanted from him. Tony and Thor were having some kind of silent conversation with their eyes. Tony sighed and muttered something under his breath that sounded like I guess we’re really doing this. He took a deep breath and then said out loud, “Loki, I expect you to obey my orders. If you can do that...then I’ll have you.”

Thor growled like a guard dog, warning, but Loki cared nothing for that, Tony had told him he would have him! He would complete this test and he would soon be back in Tony’s bed, on his back or on his belly or however Tony wanted him. He nodded eagerly.

“You need to fully replenish your magic. So no more using magic unless it's an emergency, OK?”

“Yes, Tony.” Loki agreed, not understanding why Tony would want such a thing. It mattered not, Tony had promised if he was obedient he would be rewarded, so he would pass this test.

“And you need to stay in your cell.”

Loki whined at that. He hated to be apart from Tony, it itched at him, it felt wrong in a way he couldn’t define. He dared to ask, “Tony, may I please stay here with you? I will be obedient! I will do whatever you say. I do not...I do not want to be apart from you.”

Tony and Thor shared another long look, which Loki waited breathless for his answer. He did not know or care why it was so important to him to be with Tony, he only knew that it was true. Eventually Tony spoke, his voice gentle.

“Loki, Syla is here in the penthouse, will you be able to see her without fainting? Without upsetting her?”

Loki’s vision fuzzed around the edges at the mention of Syla. He tried to hold her name in his mind, even as he knew he could not. Nothing would stay in his mind except his need to be with Tony. He pulled at his hair, uncertain.

“Will you tell her…” he said, and then the thought was gone. Her name was gone. Nothing remained except his need to be with Tony.

Chapter Text

In the end, they allowed him to stay in the penthouse. Thor decided the risk of him forgetting the order to stay in the cell was too great. The Norns would require greater punishment for disobeying the order a second time. If Tony did not or could not deliver it, the Norns would deliver it themselves. Loki had sworn his obedience, but he was currently incapable of giving it. Tony and Thor would have to avoid giving him orders that he could not obey.

That morning, Loki found himself living a strange half-life, his mind splitting in two under the strain of it. He sat in the penthouse with Syla curled in his lap, watching a movie. He stared at her face, forced himself to remember, but whenever Stark walked by all thought evaporated except the unending need to be in his bed, to be impregnated by him and have his belly grow with his child. Each time it happened, Syla would notice his lapse and tap his cheek to bring him back. He felt nothing but shame that he had again forgotten his own child in his lap.

Tony and Thor had talked to Syla, explained that her Modi was sick and his memory was bad, and he needed help to remember. She had nodded gravely, and the girl was so strong, so determined that she would help Loki remember. She took her colored markers and wrote Syla on both Loki’s hands and drew hearts around the word. Then, seeing that Loki liked her work, she rolled up his sleeves and drew butterflies and hearts all the way up to his elbows. Loki often found himself drifting off, catching sight of his own hand and snapping back to the present. He knew it was wrong to rely so heavily on his own child, but she seemed the only thing that could keep him in his right mind. JARVIS displayed her face on nearby screens whenever Loki moved around the penthouse, keeping her memory in his mind.

(Art by Maniploki on tumblr)

It worked as well as anything could. When he remembered, Loki was overwhelmed with shame at his own stupidity for letting the spell trap him, and for his inability to break out of it. He loathed the way he had acted, coming to Tony’s bedroom and climbing on top of him in the middle of the night! He well knew what that felt like from the other side and he was furious with himself, as well as impossibly grateful that Stark had kept his head. He had been able to bring him out of the spell long enough to prevent something much worse from happening. When Loki closed his eyes, or looked away too long, the memory of Stark’s heartbeat under his hands rose up, and Loki found his own pulse rising in answer, and the cycle began again. Loki could weep.

After lunch, Tony seemed to be staying out of their way. Loki could not blame him, but his need to be with him was growing, and Syla’s ability to bring him out of his trance was fading. Thor was sitting with them on a comfortable chair in the living room, but he seemed to be fading in and out of Loki's view. It was as though he had a growing, shifting blind spot in his vision as the spell’s urge to be with Tony grew and grew. Loki knew he could not hold it back forever.

“Thor,” he said softly, “Thor, I need to see Tony, it is getting worse.”

Thor nodded and got up from his chair. Syla turned around from the screen and put both her hands to his cheeks. “Modi?” she said, “Do you remember? Did you forget me?”

Loki looked into her beautiful gem-like eyes, too wise and too sad for her age. He held her close, and for the first time in his life he was tempted to lie to her. It was on the tip of his tongue, to swear that he would never forget her, but he could not. He could not. His last words to her could not be a lie. “My little love,” he said instead, “my beloved daughter, you are more precious to me than my own life. I will always love you, even if I forget my own name.” He kissed her forehead, “My heart will find you in the afterlife, if it does not find you again in this life.” Her tears were cool on his neck as Tony walked into the room and everything else faded away.

“Tony!” he said, his pulse rising as his destined lover came closer, “Tony, you have come for me? I have obeyed you all day, I have done everything you have ordered. Will you have me now?”

Tony blanched and took a deep, slow breath before replying. “Is your magic fully replenished?” he asked, and Loki could not understand why he would care about such a thing.

He shook his head, “Not yet,” he said, “But it will be soon. Very soon. Why must we wait? I am ready for you now!”

A voice said, “It’s getting worse,” and Loki startled when he finally noticed Thor standing next to Tony. Even as he tried to look at him he faded again, a blur of static noise that was swallowed into the background.

“How long until it’s fully replenished?” Tony insisted, and Loki focused on the question.

“Several hours,” he said cautiously. “And then, when it is full?”

“When it’s full, I want you to try and cast a spell for me.” Tony said.

Loki frowned. “And then you will have me? You will not ask more of me after that, to prove myself to you?”

Tony squirmed, but nodded. “Loki, all I want is for you to get your full power back, and to cast this spell for me. After that I’ll let you decide what to do, OK?”

Loki could not find the flaw in that, he knew what he would want. He wanted Tony to spread him out on his bed and plant a baby in him. A heavy weight was lifted from his lap and the sound of muffled crying faded from his ears. He did not look away from Tony. He was like a moth, helpless to Tony's flame.

“Will you sit with me?” he asked, craving something, anything, to answer the appetite growling and churning through his every nerve. Tony nodded and sat on the opposite end of the couch. Loki was pulled as though by a magnet. Unable to see anything now but Tony, the warmth of his skin, and the comfort he knew he would find there. He lay down on the couch and put his head in Tony’s lap. He let out a long sigh when one of Tony’s hands combed through his hair. His face was wet, and he wiped tears from his eyes that he did not know he had shed. Still they fell, and Loki didn’t know why. He was with Tony. All was well. They were together.

Chapter Text

Loki lay on Tony’s lap as the sun went down and the stars came out. The movie had ended long ago and neither of them asked JARVIS for another, so they waited in silence. Tony’s hand brushed through Loki’s hair, soothing him and keeping the heat in his blood from boiling over. Loki stared blindly at his own hand in front of his face, for some reason decorated with marks and swirls in dull-colored ink. The marks had no meaning to him, the shapes shifted under his eyes, and he could not be curious about why. Nothing mattered to him anymore expect Tony’s declaration that he would soon be rewarded. He would pass these tests that Tony had set and then be granted his desire.

Loki could not understand how Tony had held back for so long. He knew in his heart that Tony shared his desire, that he wanted Loki to bear his children. Loki would do so gladly, and it was so close to the time that they would begin. He let his mind wander into the fantasy. Would Tony be gentle with him? Would he hold back his passion for Loki’s comfort? Or would there be nothing on his mind but to have him and sate himself with Loki’s willing body? Loki shivered. Whatever Tony chose to do, however he chose to take him, it would be perfect.

Tony and JARVIS were conversing over Loki’s head, and he heard a deep rumble of a voice that felt familiar, but nothing of what they said was relevant, so he tuned it out. His magical reserves were full, and it was time. He sat up.

“Tony, I am ready,” he said. Tony turned to face him on the couch, his lip well chewed, shadows under his eyes.

“OK,” he said, “OK, Loki. You’ve been very patient, very good. I just need you to do one more thing.”

Loki nodded. He was so close now! He was fairly vibrating with excitement, although he tried to match Tony's calmer presence.

"Loki, I know you don't remember, but you're under a spell that makes you think you want me.” Loki tried to protest that his desire was real and genuine, but Tony shook his head and continued, “I know you don’t believe me. It's OK. But I need you to try and reverse the spell. You used a lot of power to cast it, so you’ll need to use a lot of power, all your power, to reverse it. You have to try with everything you’ve got.”

Tony handed him a book, it had a soft cover and a picture of a fantastical creature on the front. Loki stared at it, something about it triggering an emotional response that he did not understand. He flicked through the book. It was filled with handwritten notes, analysis of a complex binding spell. He squinted, a headache forming behind his eyes, but at Tony's urging he continued. The end of the book contained a different spell. One that would counter the first spell, that would twist it and misalign it, but one which was dangerous in itself. It would erase memories, thoughts, erase everything about a person and turn them into a doll, an empty vessel for the fulfillment of another’s desires.. Loki’s headache got worse, and as he turned the page he caught sight of his own hand. Syla, in red ink, surrounded by blue hearts. He stared at them, the binding spell and the writing on his hand, a sick feeling growing in his belly that something was very, very wrong.

“That's the spell Loki. Can you try and reverse it? You can do it. You have to try.” Loki looked up into pleading brown eyes, and he lost himself in them for a moment. “Syla needs you back. Thor needs you back. I need you back. Reverse the spell.”

Loki nodded slowly. He sat back on the couch and raised his hands. They began to glow. Immediately Loki felt it, something twisted and unnatural burrowed into his mind, hiding itself and hiding Loki’s own self. He could feel it's sticky threads connecting himself to Tony. Like harpoons, they pulled chunks of thoughts and memories from Tony’s mind, parts and pieces without any true understanding of the man. Loki severed those strings first with a burst of energy, and gasped as he could think again. He did not relax, already the threads were reaching out again, blindly seeking their target, searching for an anchor that would again subsume Loki's thoughts and desires. Loki wanted to throw up, but he did not have the luxury. He understood why Tony had wanted him to have his full power to attempt this - the binding spell was strong. It had been cast in desperation, far more power had gone into it than the spell required. He began to pull it apart, working on instinct. He had not been able to plan, but the spell was not complex, it was just incredibly strong. He destabilized it. Pulled and shoved at it’s structure, weakened it, undid it’s bindings. He poured more and more of his power into it, and the more he did the more and more he could think freely, and the better he could plan his next move. But even as he planned his next ten steps he was already faced with the reality that he was not strong enough. No matter where he pushed, where he untangled the spell from himself, it was protecting and rebuilding itself. It fed from his own reserves. He was fighting himself. He had cast the spell with with every ounce of his panic and fear and drained his entire body of arcane power to do it. Even if he did the same now, even if he took every drop of power he had, he could only exactly match what he had done before. He was struggling against his own shadow.

"I can't! Not enough!" he forced out, and voices floated around him, but he did not dare open his eyes or lose concentration for a moment. He held the spell balanced in his mind. There were so many weak points now, but none weak enough. He needed to break multiple points at once to destroy the spell so that it could not regenerate, and he did not have the power to do it.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and his brother’s power vibrated on his skin, wild and untamed, so unlike his own fine control of Yggdrasil's energy. He would try to use it anyway, he had no other choice despite the risk of it. Before he could, a different weight fell on his hand, another energy source offering itself, Midgardian, cold and clean and elegant. Loki reached for them both, gasping with the effort as he held the balance in his mind. Neither source was easy to integrate, especially mid-cast. If he tried and failed the structure would collapse and he had no idea what then would happen. He only needed a little power, a tiny nudge to shift the balance. Tony’s Midgardian power, Thor’s power and his own were all so different, all strong, complimentary but not compatible. The spell was still powerful, but half broken, connections severed, pieces disconnected. If it collapsed, he may not survive such a disaster. Or at least, his mind may not. He would try anyway. Better to try and fail than to accept his life as a willing and mindless toy.

A gentle touch on his cheek, a small hand. His eyes opened and there she was, his daughter, his precious girl, his little love, his heart. Her red eyes shone like fire, like rubies, like the sun. She put both hands to his face and gentle as a kiss, her power alighted on him. What little she had she freely gave, and it was all he needed. Like a feather stopping a fist, her butterfly bloomed in his mind and beat its wings, creating a hurricane that destroyed the binding spell, that swept it away, that freed him.

She fell into his arms, like a bursting bubble all light and color came back to the world, and her voice was sweet music to his ears.

(Art by Leone's Mountain Art on tumblr)

Chapter Text

They did not move for a long time. Loki in the center of the couch, Thor on one side, Tony on the other, and Syla in his lap. Thor and Tony wrapped them both in a double bear hug, their overlapping arms forming a circle around the parent and child. Syla wrapped her little arms tight around Loki’s neck and buried her face in his shoulder, her body trembling with the effort of her spell-casting and with relief, modi, modi, modi falling non-stop from her lips.

Loki rubbed her back, kissed her hair, whispered in her ear that he loved her, that he remembered her, that she had broken the spell and he would not forget her again. Her tears dried on his shoulder and she eventually fell into an exhausted asleep. It was late and she must have been drained from her efforts, and from stress and worry for her Modi.

Loki did not want to look up. An awkward and uncomfortable conversation was coming, and he did not want to face it. Perhaps if he said he was tired Tony would allow him to simply sleep. He suddenly wondered if he would be allowed to sleep in the penthouse at all. He longed to sleep in the familiar tower bedroom with Syla, to be near her and soothe her fears if she awoke in the night, but no doubt he had destroyed Tony’s trust in him. He would not be surprised if Tony sent him back to the holding cell. Loki cringed. He had not behaved well. He had been disobedient. He had accosted Tony is his bedroom! He had made outrageous demands of him. Loki groaned out loud and resigned himself to confinement in the cell at least until he had made sufficient amends to Tony. He wanted to weep at the thought of parting from Syla again, but he would do as he was told. He had broken his oath once already that day and been punished for it. He had deserved it, but he would not invite more punishments by continuing with such misdeeds.

He was in his right mind now, and he would keep his oath. He would accept whatever penance Tony deemed suitable for his actions under the influence of the binding spell. He would be as humble, as grateful, as obedient as his master could want. His mind dwelled on such thoughts, tumbling over each other, worries and fears and expectations all twisting around each other in his head, until he realized that Syla was not the only one sleeping. Tony’s eyes were closed, his head resting on Loki’s other shoulder. Loki swallowed his guilt. He knew why Tony was so tired. He had been woken up close after midnight by his disobedient slave and now it was after midnight again.

Loki rolled his head and caught Thor’s eye, nodding to indicate the two sleepers. He expected Thor would perhaps wake Tony or at least help Loki extricate himself, but he was no help at all. He said, "You have done well, brother," and gave Loki a warm kiss to his temple. Loki could not fend him off without waking anyone, so he had to accept his affection. Then he draped a blanket over all three of them, waved cheerfully to Loki’s glare and left the room. Loki sighed. He would be a pillow then, he supposed. There were worse fates. And he had just barely escaped such a fate. If he had not been able to break the spell, if Syla had not helped him, he would even now be a mindless pleasure slave, begging for Tony to make use of him, to breed him, to bend him over and take him. He would not even remember his daughter’s name. He shuddered, sickened at the thought.

Loki did not know if Tony would have done it, if Loki had tried and failed to break the binding. The desire the spell had revealed had not come from nowhere. Loki had seen the spell-threads plucking thoughts from Tony’s head, but they were taking only fragments, intense desire but not whole ones. If that had been Tony’s whole and true desire, surely he would not have held back, he would not have insisted Loki try to free himself. Instead, he would have taken Loki to his bed and indulged his every desire. Loki shivered at the memory of Tony’s bottom drawer. Restraints, whips, gags, other devices. Loki could only too well imagine himself spread out, chained and helpless as others took their pleasure from his body. It had been done to him before. Many times.

But Tony was different. Loki had presented himself in his bedroom, ready and willing to perform in anyway he desired and Tony had refused him. Even now, the memories of his time under the spell were confused, hard to understand, his own actions bizarre and confusing. But Tony’s actions were clear. He had had every chance to take advantage of Loki, and he had not. Loki tried to make sense of it. Tony wanted him, that much he knew, the spell did not lie. But it did not tell the whole truth, either.

Loki shifted to a more comfortable position, and the two sleepers shifted with him. Tony grunted and snuffled into Loki’s shoulder, then opened his eyes. It took a few seconds, but he realized what he was doing and pushed himself up and away from Loki. He wiped his face with his hands and yawned.

“Oh, hey, sorry Loki,” he said, as though he had any reason at all to apologize to Loki, rather than the other way around.

“It is quite well, Tony,” Loki said, and before Tony could speak again he rushed out his thoughts. “Tony, I am sorry for what I have done. For coming to your room. For disobeying your orders. For distracting you from your work. For...for everything. I apologize. And I would ask your forgiveness, if you would tell me how to earn it.”

Tony blinked at him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up a little more. “Loki,” he said, “There's nothing to apologize for. You weren't yourself.”

Loki shook his head, gently so as not to disturb the girl sleeping on his lap. “The spell was mine. I knew the risk, and I took it. The fault is mine, and I accept responsibility. I...I am myself now. I know you held back while I was...influenced. But now I am not. If you wish anything from me, I am at your service.”

Tony frowned. “Loki, do you need to read the note again? I already told you, I’m not into that. I’m not interested.”

Loki decided he may as well reveal what he knew, so he continued, “The spell did not lie about your desire, did it? Tony, I have seen what you keep in your bottom drawer. You must know I still am your slave. There is no magic on me now, only my own wish to serve you well. If you would like to...to bind me...or...or…” Loki gasped for breath and found he could not continue.

Tony held up his hands, scooting back on the couch. In the dim room, a light flush colored his cheeks. “Ahhhhh,” he said, quiet, but intense. “Ahhhhh! Loki! This is NOT the conversation I was thinking of having right now, but here we go. That stuff in the drawer. It’s not for you. It’s for me. OK? Do I need to go into any more detail? Because I really would rather not.”

Loki stared dumbly, “What?” he said, unable to take in this new information.

Tony put his head in his hands. “Oh wow. OK, I’m not writing this one down, you’ll just have to remember it! I like that stuff. I don’t do it to other people, other people do it to me. I like it. I would never, ever do anything like that with anyone who wasn't into it, and I KNOW you are not into it. You're like, so far from being into it. Oh god! Can I stop talking now?”

Loki suddenly understood, and felt an utter fool. Tony had his own life, his own lovers, his own desires that were none of Loki's concern. Tony was not Byliestr, and Loki must stop insulting him by expecting the same treatment from Tony as he had had from his former owner. Tony had told him over and over, and it was time for Loki to believe him. How much more proof was Tony expected to provide? Loki had been out of his mind and half naked in the man's bed, and he remained unmolested.

Loki looked down, deeply ashamed of himself. He held Syla's sleeping form close to him. He wanted to be gone, and to start fresh the next day. He was too tired, too confused, he should never have started this conversation. "I apologize Tony. I misunderstood. Please may I be excused?"

Tony nodded, he looked as though he had more to say, but he did not bid Loki stay. Loki scrambled to his feet and hurried away, but halfway out of the room he realized he did not know where to go. He turned and asked one more question. "Please may I stay here, in the penthouse?" Loki tried to keep the hope out of his voice. If Tony wanted him back in the cell, he would obey, and he would not complain.

Tony looked at him, his eyes soft, the flush gone from his cheeks. "Of course, Loki. Of course you can stay here. This is your home."

Chapter Text

Loki woke late. The sun was up, and Syla was sitting in the bed beside him, her arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes fixed on his. She looked both hopeful and terrified, and Loki knew at once what she was waiting for.

He did not make her wait any longer. “Syla,” he said, relief sweeping her face when he said her name. “Good morning my darling. I missed you while I was sleeping.”

Syla bit her lip and looked away, then looked back with a smile she tried to hide. “You can’t miss someone if you’re asleep,” she accused him.

Loki propped himself on one elbow. He was delighted to be with her, to see her smile, to talk with her in the comfort of this room, under these cozy blankets, in possession of his right mind and no longer controlled by malevolent magics. His heart was ready to float right out of his body with the joy of it.

“I missed you in my dreams,” he said, and tried to plant a kiss on her shoulder. She wiggled away, giggling.

“What was your dream?” she demanded.

“Oh I know it was about you, my love,” Loki said airily, “because I am so happy. If I had not dreamed of you I am sure I would be sad.”

Syla gave up trying to evade his kisses and threw herself into his arms instead. Loki pulled the blankets back over them both and cuddled with her, nothing on his mind but the precious weight of her in his arms. She allowed him only a few minutes of such affection before she grew restless and started to squirm. He let her go, as much as he would have loved to hold her for hours more. They got up together and dressed. Despite the cold weather, Syla still preferred light shorts and shirts. She chose a shirt embroidered with sequined butterflies that Loki did not recognize. It must have been another gift from Tony. Loki didn't comment. He put on his own clothes - jeans and a shirt, and the warm hooded sweater that Tony had given him. Since coming from Jotunheim, he did not care for the cold.

They had slept in, but they were first up. Loki was glad he was not too late to make breakfast for the household. He had to work, after all, he still was bound by his oath to serve. Cooking was something he could do well enough, and even enjoyed. It was hardly work at all. He got ingredients for vegetable omelettes out of the refrigerator, and Syla took her customary place at the counter. He poured her a cold glass of bitter grapefruit juice, which she preferred to the sweeter orange juice that Tony liked.

Loki stood behind the counter and prepared Tony’s meal. In some ways it was as though they had never left the tower, but in others, everything had changed. Now, Loki was unafraid. He knew that he and his daughter could eat with the head of the house, he knew there would not be harsh punishments for any mistakes. Loki thought back to the first meal he had cooked. It had been sushi, and he had been in a state of stress and anxiety throughout. He had prepared everything hours ahead, unsure of how to behave, unsure of what Tony’s reaction would be, afraid of misstepping, afraid of punishment. Loki shook his head for his past self. He quickly sliced the vegetables for the omelettes and set everything out ready, barely thinking about it.

Syla watched all his preparations. She had found her old tunic and carried it tucked under her arm. Loki had thought it abandoned back in Malibu, but she must have tucked it into her suitcase and brought it back with them. Her fingers played with the frayed edge, tap, tap, tapping at the cloth. Loki was not surprised when she began to quiz him. She started by checking that he remembered her. Her name, and her age. She held her hand over her eyes and asked him what color they were, then ran to the nearest mirror to check that he was correct. He answered her questions, more and more specific, until she eventually asked for the story she loved to hear.

“Do you remember when I was born?”

Loki confirmed that he did. He told her the same story he always told, of finding a hiding place and taking himself there when it was his time. It was just the two of us , he always said. She would not realize what that truly meant until she was much older, that Loki had birthed her in secret and alone, a terrified slave on a hostile realm. He let her enjoy the story as she understood it, as a special time between her and her modi. It was just as true as his version, after all.

Finally she seemed satisfied that his memory was intact, and instead she asked of the future.

“How long will we live here, Modi?”

Loki looked up from his cutting board. “Don’t you like it here, darling?” he asked, surprised. He had thought Syla content to live with Tony. Thought that she liked him, even.

Syla nodded. “Yes, Modi, I like it. But when will we have to leave?”

Loki considered his answer. He could make her no promises. They would go where Tony went. To Malibu, to New York, and surely he had houses in other location too. They would have to go wherever he took them. Loki paused in his work, suddenly unsure what to tell her.

He was not bound by the geas anymore, and he felt an unfamiliar lightness in his shoulders. His thoughts began to flow back down old pathways, he could think of options that he had been forced to forget. Loki had sworn that he would be Stark’s loyal and obedient slave. Those were his words, and he could curse himself now at his foolishness. Even obedient alone would have left him some wiggle room. But loyal and obedient? There was very little space there to carve out for himself. If he was loyal, he would certainly not be looking for loopholes in his master’s orders. The geas had allowed him to do that, when he had dared, due to it’s very literal interpretation of commands. But no, Loki in his desperation had bound himself to Stark in truth, and it was not an oath that could be unwound or retracted. The norns were watching. Especially one such as he. Not just any oath-maker, but one who had been a prince, a master-sorcerer, a king and a regicide, one who was now a creature of three realms. Fate hovered over him and his daughter. If he stepped out of line Stark would have to punish him, or the norns would punish her. Of the two, he would much prefer Stark. He shook himself. Syla had asked a question, and he had been silent too long.

“Darling, we will stay here as long as Tony stays here. Perhaps one day he will take us back to Malibu. Would you like that?”

Syla nodded, but it did not cheer her up as Loki had hoped. She was silent for a time, considering all the answers Loki had given her. He hoped that she was convinced that his memory was restored. He stood behind the counter, the ingredients laid out for breakfast, when he realized that he was hungry, and he did not have to wait. Stark had given him no orders on the subject. Feeding himself and his daughter could not be considered disloyal or disobedient. Loki's hand reached out to the box of eggs, but he hesitated. Was it really so simple?

He decided that it was. If Stark did not like his slave eating before him, he could order him not to, and Loki would obey. But until he had such an order, he had no need to wait, he had no need to make himself more subservient to Stark than he was forced to be.

Loki opened the box, and cracked an egg into the bowl.

Chapter Text

Thor wandered out of his room soon after Loki started cooking, so Loki deigned to make him an omelette as well. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Thor sat at the counter and called him brother and called Syla niece and conducted a subtler version of Syla’s questioning to verify Loki’s memory. Loki answered him patiently enough until the food was ready. Then he announced he was finished with being interrogated and they should all pick up their forks and eat. Thor beamed at his spirit, unashamed that he was not as artful as he thought he was.

Loki smiled back at him, and for a moment things were easy between them, sharing a meal as they had many times over a campfire, where Thor had cooked for Loki almost as often as the reverse.

Tony emerged before they finished eating. He sat at the counter and there was silence for a moment as he realized something had changed. Loki ate from his plate, tasting nothing, hoping his hand did not shake. The memory of making a fool of himself the night before came back to him. Of making offers that Tony had repeatedly said were not wanted, and then forcing the man to reveal his own intimate secrets, which he had had no wish to share.

Loki held back from jumping to cook Tony’s breakfast by force of will. He told himself that the geas was gone, but he had been well trained, and the urge to serve was hard to resist. This was a test, of sorts. A test both for himself and for his master. Stark’s reaction to this change would tell Loki a lot about how his future would be. Stark had been an amenable master when Loki had been consumed with the desire to please him, to serve him. But now Loki would draw a line. He would be loyal and obedient, as he had promised. But he would not abase himself, he would not scramble to please, he would not roll over without being ordered to. Or, a more pragmatic part of him thought, he would not do that yet. If Stark turned out to prefer him way he used to be, well, at least Loki would know the truth.

Thor looked between the two, uncertain what was happening, and after a moment more of silence Syla looked up too. She smiled at Tony, bleary eyed at the counter.

“Tony, Modi’s all better!” she announced, and Tony raised his eyebrows, taking note of the three of them with their full plates and his own empty place.

“Yeah, I see that!” he said, levering himself back up from his stool and coming around the counter. “Scoot over then,” he said, nudging Loki with his hip and picking up the bowl. Loki ground his teeth while Tony dropped eggshells into the bowl, overheated the pan, burned the butter and ended up making himself scrambled eggs with mixed-in cheese and vegetables. Loki took pity on him, poured him a cup of coffee and put it in his hand. He told himself that he wanted to do that. He did not have to. Tony sat down with his breakfast and grinned at them all.

“Hey, I can survive alone you know. I just prefer to order in. Or eat out.”

Loki wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He was glad Tony had not ordered him back to his previous role, that he had not been offended by this small gesture of independence. But now he had done it, he second guessed himself. He and Syla still were living in Tony’s home, enjoying his protection, eating food that he paid for and wearing clothes that he provided. Loki was not ungrateful for that. Not at all! He still should show his gratitude, he should not risk wearing out their welcome here. But how to walk that line? Loki's thought started to spiral when Tony went ahead and asked.

“So, I guess you’re feeling OK today?”

“Yes, indeed I am Tony,” Loki replied, “I am well. I feel more like myself, perhaps.”

Tony nodded. “Uh huh, no problems with...you know,” he twirled his fork around beside his head.

“Syla and my brother have both thoroughly tested my memory this morning, Tony. They can vouch for me.” Loki smiled, glad Tony seemed unperturbed by his new found freedom. Or perhaps he did not yet fully understand what it meant, that the geas was gone. Everything that Loki had been forbidden from or forced to do under the geas was gone. Even Loki himself was having difficulty understanding what it meant.

Tony finished his unappetizing breakfast and stood, draining his coffee cup. “OK I’m outta here, I have a lot to do for our upcoming visitors. Thor I’ll see you at the planning meeting later. You guys have a good day!”

Loki bid him goodbye and then couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “Tony, is there anything you wish me to do today?”

Tony turned, walking backwards to the door as he pulled on his coat. “Just take it easy. Get settled in. Text me if you need anything.” He pointed to the small table by the door, where a sleek phone rested. It looked new. Tony vanished into the elevator and Syla and the brothers were left alone. Syla wiggled off her chair and ran to get the phone.

“I send a message,” she declared, tapping at the screen, as she had seen Tony do. Loki took the device from her and opened the message screen. “What do you want to say?” he asked, curious.

“No! I do it!” Syla made grabby hands for the phone. Loki shrugged and handed it over, and went to clear up the kitchen. Syla climbed back onto stool next to Thor. “How to spell Tony ?” she asked. Loki spelled it for her, waiting between each letter as she found it on the little screen and tapped it. She hid the screen from Thor’s curious look over her shoulder. He chuckled and said, “I will be leaving as well. I have discussions with the World Security Council and SHIELD in preparation for the delegation’s arrival."

Loki nodded. Of course Thor could not stay with them all day. He was a prince of Asgard, he would not be on this realm merely to spend time with Loki.

“How to spell Syla ?” Syla asked when Thor had gone. Loki answered her, glad to be distracted from both Tony and Thor leaving them alone in the penthouse for the day. A few minutes later the phone beeped and Syla studied it with a frown.

“Modi, what does H-E-Y spell?” and then “What does C-U-T-I-E spell?”

Loki sighed, “My darling, I will be happy to write a message for you, and read the reply. Can we do it like that?”

Syla scowled but handed the device over, Loki glanced at the screen.

He quickly tapped out a reply.

“What would you like to say to Tony, my love?” Loki asked, his fingers hovering over the screen.

Syla chewed her lip, then she shook her head, suddenly shy. Loki waited a moment then smiled at her. “Perhaps we can send a picture?”

The girl nodded, and looked at the camera, her face serious. Loki pressed the screen and captured her image. He looked at it on the little screen before he sent it to Tony. Since they arrived, Syla had transformed. Her face had rounded out, her cheeks plump and perfect, her heritage lines clear and strong. The half-starved waif was gone, and a healthy, confident girl was in her place. Loki knew who he had to thank for that, and suddenly he was ashamed of his actions that morning. Refusing to cook breakfast for Tony, when Tony had given him and Syla so much. He had been petty. And Tony had not reprimanded him. He had simply made his own breakfast and left them in his home, safe and comfortable. Loki felt a stirring of guilt in his belly, and he decided to prepare dinner when Tony returned. He would not wait to be ordered to serve. He knew his place, he may fool himself that he was free now, with the geas lifted, but that was a dangerous delusion. He was not free, he was Tony’s slave, and he would be for as long as Tony lived. He could not forget that.

He sent the picture. And after a few moments thought he sent a message.

A few minutes passed, and Loki stared anxiously at the screen, waiting.

Loki set the phone down, blinking quickly. Syla was looking at him, “Did he like it?” she asked.

Loki nodded, “Yes darling. He liked it very much.” Her face lit up, and Loki could not help but smile as well. Syla liked Tony, and he cared for her as well. What more could Loki hope for, from this life?

Chapter Text

Loki did not know what to do with himself. If he did nothing, he felt lazy and ungrateful, if he started cleaning or tidying he questioned himself endlessly. Was he was being too servile? Was his spirit broken? Was he being good enough? He was giving himself a headache. He had little idea what Tony expected of him now, and even less idea what he expected of himself.

He could hardly remember what he used to do with his time, before his current life. He had had freedom, yes, but also had been bound by expectations and rules. He had studied, trained, attended court and council meetings, appeared at dinners, celebrations, and diplomatic gatherings. Had he wanted to do all those things? Or had he been as well trained by Odin and Frigga as he had been by Bylietr, to accept and perform his role? Thinking back, he had felt the most freedom when he had been alone. He had occasionally found time to pursue a course of study that interested him, to perfect some magical art, or to explore or hunt. Sometimes with Thor, when they had been in one of their periods of harmony. They would take off riding in the forests, even for one night if they could, catch some game or fish to eat, build their own fire and prepare their own meal.

Loki turned such thoughts over in his head all day. He made lunch for himself and Syla, and had no trouble cleaning up after the meal. It was not that he did not want to take care of his own needs, he just was not sure how to live here with Tony. Syla grew restless with his pacing and muttering and took her coloring books to tuck herself away in one of her hiding spots. Loki let her go. He was not such good company at the moment, and he did not blame the girl for wanting some peace.

As the sun started to go down, he thought of asking Tony his preference for dinner. He looked around for the phone but he couldn’t see it on the counter where he had left it. He looked around the kitchen and living room, but it was nowhere to be seen.

“Jarvis?” he asked, “Do you know where the phone is?”

“Miss Syla has the phone, Loki, she is in the closet of your bedroom.”

Loki rolled his eyes and headed to the bedroom. Sure enough, Syla had dragged some pillows into the closet and set up a den for herself. He even spied a few wrappers of her favorite energy bars surrounding her.

“Hello darling,” he said, amused at her quick hands shoving everything, including the phone, under her coloring book, as though Loki could not see her, right in front of him. “Have you seen the phone? I need to send a message to Tony,” he asked. Syla looked around the closet, as though searching. Loki stood patiently as she went through her performance. She waited for Loki to glance away, then pulled out the phone.

“Found it, Modi,” she declared, and gave it back to him, not a trace of guilt on her face. Loki smiled at her. “You can use the phone, darling,” he said, “you don’t have to hide it from me.”

“Jarvis helped me spell!” she said, and went back to her coloring.

Loki opened the messages screen.

Loki’s vision blurred as he read her message. He read it again, taking a few steps back to drop onto the bed. Syla was coloring in her book. Perhaps she didn’t realize that Loki could see what she had written. Loki schooled his face, he could not show her any negative reaction. Of course she cared for Tony, he had been so kind to her, he had protected her, he had provided for her. He had been everything for her that Loki could not be. Of course she would grow attached to him. Loki forced himself to read the rest of the messages,to see what Tony's reply had been. Loki could only hope he had not rejected her affection.

Loki took a deep breath. Syla was just a child, and children needed love and affection as they needed air. Loki had done everything he could to provide Syla with what she needed, he had paid whatever price he had had to pay to feed her, to clothe her, to keep her safe. But he could not compete with Tony Stark. He simply could not. He sat on the bed, staring into the distance, his mind a turmoil of noise and emotion.

“Modi?” Syla climbed on his lap, and Loki shook himself. He should not have had such as reaction in front of her. She had done nothing wrong.

“Yes, darling?” He said, wrapping his arms around her, breathing in the smell of her.

“I’m hungry."

Loki smiled, his eyes blurry. He still was good for something, then.

“Of course darling. Let’s get you something to eat.” He picked her up and carried her back to the kitchen. “You can cook and I will be your assistant,” he said, pulling her stool around the counter into the kitchen. She knelt up on the stool, hands on her hips, a little queen in her kitchen-queendom. Loki’s heart was full with love for her, it overflowed and spilled out, combined with his fear, his jealousy, his uncertainty.

“Modi,” she said, her voice soft, “why are you crying?”

“Because I am happy, darling.” Loki said, wiping his face, “because I am so happy to be here with you." Syla held out her arms and Loki squeezed her tight.

He pulled himself together. The girl had done nothing wrong. And she was hungry.

“Now, what would you like to make?” he asked, and they cooked together, side by side.

Chapter Text

Loki did not know when Thor and Tony would be back, so he and Syla made a simple spaghetti sauce and garlic bread. It would keep warm and be ready to eat in only a few minutes. Loki decided he would wait and eat later with whoever came home for dinner, so they made just enough pasta for Syla.

Her eyes were already drooping as she ate, and she fell asleep on the couch a few minutes after finishing her food. Loki gently wiped the spaghetti sauce off her face, carried her to bed and tucked her in. He sat on the side of the bed for a while, watching her sleep, her face relaxed, traces of red around her mouth from her meal. Loki smoothed her hair back from her face. He felt his heart relax, unclench, his fear begin to drain away. Of course the girl loved Tony. Not only for what he had given her, the material things, the clothes, food, even the bed she slept in, but also for this, for peace and safety and untroubled sleep.

Loki kissed her forehead and left her to sleep, he could hear the elevator coming up, and Tony would be hungry. Loki had not sent him any additional messages after reading what Syla had sent. He did not want Tony to know that he had seen her messages.

Tony emerged from the elevator, pulling off his coat. His face brightened when he saw Loki waiting for him, and he smelled the air appreciatively.

“Hey you,” he said, “You cooked, I’m starved! Did you eat already? Is Syla asleep?”

Tony pouted a little when he heard that Syla was already asleep. Loki's heart gave a pang but he didn't let it show on his face. Instead, he started water boiling for the pasta and said it would be ten minutes until it was ready. Tony raised his thumbs in reply and went to change. Loki took a deep breath and steadied himself. Tony had done nothing wrong. Syla had done nothing wrong. Loki recognized his own jealousy but could not curb it. On Jotunheim, Loki had fervently wished for someone else who cared for Syla, who he could trust to watch over her, who did not expect payment from Loki for any small favor done for her. And now he had that, Syla had that.

Tony strolled back out, wearing casual clothes. “Is something wrong?” he asked after taking a look at Loki’s face. Loki shook his head. Tony sat himself across the counter, his eyebrows raised. Loki turned away to put the pasta in the pot, taking a moment to get himself under control.

“I am well, Tony,” he said turning back, “How was your day? How go the preparations for the...for the visitors?” Tony allowed the subject change, although his skeptical look showed he didn’t believe Loki that nothing was wrong.

‘Everything’s ready,” he said, sneaking a piece of warm garlic bread from the board. He took a bite and moaned. “Oh that’s good bread. I think I froze my ass off going through every room in that ice-palace, checking everything over. But it’s all ready. Now we just wait. They could arrive any moment. Time doesn’t track exactly between the realms, you probably know all about it.”

They talked for a few minutes while the pasta cooked and Loki served up two plates. He came around the counter to sit with Tony. He had decided he would sit down. He would no longer eat his own meal standing in the kitchen while others sat.

Tony turned to him, “Hey I wanted to talk to you.”

Loki gave up the pretense of eating and waited. He knew what this would be about. He knew, intellectually, that Tony was not going to take Syla away from him. He was not going to claim her and replace him. But still, he could not help the crawling horror in his belly that such a thing was possible . That he may be replaceable, even in this. He had already been cast out from Asgard, Odin had taken his name, his family, his freedom. Syla was all he had. He had had many fears for her on Jotunheim, that she would go hungry, that she would be hurt, that something would happen to him, and she would be left alone. But he had never feared that he would be replaced, and he tried not the fear it now. He set down his fork.

“So, you know I care about her.” Tony started, avoiding Loki's gaze.

Loki nodded. He did know that, and he was grateful for it.

For some reason, Tony was squirming in his seat. “I...um...well...I know things have changed, for you, and me, with the geas and everything, and we’re all still getting used to that. But I care about her a lot.” Tony took a gulp of his sparkling water. “And you too,” he rushed out. “I care about you too Loki, so...you know...I meant what I said. I like having you around. So..um...I know we have this oath still to deal with. But this is your home, yours and hers. And I like that. OK?”

Never had Loki heard a less elegant declaration, but still it brought tears to his eyes. He nodded, wordless, his eyes shining.

Tony let out a rush of breath. “OK. OK. We'll figure the rest out. The oath, the norns, everything. Um. Did you see Syla's messages?” Loki nodded again, seemingly unable to speak at all. “Yeah, I was surprised but it felt good. That she trusts me. So, listen. You're her modi. I guess, I'm asking if it's OK with you?”

Loki absorbed that for a moment. Was Tony asking him for permission? For his approval? Loki head was spinning. Why would his master ask him for permission for anything? He could hardly withhold it. Perhaps this was a test. Tony may be testing him, as Loki had tested Tony at breakfast. He deserved it, he supposed.

“If I say no?” He asked, his voice low, looking at his plate.

Tony shrank in his seat. “Um...I guess if you're not comfortable with that, I would...I would back off. Spend less time with her and you. Leave you guys to do your own thing. Stop buying her cute things that I see. Um. I would be...disappointed. But she's your kid. I would respect that.”

Loki looked up, surprised. Tony was fumbling with his fork, his feet tapping on the stool, his eyes darting around the penthouse, looking anywhere but at Loki. Loki tried to make sense of it. Tony was treating him as a parent, as an adult, as someone he respected and who could make such decisions about his child. About who Syla could spend time with, about what relationship he would allow Tony to have with her. Everything shifted in Loki's mind. Tony was not going to replace him. Such a thought had likely not even crossed his mind. He merely wanted to be a part of his daughter's life, and he was willing to ask Loki's permission to do that.

Loki sat up straighter on his stool, relief flooding through his veins, as well as some other emotion he could not yet name.

“Tony Stark,” he said, “I am glad Syla has you. You have done more for her that I could ever have dreamed. You have transformed her life. You have given her her childhood. Of course you may...you may be a loving presence in her life." He held up his hand, forestalling Tony's breaking smile. "But. Believe this. If you do wrong by her, I will accept every curse and punishment the norns can bring upon my head to deliver justice to you.”

Tony looked at him, wide eyed. “I would never hurt her, Loki,” he said, and Loki looked into his eyes and knew that it was true.

Loki nodded. Then he unclenched his teeth and said what he was required to say next.

“I apologize for speaking to you in such a disrespectful manner. I accept your punishment.”

Tony choked on his water. “No, that’s not necessary! I did not give you any orders...”

“Tony, please.” Loki said quietly, “That was a dis-loyal sentiment and I should not have said it. Please punish me.”

Tony sighed. Loki was glad he realized the truth of Loki's request, and did not make him beg for punishment. “Fine. You don’t get to finish your dinner. No more food until tomorrow.”

That was an incredibly light punishment, especially as Loki still had the shock bracelet around his ankle, but it was Tony’s decision, and Loki accepted it. Arguing with him would only require additional punishments. Loki cleaned up his still full plate, and waited while Tony ate. The food smelled good, and Loki had gotten used to eating whenever he was hungry. His stomach growled, but he did not complain. Going without one meal was hardly a significant punishment. He had even a few bites of food before they had started talking.

“Will Thor be returning tonight?” Loki asked, wondering if he should cook more pasta for him.

“Yeah but late,” Tony said, “He’s in a conference with the World Security Council. He put it off for days but they finally got him. I think he’s going to die of boredom. I left him to it.” Tony smiled and Loki smiled back, only too well able to imagine poor Thor’s suffering. He hated long, drawn-out discussions. He preferred to hear relevant information, make a decision and then be done with it. Loki was not surprised he had put it off for as long as he could.

Loki decided to put the food away. It could be heated up again if Thor was hungry when he returned. Loki finished cleaning the kitchen, he took Tony’s now empty plate and stacked it in the dishwasher.

“If you have no more need of me, I will retire,” he said, trying not to make the statement sound like a question. Tony nodded. “Night Loki, see you tomorrow.”

Loki was walking to the bedroom when the building gave a tremor and then shook. Rainbow light surged through the windows and then faded. JARVIS spoke. “Sir, the delegation from Jotunheim has arrived.”

Loki froze in place, his heart pounding. A wail from the bedroom broke through his panic. The bifrost had awakened Syla, and she was afraid. Loki hurried to the room and picked her up, still wrapped in the blanket.

Tony poked his head through the door, “Hey guys, you wanna go to the safe room? I’ll deal with the visitors, J will tell you when they're gone.”

Loki hurried to the secret room in Stark's bedroom. Logically he knew that the Jotun would not suddenly appear in the penthouse. They would not find them and harm them, but still, he was glad when the heavy door shut and the screens lit up, showing the roof lit by the moon and stars.

Tony was in his armor, just now landing on the roof before the Jotun delegation. There were four of them. Loki could see Yrokin and Dgar, who had been to the tower weeks before. Ljot, Byliestr's nephew was also there, presumably leading the delegation and in charge of the negotiation. Loki strained to see the fourth, perhaps some other guard, or an advisor. Ljot stepped to the side and Loki’s breath stopped. Byliestr was there. Byliestr himself. The king and ruler of Jotunheim, Loki’s former owner, Syla’s sire, was standing on the roof of the tower.

Chapter Text

Loki watched, breathless, as Tony greeted Byliestr and the rest of the delegation. There was no sound on the monitors, but it seemed that Tony welcomed them courteously enough. As they talked, a quinjet landed on the roof, and more of Midgard’s representatives emerged to greet the Jotun. They did not linger. Once they had all given their greetings, they all boarded the jet and vanished into the dark sky. Loki watched the empty screen until JARVIS said “Loki, the Jotun delegation has reached the Ice Palace in Central Park. You can return to your room.”

Loki looked over at Syla. She was huddled in her light blanket on the low bed, her back against the wall, her eyes glued to the screens, as though waiting for the Jotun to reappear. Her face was scrunched up, a scowl twisting her mouth.

“I hate him,” she whispered to Loki. “Why is Tony his friend?”

“He is not,” Loki reassured her. “Tony is a prince of Midgard. He must be polite to many people, whether he likes them or not, for the good of his realm and his people.”

Syla hmphed. She had seen far too much of Byliestr’s true colors for her to easily accept that Tony could be friendly with him. He had kept Loki as a beaten down bed-slave. He had starved him, raped him, shared him, abused him in all ways. He had kept in him half-dressed in the freezing cold fortress of Utgard. He had forced him to kneel silent by his throne when he did not have him performing far more humiliating tasks. Syla was right to hate him, and Loki hated him too. Hated and feared him both.

Neither of them moved to the door, and after a few minutes the screens went dark. Loki squeezed onto the narrow bed and snuggled next to Syla, wrapping her safe in his arms. “We will stay here tonight, shall we my love?” he asked, and she nodded, burrowing into his chest and tucking her head under his chin. Loki cradled her and felt her body relax back into sleep. Sleep would not find him, though. His empty belly growled and he tried to ignore it. He had gone days without food before, but Tony had never withheld food from him, or so much as threatened to. Loki must have gotten soft in his care.

Loki lay on the bed with his sleeping child, and let his mind wander. He had hardly had a moment to himself to think since the geas and the binding were lifted. Tony had given him no orders since he had freed himself. Everything that was forbidden to him under the geas was now available to him. The cumulative orders of Odin and Byliestr were all swept away. All he had to guide him now was his own oath - to be a loyal and obedient slave. Obedience was hardly an issue when his master was so reluctant to order him, but loyalty was another matter. Loki let that turn over in his mind. He pondered their earlier conversation, and what the nature of their relationship was now. Tony had asked for his permission to continue his bond with Syla, and Loki had given it. He had allowed it, when Tony had given him a way to refuse. Tony had not treated him like a slave. He had treated him like an equal. He even had not reacted to his threat of revenge, should he not treat Syla right. He would have had every right to be angry with Loki for daring to say such a thing, but Loki had had to ask for his punishment.

Loki explored his newly unconstrained magic. Every barrier to his abilities was gone, and his power was nearly replenished. He could, if he wished, perform any number of skills, such as teleportation, or illusion. He could conjure bolts of arcane energy, or shields, or access dimensional pockets. Loki idly searched for any of his customary pockets, but without even a trickle of power to sustain them for many years, they had all drifted. He could realign them, but that would be an exercise of weeks with star charts and maps of the realms' energy pathways. Easier to find new ones. His old pockets had all been emptied anyway. Once Odin had bound him with the geas, he had ordered him to turn over everything in his possession, and so he had had to. All his treasures, artifacts, books, gems, precious metals, even his journals, his memories, had been given over. The journals at least, he prayed Frigga had been able to save from the fire of Odin’s wrath. Perhaps not, though. It hardly mattered now. Those journals were written by someone else entirely, someone young and naive, someone who thought he knew who he was. He was a stranger to Loki now, and reading his thoughts, his hopes and dreams would only bring Loki pain.

Instead of trying to find his old dimensional pockets, Loki let tendrils of energy drift through the ether that surrounded them. He hoped to snag on a fold or pit in the energy that he could form into a pocket. He had nothing to store in such a place, no weapons or gems or resources of any kind. Still, when he came across a likely fold, he enjoyed stretching his mental muscles and tweaking it gently into a stable pocket. It was only a small one. Given more time he could find a stronger, more stable fold, which could be worked into a larger pocket. But this would suffice for now, just for the having of it. To keep it open, Loki let a faint trickle of energy flow from him into the pocket. He would not even notice it once it had stabilized, and he knew from experience that such a trickle was undetectable by anyone else, even a master mage.

The minutes ticked by. Tony did not return, and Loki suspected he would not return that night. Loki’s mind went where he did not want it to go. Byliestr was on Midgard. Even now, he was a few miles at most from Loki’s location, and he would know that Loki was nearby. He had given him to Stark, after all. For his new ally, the gift of his old enemy. Surely he had not thought that Stark would treat Loki any better than he had treated him himself. But Yrokin and Dgar would have reported back that Loki was well kept, well fed, clothed, and allowed to roam freely in his master’s home. Loki shivered. Why was Byliestr here? Why had he sent his two henchmen to Midgard weeks ago to recover Syla? Loki had thought Byliestr cared nothing for the girl. He had never asked after her, never showed her the slightest care or attention. But she was a child of royal blood, she had arcane powers, she was raeken. All those things combined in her, as they did in Loki himself, and something about her had had worth to Byliestr that he had never shown. And he had wanted her back. Or if not her, he had wanted another child of Loki.

Loki wondered again what the delegation was on Midgard to negotiate. Tony had not even told him why he had been on Jotunheim. What did each side want from the other? Loki had the unpleasant feeling that he was a playing piece on a board he couldn't see, playing a game he didn't understand.

All he could do was trust in Tony.

Chapter Text

“Loki, Mr Stark has returned to the penthouse.” The voice of JARVIS woke Loki from his half-sleep. There was no natural light in the safe-room, so he could not tell what time it was, or even if it was day or night. Syla stirred and Loki reached up to open the heavy door. It swung open and Tony was waiting outside. He smiled to see them both, and Loki found himself smiling too. He was glad to see the man. Because, of course, that meant all was well with the Jotun delegation.

“Tony,” he said, “you are well? All is well?” He and Syla emerged from the safe room and followed Tony back out to the living area. Thor was already there, setting out a pink box and napkins.

“Brother! Niece!” he called, “Come, have breakfast!”

Loki peered into the box to an array of sugary confections that did not look anything like breakfast food. They also all looked far too sweet for Syla’s taste. But Tony pointed her to one that was decorated with a bright yellow butterfly. “Here cutie, that one’s for you, special sour donut. They made it just for you.”

Syla sniffed at it, then dipped her finger in the sauce and tasted it. Her face lit up and she offered it to Loki to sample. Loki’s face wrinkled at the bitter taste. It was flavored with citrus fruit of some kind, sour on his tongue, but perfect for Syla. She smiled at Tony and took a huge bite of it, sauce coating her fingers.

They all picked their choice of treats and Tony poured himself a cup of coffee. Syla made grabby hands for the cup, but Tony held it out of her reach. “Oh I don't think so honey! Caffeine is not good for kids.” Loki smiled, the smell was enticing, and Syla would no doubt enjoy the bitter drink.

“Caffeine has no effect on Jotun, Tony,” he told him, "She can have a taste if you can spare it." Tony shrugged and poured a small amount into a cup and handed it to her. She sniffed at it and took a sip, licking her lips.

“How do you know it has no effect?” Tony asked, “Did you already give her coffee?”

“Well, it has no effect on me,” Loki said, and Tony's eyebrows shot up. He looked between Loki and Syla. “You're Jotun?” he asked. Thor froze, his second breakfast confection halfway to his mouth. Syla glanced up at the sudden silence. Loki swallowed.

“Yes,” he said, and took a bite of his own food to give himself time to think. He had not realized Tony did not know that. Thor cleared his throat, as though to say something, but Syla got there first.

“Modi is like me, on the inside,” she said though her food.

Tony recovered himself. “Well, if your inside is anything like as cute as your outside, I would say that's a good thing,” he said, booping the girl on the nose. She wrinkled up her face at Tony and carried on eating. Loki let the moment pass. Perhaps Tony would have questions for him later, but perhaps not. He did not have the long history with the Jotun that Asgardians did. He may not know the significance of a Jotun being raised in the Asgardian royal family.

They finished their breakfast, and Tony told them how the visit was going. Last night was an unofficial, informal, welcome. The formal welcome would be today, and of course Tony and Thor would be expected to attend. The event would be shown across the realm, as it was the first official diplomatic visit from another realm in the memory of the Midgardian people. Thor’s visits didn’t count. He came and went as he pleased and avoided formal events whenever he could. He waved off diplomatic advances and went drinking with his shield-companions. He had gone to a baseball game instead of to a presidential reception. Loki looked at him fondly. He was a diplomat’s nightmare, but he was a good man.

Tony and Thor could barely stay to shower and change before they had to go, leaving Loki and Syla alone again. JARVIS showed the broadcast of the welcome ceremony but Loki found he could not stand to watch it. The very idea of seeing Byleistr’s face made him shudder. Seeing his torturer welcomed as an honored guest of the realm was not appealing.

Syla asked JARVIS to play music instead, and he obliged. Loki sat with her for a while, telling stories and drawing, encouraging her to practice her writing. Still Loki felt idle. He was aimless, purposeless. Tony had given him no instructions for the day, and he did not know what to do with himself. He paced the length of the apartment, back and forth, while Syla wrote her letters.

“Loki, would you like to visit the training facilities?” JARVIS said, after the song he was playing had ended. "Mr Stark has equipment for all types of combat training as well as physical exercise.”

Loki suddenly wanted nothing more. He had not trained for years, not since before he fell from the bifrost. He had been trained, yes, but that was something entirely different. His limbs felt stiff and weak, and he longed to tire himself. He and Syla got in the elevator and went down a short distance to the training rooms. Loki walked around, unsure where to begin. There was a lot of equipment he did not recognize, that was specific to Midgard, but some was universal. There was a large square of sprung floor, weights, targets, and racks of weapons in locked cabinets that JARVIS obligingly opened for him. Syla climbed up some wall-mounted bars and slid down ropes, giggling to herself. There were padded mats beneath her, so Loki let her play. He pulled off his sweatshirt and socks. His denim pants and t-shirt were not the best for exercise but he did not want to go back upstairs and change.

He stood in the center of the sprung floor and ran through a series of stretches and balance poses that he remembered from his youth. The movements flowed from his body, but not as smoothly as they once would have. When he reached the end of the sequence his breath was coming short, but the blood was moving in his veins and the movement and motion had sparked something in him. He started over, faster this time, more confident, pushing himself to hold each pose, to push each stretch a few moments longer. He was breathing hard when he finished for the second time. Syla was sitting high up on the climbing bars, watching him. He waved at her and she waved back, rocking herself backwards and forward in her perch.

Loki went back to the weapons cabinets in the strongroom. There was a large variety of Midgardian weapons, but none that appealed. Loki opened a cabinet of blades. A set of light throwing knives caught his eye, and he almost picked them up, but tucked in a corner he saw a short tube with a hexagonal metal floret attached. Loki examined it curiously.

“That is a boar spear,” JARVIS told him, “Mr Stark has never used it. Perhaps it may suit you. Flick the base to expand the spear to its full length.”

Loki flicked his wrist, and the tube telescoped out to about six feet in length, a wickedly sharp hollow blade clicked into place at the tip. The hexagon became the blade rest, to stop the wild animal from running the length of the spear and goring the wielder. Loki retracted it with another flick, then expanded it again. The blade glinted in the light, and Loki smiled in answer.

“Would Mr Stark object if I borrow it?” he asked JARVIS.

“I am sure he would not,” JARVIS replied, and Loki took the weapon out to the training area. He retracted the blade but left the stave expanded. Syla looked down at him as he gave a few experimental sweeps of the spear, getting the feel and balance of it. He swung it from hand to hand, tossed it and caught it. Unconsciously his feet found their fighting stance, knees bent, weight spread, and the spear spun in his hands, then hand to hand, and behind his back. He switched hands, switched grips, extended the spear then retracted it to half-length. He flipped it down to its shortest length with the blade extended, then telescoped it out six feet from the furthest reach of his arm. It was an extension of his body, and Loki felt unstoppable.

He did not know how long he practiced. He only stopped when he could not lift his arm anymore. Midway into this training session the elevator had delivered a package of light exercise clothes, which Loki now wore. Short black pants of a stretchy material that came below his knees, and a tight shirt in dark green. It was far easier to move in those clothes than the sweaty day-clothes he had been wearing. Loki thanked JARVIS for arranging the delivery.

When he could train no more, Loki put the spear back in the armory. He gave it a regretful glance as he closed the cabinet door. Holding such a weapon in his hands had made him feel alive. While he held it, he had cast off his restlessness and felt as though he had a purpose again. But he could not keep it. It belonged to Tony, and JARVIS had said he could use it, not that he could keep it. And as lenient as Tony was, arming one’s slave was most likely a step too far even for him. Although, Loki pondered, he had underestimated Tony many times before.

It was already evening when they came back up to the penthouse. Loki had forgotten lunch altogether, and Syla had not given him a word of complaint. She did not complain now, just darted off to one of her secret hiding places and emerged with crumbs on her dress. Loki sighed. He hoped she had at least saved some room for dinner.

JARVIS informed him that Tony and Thor would not return for dinner, so he made up a simple cold platter of bread, cheese, meats and other delicacies from the refrigerator. He sat with Syla on the floor by the coffee table and watched one of her movies while they ate. Loki could not concentrate on the story. His mind flowed easily back to the pleasant aches in his body, to the feel of movement, the glint of the spear in his hands. He decided he would train again tomorrow.

He looked forward to it.

Chapter Text

Loki woke in the dark and Syla was gone. His stomach lurched and he bolted up out of the bed.

“Jarvis where is Syla?” he snapped. The AI’s calm voice answered him immediately, “Miss Syla is in the hallway, Loki.”

Loki hurried out of the room, and sure enough, Syla was sitting in her yellow pajamas outside Tony’s room, staring at the closed door.

“Syla,” Loki said, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice, “Are you well? What is wrong?”

Syla looked up, her red eyes luminous in the dim light. “Modi,” she said, her voice trembling, “Modi, what if the king comes? The safe room is far away, and I’m small and I can’t run fast.” She sniffed, her hands twisting around and around her blankie in her lap.

Loki’s heart wrenched in his chest. He slid down the wall and sat next to her, taking a moment before he replied. “The king came yesterday, did he not? And we went to the safe room while he was still on the roof. We had plenty of time.”

She nodded miserably. “But what if we’re asleep when he comes?” she said. “We might not wake up in time.”

Loki wrapped his arm around her. “JARVIS will wake us,” he said, forcing certainty into his voice where he felt little enough of it. She nodded again, but he knew her stress and fear would not be eased by calm reassurances. Her need was more primal than that. She needed to feel safe. Loki pulled her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her. He was about to lift her and take her back to bed, when Tony’s door eased open and his tousled head poked out. “Hey you two,” he yawned, “is this a private midnight hallway meeting, or can anyone join in?”

Loki began to apologize for waking him, but Syla got there first, “Tony, can we sleep with you?” she asked, her voice trembling, tears shining on her cheeks in the light from Tony’s room. Tony blinked at her, for once without a fast reply on his tongue. Syla pressed her advantage, “In case the king comes while we're sleeping.”

Loki put up his hands, “Tony, I am sorry for waking you. Syla is afraid but I assure you we will sleep in our own room.”

“No!” Syla yelled, making them both jump, “No! It’s too far away! I can’t run fast!” Her voice broke and she sobbed as Loki rocked her trembling body in his arms. Her fear was real. She had seen Byliestr land on the roof of this very building. She had seen the strike team at the door of the penthouse. She had felt safe at the beach house but clearly she did not feel that way here. In the dark of night the distance to the safe room surely seemed endless to her. Loki did not not know what to do. He did not expect Tony to allow them to intrude on his private space, just to ease the girl's fears.

But Tony was nodding, “OK,” he said, “Come on then.” He stepped back and beckoned them in. They had been in Tony’s bedroom before, several times. Both on their way to the safe room, and when Loki had been performing his cleaning and laundry duties before the trip to Malibu. But now it seemed different, more intimate. It was night, the lights were dim, the bed covers thrown back as though Tony had just this moment got out of them, which surely was the case. Tony walked around to the far side of the bed and got back in, smothering another yawn.

“Listen, we can talk tomorrow, I’m super tired and I’m going back to sleep. Anyone who want to stay here, can.” He pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed, invitingly. Syla immediately scrambled up on the big bed and wormed her way under the covers. Tony pretended to sleep but Loki could see his smile. Loki hovered on the edge of the room. The bed was large enough for them all, with room to spare. Tony could entertain several more guests in that bed. One child and one other man would hardly impinge on his space at all. Still, he hesitated.

Tony opened one eye, “Up to you,” he said, “but you’ve already been in my bed, remember? And I seem to recall being a perfect gentleman.”

Loki blushed at the memory that he had tried to forget. Teleporting himself to proposition Tony in his bed, and thankfully being turned down. “Tony, do not remind me,” he muttered, but he climbed up on the bed and pulled the blankets over himself. He tucked Syla in between the two of them, her sleepy smile showing that this was exactly what she had wanted.

“J, lights,” Tony murmured, and the dim lights faded away, leaving the glow from the uncovered windows the only illumination in the room.

“Thank you, Tony,” Loki said.

Tony’s soft snore was his only reply.

(Art by Achika on imgur)

Chapter Text

Loki awoke, and the sun was on the wrong side, the bed felt wrong, the smell of the pillow was unfamiliar. For a second, for a single second he froze, transported back to Jotunheim, where waking in an unfamiliar bed meant only one thing. Whoever had been granted the use of him the previous night was not yet done with him. One second was all it took for him to break out in a cold sweat and his heart to pound out of his chest. The sense-memory was too strong, of being roughly handled, of being positioned like a doll, of being used like a toy. Loki shoved himself back and out of the bed, landing on the floor with a thump and a tangle of sheets.

The soft rug covering the floor brought him back. Utgard had no such softness, only hard, cold stone. He was on Midgard. He was in Tony Stark’s bedroom. In his bed . In his bed for the second time, and as unmolested as the first time. Loki lay back on the floor, calming his breathing. Syla’s head peered over the edge of the bed, “Modi?” she asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

“Loki?” Stark’s voice came from behind him. Tony emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in a fluffy white robe, his skin pink from the hot water. Loki looked upside-down at him from his position on the floor. A waft of coconut soap reached his nose, and the morning sun glowed through Syla's tangled hair. Loki exhaled, his fear leaving him like a receding tide.

“Good morning Syla. Good morning Tony,” he said, trying for maximum dignity, given that he was still tangled in the bed-sheets and sprawled on the floor.

Tony smiled and offered him a hand to pull himself up. “Good morning Loki," he said and over his shoulder he said, "Good morning Sunshine,” to Syla, making her giggle.

“Tony, can we sleep with you every night?” she asked, and Loki caught a flash of an expression on Tony’s face that he couldn’t place. He would have thought it was pain, if the man had anything to be pained about.

“Um, well, I’ll let your Modi decide about that,” he said, deftly tossing that hot coal over to Loki to deal with. “I’ve gotta head out again, show my face at the negotiations, shake a bunch of hands, be charming, you know.” He ducked into his closet to dress. Loki took the chance to pluck Syla from her soft nest in Tony’s giant bed and take them both back to their own room.

When they emerged, washed and dressed, Tony was already finishing his breakfast. Thor was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had not returned last night at all.

“Tony, is there anything I can do for you?” Loki asked, disconcerted that he had woken late, and he had not prepared breakfast. He had done nothing for Tony at all.

Tony shook his head, “I’m good,” he said, standing up to leave, “Hey, before I go. JARVIS told me you're pretty good with that spear you found. You can have it, if you want.”

Loki stared at him, shocked. Tony would give him a valuable gift, for no reason? A weapon, no less?

Tony shrugged, “It's a cool spear, but I’ve never used it. Not my thing. But JARVIS tells me you're good with it, so...it’s yours.” Tony waved at them both and bustled out, leaving the penthouse quieter and somehow darker for his absence.

Without hesitation, Loki held out his hand and reached for the spear from the armory. A quick tug through the ether and it landed in his hand with a solid smack. Loki hefted the weight of it, examining it with a newly critical eye. He would need to reinforce it, cast charms for accuracy, luck, speed. His mind raveled faster than he could keep up, planning what he would do. He flicked the blade out. The hollow metal shone, and Loki could only imagine how keenly it would shine when he had finished with it. He spun it in his hand, retracted the blade, and tucked it into the dimensional pocket he had readied the day before, as though in anticipation of such a thing.

Syla was watching him. “Are you going to practice again today Modi?”

Loki nodded, “Yes. Would you like to practice as well? We can practice magic too.”

Syla brightened. “Yes! Magic and Spears!”

After breakfast, Loki bound his hair up in a heavy braid and took Syla back down to the training rooms to begin their first “magic and spears” training session. He showed Syla the basic stretches and balance poses he recalled from his own youth. She tried her best, but she was unused to using her muscles in such a way, and soon tired. He let her rest while he did his own warm up, then went to the armory to look for a suitable weapon for her. He found himself drawn back to the throwing knives, but he shook his head and reminded himself that she was only three years old. Instead, he took a short baton with a right-angled handle that seemed her size. He twirled it in one hand then showed her some basic stances. Such training would improve her balance, strength and stamina, and ready her for more lessons when she was older. Syla grinned at him, her baton held in both hands, her feet mimicking Loki’s stance. She scrunched up her face in a mock-snarl. Loki snarled back at her, his fierce little girl. Syla worked hard, and even when she tired and Loki practiced by himself, she still watched him keenly, following his motions with her eyes and holding her small baton as he held his spear.

(Art by Lokiofasgaaaard on tumblr)

When they were both too tired to continue, they took their weapons back up to the penthouse. Loki made a quick lunch and then he got to work on the spear. He talked to Syla about what he was doing as he constructed a spell web that covered the whole spear, and wove in charms for speed, sharpness, strength. It was slow work, slower than just casting individual charms, but the end result would be far superior. It would all mesh together seamlessly, and the spells would work in harmony, rather than in conflict with each other. He had finished with the first layer when Syla poked him in the side with her baton. They were sitting side by side on the floor before the low table in the living room, a plate of snacks set between them.

“My turn,” Syla demanded, brandishing her weapon. Loki sent his spear back to his dimensional pocket and picked up the baton. He really should have asked JARVIS before bringing it up to the penthouse. He had been carried away with enthusiasm at teaching his daughter some defense skills. Loki pressed his lips together when he saw that Syla had drawn hearts and butterflies on the handle with her glitter pens. Loki surreptitiously wiped at the ink and found it did not come off. He sighed. He would have to ask Tony to punish him for allowing her to deface his property. He contemplated eating more for lunch, in case Tony would take away his food again, but decided that would be considered disloyal. If he was to go without his evening meal, he would do it graciously. He did not say anything to Syla, merely showed her how to construct a basic spell web, and had her try it herself.

Tony returned very late. Loki waited up for him with his meal and the evidence of his daughter's wrongdoing. He had no fear of what Tony might do. He would have been terrified to face Byliestr with such a thing, but he knew Tony would not hurt him. But still, it was his responsibility to confess, and his master’s responsibility to punish him.

Tony smirked at the decorated baton. He balanced the sleek black wood with hearts and butterflies in glittering ink in his hand. Loki stood before him, looking contrite.

“Tony,” Loki said, as he must, “I apologize. I should have supervised her more closely. I accept your punishment for ruining your property.”

Tony didn’t try to argue this time, and Loki was glad of it. Better to get it over with.

“Did you eat?” he asked and Loki confirmed he had not. He wanted Tony to have the option to withhold his meal, if he felt that was required. “OK, you can chose.” Tony said, “No dinner, or write out I must not touch Tony’s baton 100 times.”

Loki folded his arms. “I will not write that,” he declared.

Tony shrugged, as though he didn’t care at all, “Up to you. This is delicious though.” He took a deliberate fork full of the salmon and wild rice that Loki had prepared, and it did smell enticing. Loki’s stomach growled. He scowled at Tony, who pretended to ignore him.

“Fine,” he said, “I will write it.”

“You’ll write what?” Tony asked, swallowing his grin.

“I will not say it!” Loki said.

Tony choked down a laugh and waited while Loki found some pink paper and a suitably glittery pen and began to write.

“You have very neat handwriting,” Tony commented.

“Thank you,” Loki said, not looking up, “My fine handwriting is wasted on his ridiculous sentence.”

“Really?” Tony tapped the baton on the paper, “I think it’s a valuable life lesson. No touching Tony’s baton.” Loki brushed the stick away from him and Tony gasped in mock horror, “Loki! You touched my baton!”

Loki rolled his eyes at his dramatic tone. “Perhaps you would like to punish me further?”

Tony relented. “Nah, you’re suffering enough." He got up and prepared Loki’s plate, setting it at his elbow as he finished his lines.

“Kindly burn this,” Loki said, handing over the finished papers. Tony scanned over the pages, “Is that strawberry scented ink?” he asked, and Loki nodded as he began to eat.

“Only the best for you, master,” he said, intending merely to needle the man a little further.

But instead Tony lost his smile. “Um...yeah. I guess so." He set the stack of papers on the counter, "OK, well, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for dinner.”

Loki watched him go, a little mystified at his sudden departure. Loki had been rather enjoying their conversation, and his punishment again had been extremely light, but still unwanted enough to qualify as a punishment. Not a minute later, Loki finished his plate and was about to clean up when Tony reappeared. He beckoned Loki to follow him, and pointed at his bed. Right in the middle, buried under the covers, a smug expression on her sleeping face, was Syla.

“I put her to bed in our room.” Loki said vaguely. He had not even heard her move! And now she looked so cozy and contented it was hard to think of disturbing her. Tony shuffled his feet.

“You guys can...er...you guys can stay in here if you want. I don’t mind. I...um...I like the company." Tony looked everywhere but at Loki, until he seemed to realize something, “But you don’t have to! It’s totally fine not to, not disloyal or anything. It’s fine either way.”

Loki looked at the huge bed, at his sleeping daughter, at Tony, and considered what to do.

Chapter Text

Loki’s bed was cold, compared to Tony’s. It was smaller, and the sheets less luxuriously cozy. He laid down still dressed, with Syla in his arms. He had considered Tony’s offer to stay in his room. In his bed. But he had declined as politely as he could and taken the sleepy girl back to his room instead. Tony had accepted his choice, and let them leave without protest. It had not been unpleasant to sleep there last night, it had comforted Syla, and had comforted Loki also. But it would not do to make a habit of it. It could lead to Tony having expectations . Even an expectation of Loki’s presence in his bed was not something Loki wanted to encourage. He had spent enough nights in the beds of other men. Men more powerful than him, who could command him to serve, who could order the use of his body as they pleased. He knew Tony would not do that. But still in his belly was the nervous knowledge that he could. Tony held that power in his hand and chose not to use it. Better to sleep in his own bed. Syla would get used to it, and when Byliestr left, hopefully any day now, she would lose her fear.

He lay back, Syla curled up under one arm. With his other arm he summoned his spear and tossed it and caught it, one handed. Fully retracted, it about 18 inches long. He tossed and caught a double loop, then two and a half, and tried for a triple loop, focused on the toss and catch, keeping himself from thinking of anything else. Footsteps echoed in the hallway and he held the spear motionless. He recognized the heavy tread of his brother, and vanished the spear back to his dimensional pocket. The steps stopped at Loki’s door and Loki could picture Thor in his mind's eye, standing indecisive at the door, debating knocking. He decided to be brotherly.

“Thor,” he called softly, and the door clicked and eased open. Thor poked his head around, and smiled at his sleeping niece.

“Brother,” he said, in what passed for a whisper, “You are awake?”

“As you see, Thor.” Loki replied, amused, and glad he had returned to his own bed. He did not think Thor would take kindly to finding him in his master’s bed, even if there was a small girl in there with them.

Thor held up a bottle and sloshed it around, looking hopeful. Why not , Loki thought to himself, and slid out from under Syla’s sleepy form to join Thor in the living room. His brother was sprawled out on the couch with the bottle and two glasses. Loki hesitated only a moment before he sat on the opposite side on the couch. Thor handed him a glass and filled it. Loki sipped it, the liquor strong on his tongue. “How goes it, brother,” he asked, “how go the negotiations?”

Thor waved his hand, “Well enough, well enough. The Jotun are prickly and proud, the Midgardians bicker among themselves. Behind the scenes agreements are being made, no doubt. There will be an announcement tomorrow, and hopefully a farewell swiftly after that.”

Thor moved to open the sliding glass doors and let the night breeze into the tower. The cool air was refreshing, waking Loki up further.

“Tony is treating you well?” Thor asked, pouring himself another drink.

Loki nodded. “Very well.” he said, “Better than I have any right to expect.”

Thor frowned. “Brother, you have every right to be well treated,” he said, his sincerity tugging at Loki’s heart. Thor was a sentimental fool. But still, Loki was glad to still be able to call him brother.

Thor shifted in his seat, “Loki, do you mean to continue to serve Stark?” He was uncomfortable, but trying to understand. Loki could not be frustrated with him, even though he had already explained.

He nodded. “I must, Thor. I must. I have sworn an oath to the Norns. You know as well as I that such an oath cannot be broken.”

“Tell me the words,” Thor said. Loki would rather not revisit that desperate moment, but perhaps Thor would think of some way out or around this oath. If he did, Loki would be free. Free to leave, to do only what he wanted, not to answer to anyone, or submit to any punishments, or lie in anyone’s bed but his own. Loki hesitated for a moment then recited the words that were burned into his memory.

Master, I swear this by the Norns themselves, Urd, Verdandi and Skuld, by my life and afterlife, by every power in the nine realms and beyond. If you grant Syla your mercy and protection, I will be your loyal and obedient slave until the day I die. I swear it. I swear it. I swear it.

Thor grimaced, disappointed. Loki scowled, "I was desperate!” he said, “Brother, I had no choice! I did not know him, I did not know what he was capable of. He was angry with me, I had stolen Syla from Jotunheim, and I did not know what he would do with her. I had nothing else to bargain with, nothing to offer him to buy some safety for her.” Thor reached out a hand and clasped Loki's shoulder.

“Aye. I do not blame you. We did not know what you had done. When Tony opened the crate and found her...she was so still, we feared she was...that she was not living. When she moved, he spoke her gently but fury was in his eyes. I should have come with him, to see you. But I did not want to leave her alone. She was afraid and I did not want her to see…” he trailed off. Loki knew what he had been going to say. He did not want Syla to see Stark punish him. But he had not done that. He had been angry with him, but instead of punishment Loki had volunteered his oath and bound himself to Stark’s service. It was a bargain made in a moment, but it would bind him for Stark's lifetime. There was no point dwelling on it. It was done and the oath was made.

Loki pondered, “There is no way to break it, expect by my death or Stark’s death. He already accepted my vow, if he rejects it now it will the same as if I broke it myself. I know the norns have woven it into their threads already. They will not like to unweave their work. They will weave the fates of many others into those strings, for many years.”

Thor nodded slowly. “He is mortal, brother. I will grieve when he is gone, he is a mighty warrior, and a good friend. But he mortal.”

Loki shrugged. He may as well tell his brother what he had done, when he healed Tony on the plane. “I have already given him more years, maybe a dozen, and I will do so again, for as long as he allows it. I vowed loyalty Thor, fool that I am. Loyalty, not just obedience. Would a loyal slave let their master die of illness or age if they could prevent it? No. They would not, and neither can I.”

They drank together in silence for a time. Loki was unused to alcohol, and he did not try to keep pace with Thor, who drank the Midgardian spirits like water.

“He asked after you,” Thor said, not meeting Loki’s eye, and Loki knew who he meant. Byliestr, his former owner, his torturer, his rapist, sire of his daughter.

Loki tried not to show his reaction. He still was afraid of him, more than any other, more even than Odin. Odin had sent him to that life, but he had not enjoyed it, he had not relished it, he had not licked the tears from his face and delighted in being the cause of them. Byliestr was worse.

“What did you tell him?” Loki asked, not wanting to know the answer.

“I told him nothing.” Thor said, “Stark told him the the topic was not open for discussion. He laughed as though that was a fine joke. I do not trust him.”

“You should not. He is cruel, sadistic. He cares little for his own people, only for his legacy and the past and future glory of Jotunheim.” Loki had been present in enough of his council meetings to know the truth of that. Not present to participate of course, but to serve. To offer refreshments, to be given as a reward to those who pleased the king or to be an example of what happened to those who did not. He was there to perform whatever demeaning and humiliating acts the king ordered him to. No doubt if he was still the property of the king he would be in that same role at these very negotiations. Perhaps Byliestr regretted giving him away so easily to Stark. He certainly was unhappy that Syla had vanished from his fortress. Loki suddenly wondered if he had been replaced. If the king had found some other unfortunate victim to serve his whims and take his punishments.

He took a deep breath. It was not his fault. It was not his fault if the king now took out his sadistic urges on someone else. Byliestr had given him away. He had given him to Tony Stark, and Loki was not responsible for that decision, just as he had not been responsible for anything else that Byliestr had done to him, or anything he did to anyone else.

They sat and talked for a little while longer, about lighter topics. About the Midgardian weather, now fully winter, about the city, the food, anything that did not touch on any of Loki's exposed nerves.

It was not long before Loki yawned and headed back to his room. He groaned when he saw Syla was gone again. The door to Tony’s room was ajar and he peeked in to see Tony still sound asleep, sprawled out on the bed with Syla just getting settled in beside him. She saw Loki standing there and a guilty look crossed her face, followed rapidly by a stubborn one. Loki had to be firm with her. He had been lax these past days, letting her enjoy more freedom to do as she pleased. He had had to keep her so constricted on Jotunheim, he had taught her to hide and be silent and to deny her own needs. But now he realized he had let her go to far the other way. He had let her draw on the baton without consequence, when he should have told her that was wrong. That was a mistake, but he would not allow such things to continue. He could not let her dictate where they both slept. She loved Tony, and he protected her, but this must not become a regular occurrence. Loki crooked one finger at her and gave her a look. She held his gaze for a moment but when she saw he was serious, she pouted and climbed back out of the bed. Tony didn't stir.

Syla trotted back to their room and scrambled back up into their bed. Loki quickly changed into his sleeping clothes and got in beside her. She wriggled up next to him, not holding any grudge. Loki stroked her hair, “Darling Syla,” he said, “I know you love Tony, but this is our bed, and we will sleep here. Do you understand?”

She frowned at him. “All be together,” she said firmly, “You love Tony too?”

Loki paused at that. He had not considered his feelings for Tony. He liked the man, he was grateful to him, he respected him. Perhaps, under different circumstances, there could have been more between them. But tangled through that was the knowledge that Tony was his master, that Loki was his slave, as little as either of them liked it. It still was a fact, and it was barrier to any kind of affection between them. “Tony is a good man,” he said quietly, as Syla snuggled next to him, “We are lucky to be with him. But we will stay in our own bed.” She didn't like that, but was too sleepy to argue the point. He had evaded her question for now, but he knew her well enough to know she would not forget.

Chapter Text

Loki got up early to make breakfast. Syla stirred and grumbled but got up with him. Loki shut their bedroom door, and turned around to see Tony coming out of his room at the same time. They stared at each other for a moment, awkward. Syla’s question of the previous night came back to Loki. How did he feel about the man who owned him? Tony had treated him kindly, he had cared for him, protected him, he had not taken advantage or abused him. What did Loki owe him, for that? He would serve him, as he had sworn he would. He would hold him in high esteem, he would respect him and honor him. But love? A slave could not afford to love their master.

Loki inclined his head, “Good morning Tony,” he said, trying to keep a neutral tone as they walked to the living room. Loki rolled his eyes to see Thor sleeping on the couch. He had a perfectly good guest room, but he must have stayed up late after Loki went to bed, and slept where he lay. Tony caught his eye and smirked at the sight. The god of thunder, sprawled out on the couch, snoring. Syla darted to the kitchen counter and picked up her decorated baton, delighted to have it in her hands again. Loki let her take it. Later that day he would take them back to the training rooms and leave it in the armory, but for now, she could hold it.

A heavy fog sat outside the tower, pressing up against the glass windows. It made the penthouse seem smaller, and Loki felt a little claustrophobic, cut off from the city outside. Worse, Thor had left the sliding door open all night, and cold, damp air was wafting into the room.

Loki moved to close it. Tony felt the cold more than any of them, and he should not be chilled in his own home. The fog outside the windows shifted. It swirled unnaturally even as Tony shouted, “Wait!”

Loki was too close, though, too close and too slow.

A pale figure emerged from the fog. The figure wore a mask, and light clothing that moved with random patterns, breaking their outline, making them hard to focus on. They seemed to come from nowhere, the fog covering them, heavy like a blanket. Loki threw himself backwards, but the figure already had a weapon to their shoulder. A sharp, sheering sound and a metal bolt shuddered and embedded itself in Loki's shoulder. He stared at it in horror. It pierced his skin, pierced his flesh and muscle, the bolt emerging under his arm, the other end attached to a strong cable. A mere second must have passed, but he was trapped in amber, slow, off his guard, falling. Before he hit the floor, a machine whined and the cable tightened, the harpoon tore agonizingly at his flesh, and dragged him towards the door.

Tony shouted and an energy bolt blasted from behind him, disappearing into the fog. Loki’s feet scrabbled against the floor, he tried to grab the edge of the door but his right arm was useless, hanging by his side. Thor yelled and Loki felt the hum of Mjolnir’s power. His skin crackled with static as Thor prepared to strike.

But they were all too slow. Even JARVIS, arming and deploying the tower defenses, could not save Loki from the harpoon dragging him across the floor. Only Syla, her bare feet pounding on the marble floor, her decorated baton in her hand, was close enough. Even as Loki yelled at her to stop, she launched herself through the door and vanished into the fog.

(Art by Leone on tumblr)

Loki screamed after her. Another energy bolt shot wild overhead, Tony frantically avoiding hitting her. Loki stopped fighting and let the cable pull him out, trying to get his feet under him. Thor leapt over him, Mjolnir in hand, calling the wind to blow the unnatural fog away.

She was gone. Loki crawled to the edge of the balcony, trailing blood, the cable slack, a gleaming cut where it had been roughly severed. He picked up the shiny wooden baton, dropped on the ground. There was no other trace of her.

Iron Man landed on the balcony. Tony ran to the armor, diving into it, already yelling at JARVIS to follow any trace, but Loki knew where she was. He knew. His stomach churned, his head spun, his entire right side was going numb, but he knew where she was. He pointed at Central Park, at the glittering ice palace. A dark shape was landing there, a Midgardian transport. Through his blurred vision, Loki could tell it was the same one that had landed on the roof of Stark's tower weeks ago. Stark came to the same conclusion. “Rumlow!” he yelled, furious. He snapped the faceplate down and launched himself into the air. Like a bolt he was gone, in mere seconds a tiny red and gold figure headed straight for the ice palace.

Thor hesitated, Loki tried to tell him to go, his hands slipping on the blood surrounding him. “Brother, you must heal yourself,” Thor said, his hammer in his hand. Loki did not have time for that. “Go!” he begged, “Just go!”

“I will go when you are not bleeding to death!” Thor snapped, and Loki would scream if he could remember how. He gestured at the harpoon. It was suppressing his magic, some power of the metal prevented him from healing. He had not even realized until Thor had told him to do it. “Pull it out,” he said weakly, and even as he said it he knew it would be agony. He could see the jagged head of it under his arm. It would tear through his flesh on the way back out. Thor knew it too, and he nodded grimly. There was no time to waste. He took a firm grip and looked into Loki's eyes. “On three,” he said, and Loki nodded, ready to brace himself. It mattered not. Once it was out Thor could leave him to heal himself and follow Stark.

“One,” Thor said, and yanked the harpoon out in one swift, sure movement. Loki screamed. The metal tore its way back out of his body, ruining what muscle and flesh had not already been destroyed as it first penetrated him. A wave of agony crushed him and he blacked out. It must have only been for a second, Thor was still holding him when he came too. He was already healing, his magic aiding his natural abilities.

“Go,” he groaned, “Go, please Thor, go, save her. Give him whatever he wants. Give me to him, I care not. Just bring her back.”

Thor nodded once, spun his hammer and was gone. Loki lay on the balcony, his pulverized flesh knitting itself back together, the wooden baton clutched in his hand. The hearts and butterflies were gone, covered by blood.

Chapter Text

The very moment Loki could stand, he dragged himself through the ether to the ice palace. He staggered and fell on his face as he arrived, next to the transport that had taken his daughter. Two Midgardians were entering the transport, the man in the pale armor, and an older man with a weathered face. The man in pale armor had raised his mask and Loki recognized the Strike Team leader, Rumlow. He saw Loki and pushed the other man behind him, "Get in, Pierce," he said, "I'll deal with this." The older man, Pierce, vanished inside the transport and Rumlow raised his weapon. Loki used the last of his energy to conceal himself from their sight. He scrambled a few steps from his location and waited, silent while Rumlow scowled at his disappearance and backed into the transport. The door slammed closed behind them, and the vehicle took flight. Loki would love to see them suffer for what they had done. Whoever that old man was, Loki was sure he was involved. But he had no energy to spare on anything but getting Syla back.

The concealment spell used what was left of his power and he reappeared on the cold ground. The metal bolt had drained him somehow, and what little had remained he had used on healing himself and getting here. The ice palace loomed before him. Its smooth, chill exterior was graceful compared to the stone walls of Utgard, but Loki was not fooled. He knew what waited within. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, through the main archway, into the courtyard of the palace.

Tony and Thor were there, facing off against three Jotun. Byliestr, flanked by his two henchmen Yrokin and Dgar. The two guards held heavy ice-blades, thick with spiked points, each encasing an arm up the elbow. Byliestr was unarmed, but in his hand, instead of a weapon, he held Syla. He had wrenched her arm above her head, her toes barely touching the ground. Her eyes were closed, her face turned away, tears tracked down her cheeks. She looked terrified, but unhurt.

"Syla," Loki said, his voice hoarse. Her eyes snapped open and found his. Loki staggered to stand beside Tony. He could do little in his current condition. If Tony could stall long enough, Loki may regain enough power to be useful. But now, his right arm still hung useless at his side, his power was depleted, and all he could do was watch.

Byliestr spoke first, amused. "The little reaken slave. Have you missed me, Loki?"

Tony ignored him and spoke to Loki, "The WSC sold us out. They've been making deals on the side. Rumlow and Strike One are rogue, they answer to Pierce. We're on our own here."

"You are not alone," Thor rumbled, Mjolnir in his hand. "Jotunheim would do well to remember the might of Asgard!"

Byliestr glared at them all, his red eyes alight with victory. "Asgard has no business here, Prince Thor," he spat the title as an insult. "This matter is between Jotunheim and Midgard. The Midgardian rulers have returned my stolen property to me, as part of our treaty agreement. I suggest you all leave, lest you begin a war you are not ready for."

Thor snarled but Tony replied calmly, his hands raised, palms glowing, “I'm not leaving without my kid.”

Byliestr shook Syla by her arm, like a doll. She bit her lip to stop herself crying out, only looking at her Modi. “This child is mine,” he rumbled, “I bred the raekten slave Loki and got this little scrap from him. She belongs to me, and I will have what is mine.”

“Nope,” Stark said at the same time as Thor raised his hammer and said, "You will not leave this realm with my niece!"

Byliestr was losing what little patience he had, “The girl is no relation of yours, Thor Odinson. Odin himself cast this slave out, took his name, severed his family ties. His get is none of your family.”

“What do you want with her anyway?” Tony asked, clearly looking for some away around this standoff that would not result in all-out war between their realms. Or worse, if Thor killed the Jotun king on Midgardian ground, a war between all three of their realms. Loki shivered, his vision blurring and his head spinning. He forced himself to stand up, his right arm numb, his right leg heavy, his clothes soaked with his own blood.

Byliestr scowled at Tony, this impudent Midgardian, but he deigned to answer, perhaps thinking still to win Tony to his side. “She is raekten ,” he said, “As she grows the energy of Jotunheim will grow in her. She will channel it, use it at my command for the glory of our realm.

Loki looked up at that. “Take me instead,” he said, urgently. ‘I can do that. I will. I will do whatever you want. Take me.”

Byliestr growled at him. “Your use is done, slave. Your magic is of Asgard, corrupted with the energy of Yggdrasil. Stay and warm the bed of your master. That is all you are good for now.”

Loki’s head span. He licked his lips, dry and cold. “She...she is the same as me,” he said, “I already trained her to channel the energy of Yggdrasil. She is no good to you.”

Bylietr roared and shook Syla again, finally making her cry out, muffled under her own hand. “You lie!” he said, “She is too young!”

Tony shook his head, “He’s not lying, she can already use magic. Asgardian magic. Give her back. We can still salvage this treaty. There’s still a lot to gain here. Trade, food, medicine, materials. Give her back. She can’t help you.”

“Prove it!” Byliestr yelled, holding Syla up by her arm, her feet dangling in the air. She screwed her eyes shut tight, turned her head away.

“You’re scaring her!” Thor said, “She cannot show you when she is terrified!”

Tony stepped forward, gently easing his gauntleted hand over Byliestr's fist, encouraging him to lower Syla's feet back to the ground. She whimpered and twisted in his grip, but could not break free.

“Show me, little raekten ,” Byliestr whispered to Syla, a parody of gentleness.

Loki knew it was probably a vain hope, but it was all he had. If Byliestr could be convinced that Syla’s magic was already bound to Yggdrasil, not to Jotunheim, he may let her go. “Syla,” he said softly, “Syla, you can do it. Show me your butterfly.”

The all waited, motionless. Even Yrokin and Dgar were watching Syla, their blades hefted in their hands. A tear ran down Syla's cheek, but she raised her hand and conjured a pale, faint butterfly.

It winked out after just a moment and Byliestr roared in rage. He raised his hand to strike her. Tony launched himself off the ground and grabbed his arm, the thrusters of the suit firing, holding him in place. “No,” he said, his voice rough, “No, just give her back. Whatever you’re trying to do here, it didn’t work. Move on. This isn’t the end of the alliance.”

Yrokin and Dgar had their ice-blades pointed at Tony, daring to put his hands on the king, but he ignored them, looking only at Byliestr. He was still, and Tony cautiously, slowly, wrapped one armored arm around Syla, her wrist still held tight in Byliestr’s icy grip. Her free hand gripped tight to the armor, her knuckles white. They waited, not a single breath fogged the icy air. Byliestr did not release her.

“I will trade her,” he rumbled, after an eternal wait. “Return the slave Loki to me and I will release the girl. He will give me another child.”

Chapter Text

“No!” Thor said, but Loki was already stumbling forward. He had known it would come to this. There was always a price to pay, and Loki was always the one to pay it. He would return to Jotunheim. He had been safe on Midgard, happy, even, but that was not his destiny. Syla would remain here, with Tony, with Thor, with safety and comfort and food and love.

“Loki,” Tony looked at him, his brown eyes deep pools, his expression intense, but unreadable to Loki's desperate state of mind. Loki met his gaze, he willed Tony to understand, to know that he would do anything for his daughter. Even this.

“Loki. I’m sorry,” Tony said. Loki nodded, he did not blame Tony. He limped forward, put himself in reach of Byliestr’s other arm. The king's cold hand reached out and grasped his throat, squeezing. He held Loki in one hand, Syla in the other. They stared at each other across the chasm between them. Loki tried to tell Syla how much he loved her. He hoped she knew that he did this willingly for her.

“Give me control of the geas,” Byliestr said, smugly, “And I will give you the girl.”

Loki didn’t change his expression, and neither did Tony. Loki would have held his breath if he could breathe at all. The geas was gone, and Byliestr didn’t know. Loki suddenly realized what Tony had been trying to tell him with his gaze. He was not giving him away. He was not trading him. He was buying time.

“Loki,” Tony said, “I give control of the geas to King Byliestr. It belongs to him now. Do you understand?”

Loki gave a minute nod, and Byliestr relaxed his hand enough for Loki to croak out, “Yes Master.” Loki understood very well. Control of the geas meant nothing, because the geas no longer bound him.

Byliestr shook him by the neck, displeased. “I am your master now, little raekten. ” Loki swallowed. “Yes Master,” he repeated, this time directing his gaze at Byliestr. No you’re not , he told himself, Tony is.

Satisfied, Byliestr let go of Syla’s arm. She flung herself around Tony’s neck, her body shaking with silent sobs.

Tony kissed her forehead, whispered something in her ear, then turned and dropped her into Thor’s arms, away from Byliestr. “Get her out of here,” he said. Thor looked pained, but he did not argue. He knew as well as Loki and Tony that she was vulnerable, if anything went wrong she could be injured, or worse. Loki did not breathe until Thor was gone, one long hammer throw arcing back to the tower. Tony stayed. It was him, Loki and the Jotun.

Tony grabbed Loki's hair, turned his head to face him as well as he could with Byliestr's hand around his neck. “I want you back,” Tony said, “when he’s done.”

Byliestr laughed again. He let go of Loki’s throat and shoved him to the ground. “Kneel,” he commanded. Loki did, as though he had no choice but to obey.

“Very well, Midgardian,” Byliestr said, as though Tony had been talking to him, instead of Loki. “When he has given me another raetken child, I will sell him back to you.”

“I want him back in one piece,” Tony insisted. “Undamaged.”

“That is up to him,” Byliestr said. He nodded at Dgar, and the massive Jotun stepped forward and kicked Loki back to the ground. Tony’s jaw clenched, but he did not protest. Loki struggled back onto his knees, breathing hard. The blow had hit his injured shoulder, pain throbbed through his right side, his arm still hung useless. Byliestr continued as though nothing had happened. “The slave is resilient. I am sure he will not force me to discipline him beyond that which he can recover from.”

Loki glanced up and caught Tony’s eye. He knew what Tony was trying to do. He was buying time. Time to let Thor reach the tower with Syla, time to let Loki recharge his magic before he had to leave him there with Byliestr. And he would have to leave him. Tony alone could not take on three Jotun, even with his armor. Not if he had to protect Loki as well. He would end up injured, or dead, and Loki the same. Loki did not know how long it would take to recover his magic, and even when he did, what should he do? Loki wished he could read Tony’s mind. He had no desire to be the cause of an inter-realm war between Midgard and Jotunheim. But he still belonged to Tony, and he could not allow Byliestr to...to use him as he wanted.

“I am pleased you can be reasonable, Tony Stark,” Byliestr said, “There is no reason we cannot abide by the treaty terms. I will overlook your concealment of the girl. I am sure this slave made it worth your while to hide her from me. He can be very enthusiastic when sufficiently motivated.”

Tony could not bring himself to respond to that, and the time for stalling was over. Byliestr pointed at Dgar and ordered Loki, "do what he says." He gestured to Dgar and said, “Get him ready.” The Jotun smashed his ice blade on the ground with a crash, followed by the skittering of chunks of razor sharp ice across the cold floor. He took hold of a handful of Loki’s hair with his newly freed hand and began to walk towards the main doors of the ice palace. Loki scrambled to get his feet under him and not be dragged by the hair, but Dgar kicked his feet out again and gave a low chuckle, yanking Loki’s hair to hear him gasp. Loki twisted back, to get one last glimpse of Tony. Tony was staring after him, his face as blank as when Byliestr had had Loki led into the great hall of Utgard as his welcome gift, half-naked and leashed. Only this time Loki could read the man better, his eyes were deep pools of pain, his hands twitched impotently by his sides. He took a half step towards Loki, then stopped himself.

Let them take me , Loki thought, desperate that Tony not be hurt. I can endure this. I can endure it. As long as Syla is safe.

They turned a corner and Tony was gone. Loki was alone with Dgar. Alone and helpless. He had no magic, and he could hardly move one arm. Dgar half-dragged, half-led Loki through icy passages to a wide, imposing doorway. He shoved him through it. It was Byliestr's bedchamber. Loki skidded on the floor, taking the skin off the palms of his hands from the force of Dgar’s throw. He lay where he had fallen. The floor was cold stone, the walls made entirely of ice, twinkling lights embedded under the surface. At another time, Loki would have found it beautiful. Now, the ice, the chill of the room, the cold stone under his hands, all of it threatened to drag him down, to pull him back through space and time to Jotunheim, to when he was a cowed, beaten down slave. He crouched on the floor. His instinct was to stay still and try not be noticed, as ridiculous as that was. There was only one other in the room, and he had been brought here for a specific purpose.

Dgar picked him up again, leering at him, looming down over him. Loki was like a kitten in his grip. Weak, pathetic, helpless. Dgar yanked at Loki's shirt, a simple blue shirt that Tony had given him. It tore in his hands, and the Jotun stripped the rags of it off Loki’s body. He admired the deep blue and purple bruise on his shoulder where the harpoon had penetrated him. Dgar laughed and pressed his hand to that shoulder, pushing hard. Loki didn't fight, didn't resist. Dgar wanted to hear him scream, so he would scream. It was better to give his tormentors what they wanted. Already he was falling, falling back into the mindset that had let him survive through years of torment. Comply. Don’t fight. Don’t argue. Loki let Dgar hear his pain, and his head swam with it. It wasn’t enough. Dgar did it again, pushed his thumb against Loki's wound until Loki’s vision blurred out. Sparks danced before his eyes until the pressure eased and the pain ebbed. Dgar grunted in satisfaction and shoved him flat on the ground, tore at the blue pants Tony had given him. He pulled them off, pulled off his underwear too, and put his rough hands on Loki’s pale skin. Loki could not stop himself from shivering. Cold and fear vibrated through him. He could not move. He could not fight. He knew what came next. He knew. Byliestr would be here soon. Loki curled into himself, as though that could save him.

Dgar picked him up by his wounded shoulder and tossed him onto the bed. Loki tumbled onto his belly, and a heavy hand on his back held him there. The bed was hard, Jotun style of furs over a stone slab. “Stay.” Dgar commanded, as though to a dog. Loki froze, panting in fear and pain. He would stay. He had done this before. He had been here before. Naked and face down on the kings bed, waiting. Dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe, over the years Byliestr had owned him. He didn't move. He barely breathed. Dgar’s hand stroked roughly from his injured shoulder down over his ass, and lingered there. The bed rocked as Dgar leaned over him.

“When he’s done, little raetken ," he rumbled in Loki's ear, "It's my turn." He gave Loki one final pinch, a hard tweak of the tender flesh of his upper thigh, and then he left.

Loki lay trembling on the bed. He waited.

Chapter Text

The fur was thick and warm under Loki's clenching fingers, and it was wrong because everything else was cold and hard. The fur irritated at his bare skin, all over. He could not stand the feel of it. Harsh cold was better than the lie that there could be some comfort here. Loki knew there could not be. He buried his face in it, nonetheless, his eyes screwed shut. His breath came in gasps, he wasn't getting enough air but he didn't know how to fix it. His thoughts were scattered, chasing around his head. The sense-memory of being here, being naked in the king's bed, in this position, was overwhelming. Even the smell of the furs was the same.

Loki turned his head and gulped down air. Some faint part of him screamed that he needed to pull himself together and plan, but that part was far outmatched by his need to comply, to obey, and to survive. He was terrified of what was coming. He couldn't think about it, but he couldn't NOT think about it either. It came to him in flashes, images and sensations in his mind that he could not block or control.

Rough hands, mocking voices, his legs forced apart, violation, and pain, and pain, and pain.

The door of the chamber slammed open. Loki shoved his fist in his mouth and bit down. His face was wet, his vision blurred. He stayed where he had been put, obedient. As though obedience had ever protected him from pain. Footsteps crossed the floor, and just as he had known, a rough hand landed on his thigh, high up, where Dgar had pinched him. The first of many bruises he would get this day, surely. Loki swallowed his yelp. He would have plenty to cry about later, when his master was done with him.

He's not your master. A still, central thought grew in Loki's mind, untouched by the spiraling panic that surrounded it.

Loki did not know what to do with that information. The hand was on his ass now, thick fingers digging and squeezing painfully, twisting the flesh. Loki could not help the whine that whistled through his lips. A hard slap landed on his ass, first one side then the other, in turn. Loki bit his lip against the pain. Don't cry too easily, he will only torment you further.

“He's fattened you up, reatken .” Byliestr growled, between slaps. “You're like a little innsigli -pup, round and fat on your mother's milk. Is that how he liked you? Your Midgardian master?”

There was something Loki needed to remember. Your Midgardian master. Byliestr wasn’t Midgardian. He wasn't Loki's master. His master was Tony Stark. Tony Stark of Midgard! Loki's thoughts stopped. If that was true, why was he here, face-down in the king's bed, stripped and slapped and pawed over? Loki shuddered and remembered. Tony had traded him. He had made a deal and sold him. He had given him to Byliestr in exchange for Syla.

Everything came back in a rush. His daughter was safe. She was safe, carried in his brother’s arms back to Stark’s tower. Loki exhaled into the fur, his spiraling thoughts calmed to still water, deep with certainty. He knew why he was there, and he knew one thing without doubt.

Tony would get him back.

He had even told him I want you back, when he’s done. He had said those words before the King' himself. He would get him back, somehow. He would make a deal, make another trade. Tony had power, he had influence, he had money, resources, technology. The Jotun would be foolish not to trade for him. Tony commanded far more wealth and power than Loki was worth. A hundred times more. Enough even to buy back breeding rights from Byliestr. Tony would get him back. Loki had to get through this, and wait for Tony to retrieve him. He could survive it. He had survived it before. Many times. So many times. One more time was nothing. He could lay down and breathe and obey and let Byliestr have his way. It was nothing to him. Not anymore.

Loki’s palms were sweaty. He was shaking uncontrollably. His vision was fading, he could not focus on anything before his face. His ears rang with imagined noise. Byliestr's hands were all over him, pinching and twisting, grabbing wherever they wanted. Loki focused. He could do this. Obey, and comply, and survive. Tony would buy him back. He would return here in not even a day. Tony would...he would…

Are you sure he'll want you back, by the time they're done with you?

Even one day was a long time. There were four Jotun here, and three of them already had a taste for using Loki for bed-sport. Ljot, Byliestr’s nephew, had always disdained him. He had declined with a sneer whenever Byliestr offered him a turn with Loki, much to the king’s amusement. So three. Three who would use him in turn until Tony could bring him back. Yrokin would take a turn or two, he enjoyed him well enough, but Dgar...Dgar would not hold back. He would do whatever Byliestr allowed, he would ensure that Loki bore his marks when he was finished.

Tony will not abandon me.

Three was bearable. One day was bearable.

...a knee forced between his legs and spread his legs on the fur. ..

Loki had dealt with worse. Much worse. More than three, certainly.

... hands on his hips, pulling him up, stronger than him, easily holding him exactly in the position that was wanted...

He had lost count, when he had been punished with the pillory. He had lost count , and he had dealt with that.

…a shove between his shoulders and Loki’s face was mashed into the fur ...

Had he dealt with it though? Had he dealt with it, or did it break him? Shatter him into a thousand pieces, a thousand sharp edges that would cut him if he ever tried to put them back together. A thousand cracks that would never fit back the way they had been. Broken.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, wrapped his arms over his head. Byliestr was talking, mocking, but Loki couldn’t hear his words over the buzzing in his ears, over the screaming in his head. One day was too long. Three was too many.

No more not again no more not again not again not again

Loki tried to block it out, but he couldn’t, because it was him, it was him, and he was screaming when one thick finger pierced his core, and everything stopped. He could not do it. He could not. He could not.

He would not .

Without a thought, without anything in his mind except no more, Loki twisted out of Byliestr's grip and flipped onto his back. Byliestr raised his hand to slap him, to punish him, to force him , but the boar spear was in Loki's hand. The charms Loki had worked into it flared with energy, with hunger, with power. The blade snicked out, the spear jumped forward like a snake, and cool Jotun blood gushed over Loki's hands like a river.

Chapter Text

Loki scrambled frantically out from under Byliestr’s body. He was heavier in death than he had been in life, soaked with his own blood and slumped over Loki’s panicked form. Loki tumbled off the high bed and fell to the floor. The cold stone scraped his bare flesh, rough on his hands and knees as he crawled to the other side of the room. He pressed his back to the ice wall, crouched on the ground. There was no safety to be had there. Loki was a mess, sweaty and crying, clutching the boar spear as though it was a lifeline. He had killed Byliestr! He had killed the king of Jotunheim!

Again! His mind supplied hysterically, Again!

He stuffed his fist in his mouth when a heavy tread approached down the hallway and stopped outside the door. No doubt it was Dgar, checking if it was his turn with Loki yet. He would be curious about the silence in the room, where there should be sobs and cries blended with taunts and grunts of pleasure. A pause, the sound of shuffling feet, a longer pause, then finally a knock. Loki held his breath, as though staying silent could help him. The door was unlocked. Byliestr never locked it, he had never been concerned if his trusted advisers came in while he was using Loki. He would invite them to watch or to take a turn themselves if he was feeling generous. Loki held still, not moving a single muscle. There another knock at the door, louder, followed by Dgar’s voice, “My King, is all well?”

Loki gripped his spear, the feel of the weapon calming and grounding. He stood up on silent feet and readied himself, moving on instinct alone. His hands were slick with blood, he was naked, his magic was all but drained. Dgar was much taller and heavier than him, he would have his own weapon, and Loki would not have the element of surprise. Still, he readied himself to fight. It was all he could do. He was trapped, and alone. If there was no other choice, he would die with his weapon in his hand.

The door handle turned, and Loki’s eye flicked to one side, caught by a detail he had not noticed. There was another doorway off the bedroom. Loki's composure cracked and he ran for it. He slipped through the inner door even as the outer door behind him opened, Dgar’s voice following him. “My King?” followed by a roar of horror and rage.

Loki was in a closet. Tony had built the ice palace, after all, and he always liked to have generous closet space. The Jotun had not used it. They traveled as they stood, in ceremonial furs, the wide innsigli skin belts they favored, weapons, metal jewellery. The closet was nothing like Tony’s closet, packed with clothes of every description, but the layout was the same. A square room with no windows, lined with cabinets and shelves, racks for clothing. Loki could have felt he was back home at the tower, or in Malibu, if the walls had not been made of ice and the floor freezing stone beneath his feet.

Dgar was yelling for Yrokin and Ljot, tearing the room apart, screaming Loki's name in rage. In mere seconds, he would notice the closet door and slam it open, and then Loki would be finished. There was nowhere else to hide.

Or was there?

Loki dropped to his knees and looked behind the rack of cabinets. It was there! Just as it was in the tower, and in Malibu. Loki pushed the switch and a section of the ice wall swung back to reveal the secret safe room. Loki threw himself into it and pulled the door closed, the spear still clutched in his hand. He crouched behind the door, breathless. Not two seconds later, the closet was smashed open. Dgar filled the space, pulling down racks, smashing the shelves, yelling threats and curses and vowing he would tear Loki apart when he got his hand on him. But he did not find the safe room door.

Loki let himself breathe again when his heavy tread left the closet. He heard voices close by, in the bedroom, Dgar joined by the other two Jotun. They all talked loudly, accusing each other, yelling competing demands and insisting the others listen. Loki did not have long. Once they calmed down, they would search the room more thoroughly, and they may find the secret switch. They could not open the door, as Loki had locked it from the inside, but they would realize there must be a hidden room. They could just smash down the ice walls until they found him.

Safe for only a few moments, Loki looked around the room. It was small, like all Tony’s safe rooms. There were no screens or bed in this one, instead a rack of switches and controls, with wires leading into the ice and down to a small case on the ground. This must be where the lights and other features of the ice palace were powered and controlled. Tony must have used this space for that purpose, instead of as a safe room.

The case drew Loki's attention. A clean, bright hum seemed to emanate from it, and when he opened the lid he gasped at the sight. Blue light filled the small room, the Midgardian energy device Tony called an Arc Reactor was there, powering the Jotun palace.

Loki put his finger to it, leaving an ugly smear of Jotun blood. The Midgardian energy buzzed through his finger. Tony had tried to give him the Midgardian energy before, when he had been casting his spell to break the binding. He had been unable to blend it with his casting, the power so different to his own. Now, was a different matter. He was not casting anything, he had barely any power of his own to conflict with it. Not to mention, he was trapped in this room, naked and bloody, with the dead king laying outside. He had to do it. If he wanted to survive, he had to. He put his finger back on the reactor, just as a heavy thump hit the door to the safe room. He lost his concentration and scrambled back against the far wall. The spear slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

“Here!” He heard a voice yell triumphantly, followed by another thump. Loki squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, clear and calm. He had to do this, or he would die. The Jotun would not just punish him for this crime with pain, with torture, with rape and abuse. They would kill him. They would beat him to death and tear his body apart. They would present his head to his brother, to Tony, as evidence of their justice.

Loki took his spear in one hand, put the other hand on the arc reactor, and focused. The arc reactor was strange, alien to him. It was nothing like the living energy of Yggdrasil that even now trickled far too slowly back into his body. The Midgardian energy was cold and clean. Separate from the energy of the nine realms, it was something else entirely. Not a natural force but a created one. Created by Tony Stark.

The thought of Tony grew in Loki’s mind as he tried to let the Midgardian energy flow into him. Tony was like this energy he had created. Brilliant, unlike anything else, powerful but separate from those around him. He was quick and clever like a bird, but not like a raven, or an owl, or an eagle, or any of those noble and storied creatures. He was a magpie, a curious, covetous bird. He saw something shiny and claimed it. He found what he wanted and made it his own. Tony had done it with this energy source, just as he had done it with Syla, and with Loki himself. He had understood them and claimed them, and the same thread ran through them all.

They were Tony’s.

The puzzle unlocked. Loki gasped as the energy flowed through him like a winter stream, fast and shockingly bright.

The thumping outside the door reclaimed his attention, noticeably louder now. Loki kept his hand on the reactor as long as he could. He would have to face some punishment. He had killed a king, and Tony would need to preserve the treaty between the realms. But Tony would punish him himself, not hand him back to the Jotun. Tony's punishment was preferable, but whatever it would be, it would not be easy. He would not be writing lines or going without dinner, not this time. He would prefer to face it somewhat recovered, so he allowed the energy to flow into him for as long as he felt it was safe.

He misjudged the strength of the Midgardian ice. One moment, he heard a dull thump, the next, the entire wall shattered and fell into crystal shards. The three furious Jotun towered over him. “YOU!” Dgar shouted, and reached one massive hand for him.

Loki took his hand off the arc reactor, filled with the buzz of Midgardian power, Tony’s power. Without thinking, he let it pull him back to where he belonged.

To Stark Tower, to Syla, and to Tony.

Chapter Text

“...J, just do it! I don't care how. Analyze the data from Jotunheim and isolate the background arcane energy! Find a way to channel it so I can trade him back! Use the readings from Loki’s magic, from the bifrost, from Thor’s hammer! Just do it! Divert all resources to this, this is the only thing that matters!”

“Sir…”

“That will take too long, Stark! We must go there now and demand his return! By force if we have to!”

“Sir...”

“Only if you want to start a war, Thor.” That was Romanov, her voice as calm as ever. Loki lay on the marble floor of the penthouse, his head spinning. Teleporting using the strange Midgardian energy had twisted his nerves and he needed a moment to recover.

“Sir, I must inform you…”

“We can defeat the Jotun in any battle they dare to wage against us!”

“Sir..”

“I’ve started enough wars, Thor. I’ve started enough wars. I’ve been responsible for too much death already. We can get him back without any more killing.”

Too late , thought Loki inanely, and then finally JARVIS was able to get a word in.

“Sir, Loki is here.”

Everything stopped. Loki staggered up, his slick feet slipping on the smooth floor, naked and bloody and holding his spear. He met three pairs of staring eyes. Thor was brandishing his hammer and Romanov was in her combat suit. Tony was out of his armor, Syla on his hip, both his arms wrapped protectively around her. Her hands hung loose down by her sides, her head rested slack on his chest, and her eyes stared into nothing.

Tony, Thor and Romanov stared at him for a moment, then Tony snapped, “JARVIS, full lock down, arm all defenses. Active measures are authorized. No one gets in here.”

Metal plates slammed down over the windows and doors, gun turrets sprang from the ceiling and floor, and the gentle hum of the air circulation cut off. Silence reigned.

Tony recovered first. He walked over to Loki, slow and steady, one hand out, Syla still and silent on his hip.

“Hey,” Tony said, “Hey, Loki.”

Loki lowered his spear. He let it slip from his fingers, suddenly numb. The metal clattered to the floor and Loki held out his arms to Tony. He needed to know that he was home, that he was safe, that Syla was safe, and Tony was with them.

Tony ran the last few steps and grabbed Loki with his free arm. Syla was between them, life coming back to her eyes as she realized who was there with them.

“Loki, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for leaving you there. Are you hurt? Are you injured? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Loki let Tony talk. He didn’t care about any of that. Tony had had no choice but to do what he did, and Loki was home and Syla was safe. That is all that mattered. Syla reached out one small hand and patted Loki’s cheek, “Modi?” she whispered, and Loki choked and nodded and said ,“Yes, yes, yes, it’s me my love, I am here, I am here.” Syla scrambled out of Tony’s arms and into Loki’s, and suddenly his legs no longer supported him. He dropped back to the floor, with Syla in his arms. Tony grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped him up. He sat with them both, letting Loki lean on him, soothing his shaking and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Thor sat with them, on the other side, and Loki exhaled. Just as when he had broken the binding, Loki had all three of them with him, near him, lending him their strength and their comfort.

“Did you kill him?” Romanov interrupted the moment. She asked as though she didn’t much care about the answer, but Loki knew the future of their realm could depend on it.

He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered, “Yes. I’m sorry. He was going to...I couldn’t! I couldn’t! Not again! “

Tony shushed him, and Thor rumbled his anger. Romanov only hummed, her face blank.

Loki was filled with shame, “I’m sorry. I knew you would come back for me, Tony. I should have waited, I should have let him do what he wanted. It’s not...he would not have done me any permanent injury.” Loki hung his head. Tony squeezed him tighter.

“No, Loki,” he said, “You have every right to defend yourself. You have nothing to be sorry for. I thought I would have more time, that I could get you back without...that happening to you.”

“Sir," JARVIS' smooth tones broke in, "The World Security Council is calling for you. As is Colonel Rhodes. And Director Fury.” Loki shrunk back into himself. This is where his punishment would be decided. Tony would not give him back to face execution, he knew that much. But he did not know what else he would agree to. He didn’t even know what punishments Midgard considered suitable for regicide.

Tony glanced up at the ceiling. “Put us on a half-second delay, block anything that gives Loki away. He’s not here. Put Fury on. He can talk to the WSC, I don’t trust them. Tell Rhodey I'll call him later.”

JARVIS confirmed his instructions, and then announced, “Sir, Director Fury for you.”

“Hey Nick,” Tony said, faux cheer in his voice. “Are you calling to apologize for letting Strike One go rogue under your nose and kidnap my kid out of my own home?”

Nick growled impatiently, “She’s blue, Stark! Get over yourself. She’s an alien, in every sense of the word, and she is not entitled to due process under US law.”

“That’s bullshit!” Tony snapped back at him. “Aliens have rights! Illegal or otherwise. That you chose to violate them is on you! She’s a kid! A kid! You would send her to a lifetime of slavery!”

Fury was silent for a moment, then he said, “That mission was not authorized by me.” That was the closest he would come to admitting that the team was rogue, and that the WSC had and agenda other than the one Fury believed in.

“Fine, whatever,” Tony said, “I’m sure you know what happened. I traded Loki for the kid, so if you’re not calling with a plan to get Loki back, we don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Actually, we have a lot to talk about," Fury corrected, "The Jotun delegation is raising a shit-storm in central park. They claim that Loki murdered the King, and escaped from the compound.”

Loki stared at Tony, wide eyed. This was it. This was the moment where he would tell Fury that he would deal with it. He would mete out some combination of punishment severe enough and bribes rich enough to grudgingly satisfy the Jotun. He did not wonder what his punishment would be. He would rather not know, until it came time. But Romanov spoke up into the silence, the last person Loki would ever expect to defend him in any way.

“Isn't the Jotun embassy considered sovereign territory?" she asked, innocent.

Fury confirmed it was, as all embassies are the territory of the visiting nation.

"And isn't Loki Jotun?" she asked Thor.

"Aye," he replied, not looking at Loki as he did so. Loki wondered how she knew that, but she seemed to know most things, and he was not to speak, so he held his tongue.

Romanov continued, "So you’re saying a Jotun, who was a slave of Jotunheim, killed the Jotun king, on Jotun territory? That’s unfortunate. But I don’t see what that has to do with us.”

Tony grinned at her and mimed clapping his hands. She rolled her eyes at him, but her lip quirked in the tiniest of smiles.

“Romanov!” Fury snarled. “What are you even doing there?”

“Honestly?” she said, “I was going to help Tony and Thor get Loki back. But it sounds like he didn’t need any help.”

“Indeed,” Thor added, “My brother will not be found, if he does not wish to be found. Not after what happened to him the last time he submitted himself to judgement.”

Fury tried and failed to bottle up his frustration with them all. “What about the girl?” He demanded, and Loki’s arms tightened around Syla.

“What about her?” Tony said.

Fury gave up. “Fine. But listen to me. This is not over. Ljot is king now, but he doesn't seem sure he's going to stay that way for very long. He is claiming Loki was an enemy spy. That he was given to Byliestr under false pretenses, and that you, you personally, Tony Stark, hatched and executed a plot to murder the king of Jotunheim.”

Chapter Text

Fury’s last words hung in the air after JARVIS terminated the call. The small group looked at each other. All but Romanov were huddled together on the floor still, surrounded by bloody smears and footprints. Loki knew he should at least clean the mess he had made in Tony's home, but before he could do anything, he had to know the answer to the question that was burning in his brain.

“What are you going to do with me?” he blurted out.

Loki had killed a king. He was a criminal and a fugitive on three realms. Tony Stark was a powerful man, but he had no reason to shelter him, other than whatever affection he might hold for him. Loki had nothing to offer a man like Tony. He would willingly give him what Byliestr had tried to take by force, but Tony did not want it. He would be his servant, his housekeeper, his chef, he would do whatever Tony wanted him to do, but none of that had any value compared to the risk of keeping him, of hiding him from his own allies on Midgard and now from Jotunheim as well. Perhaps Tony would send him back to his cell in the basement, to ensure he was not discovered. That seemed the best outcome Loki could hope for. At least he would still be allowed to see Syla.

“I’m going to let you go.” Tony said, and Loki stared at him, uncomprehending.

“...let me go...” he repeated dumbly.

Tony nodded. “Uh huh. I haven’t done a very good job of protecting you. I can’t keep you safe. I left you...I left you with Byliestr. That was my fault, and you had to pay the price for it.”

“But...my oath,” Loki stammered, afraid that Tony had forgotten. If Loki did not keep his oath, to be Tony’s loyal and obedient slave, the Norns would have their revenge on him, and on Syla too.

Thor broke in, his face stony, “Stark, do not toy with the Norns! They have already woven Loki’s fate with the fates of the worlds! The oath in unbreakable.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “the unbreakable threads of fate. Well, we don’t have to break them. We just have to tangle them up a little more. What are the names of the Norns?”

Loki didn't dare answer him, not until he knew what he was planning to do. “Tony, what are you saying? I must keep my oath. I must! To be your loyal and obedient slave. You have kept your side, you have shown Syla your mercy and protection! You rescued her from Byliestr this very day!”

“She should never have been taken!" Tony snapped, frustrated, "I failed! I failed to protect her and I failed to protect you! You can stay here if you want to, but it has to be your choice. What are the names of the Norns?”

Loki could not comprehend what Tony was saying, what he was intending to do. He was planning to invoke the Norns somehow, perhaps to challenge them. Would he demand they release Loki from his oath, if he believed he had failed to protect Syla? But that was not true! He had protected her! He had saved her! He had not hesitated to pursue her kidnappers and bring her back. Loki scrambled up onto his knees. He could not let Tony do this!

“Please!” he begged, “Tony please, do not attempt to break the oath! It binds me eternally! I beg you!”

Tony got up from his sitting position and knelt on the floor too, facing Loki, gently taking his hands. Syla still wrapped herself around Loki’s neck, looking curiously between them. Thor was anxious, but he didn’t intervene. Romanov stood back from the group, likely not aware of the oath or the power of the Norns.

Tony rubbed his thumbs over Loki’s hands, holding them tightly. “We’re not breaking the oath,” he said, his voice low, “We’re making it stronger. What are the names of the Norns?”

Loki had to answer. His master had asked him three times, and refusing would be clear disobedience.

He hung his head. “Urd, Verdandi and Skuld,” he said. As he spoke, he felt their presence, watching him, watching for who dared to say their names and call their attention. Thor felt it too, he shifted uncomfortably in position, as though he would like to move away and escape their attention, but not wanting to abandon his brother to their gaze.

Tony smiled, he held both of Loki’s hands, kneeling facing each other before Syla and the two witnesses.

“Loki,” he said, “Loki. I swear to you, by the Norns, by Urd, Verdandi and Skuld, by all my power on Earth and all my future power on other realms and throughout the universe. If you keep yourself and Syla safe, I will be your loyal and and obedient slave until I die. I swear it. I swear it. I swear it.”

Loki’s vision swam. He felt the threads of the Norns binding them both. Not broken, as Tony had said, but made stronger. Binding them equally to each other, each as tightly or as loosely bound as the other was. The threads between their joined hands sang, energy flowed in each direction, perfectly balanced. There was no force or power that one could exert that the other could not. They were not free, but they were equal.

“Tony…” Loki whispered, unable to believe what he had done. Syla knew. She kept one arm tight around Loki's neck, and grabbed Tony’s shirt with the other. Her small face was filled with hope.

“Tony Fadi now?” she asked, and Tony looked at Loki for the answer.

Loki sobbed for air and nodded, unable to speak. He threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Tony, around he and Syla both, the gaze of the Norns already fading away, his own injury and his undressed and bloody state forgotten. Tony returned the hug, desperately, Syla between them, the three of them holding each other.

“Yes,” Loki said with a hiccup, “Yes, Tony Fadi now.” Syla’s face lit up, her red eyes glowed like rubies. “Fadi,” she said, satisfied, as though finally everyone else was caught up on what she had known for a long time. Tony smiled at her with brimming eyes.

“Sir, I hate to interrupt. There are three concealed quinjets in the air above the tower. Also, in the past 30 seconds I have detected and blocked the bifrost three times. I will not be able to block it much longer. It is more powerful with each attempt.”

Everyone in the room snapped back to the moment. Loki still was a fugitive. Tony still was suspected of conspiracy in the death of the Jotun king.

“I’ll deal with this." Tony said to Loki, “You go. J, call every lawyer I have. Have them contact the WSC, SHIELD, the UN and start talking as fast as they can. I’m going to to visit the new king of Jotunheim. Thor, you’re with me. Romanov…”

Romanov stood up from behind the kitchen counter holding a bottle of bleach. “I’ll take care of this,” she said, gesturing at the bloody smears all over the floor. She pointed at Tony. "You shower. Drop your clothes right there on the floor. Thor, lose the poncho and you'll be fine.”

Tony nodded and turned back to Loki and Syla. “You have somewhere to go,” he said, and it was not a question. Loki nodded, understanding. Syla squeezed her arms around Tony’s neck for one last hug, then latched back on Loki. She waved to Tony, but did not say goodbye. They stood up from the floor. Loki’s newly untethered magic transformed his bloody blanket into light leather and gold armor.

“Tony,” he said, “Tony, I can never thank you for what you have done.”

Tony smiled at him, one hand cupping his cheek. “It was my pleasure,” he said. Loki smiled back at him, cupped his cheek likewise, leaned over to him and kissed him, full on the lips.

Tony moaned under that kiss, and when Loki let him go he rocked back on his heels, his eyes dark. “Um,” he said, and that was all he had a chance to say.

Loki raised his spear in salute, his eyes sparkling. He and Syla dissolved into golden sparks, and were gone.

Chapter Text

It was spring of the following year before Tony was satisfied that it was safe for him to leave New York. He had spent the winter months fighting fires on every side; the Jotun and their claims against him, Alexander Pierce and the rogue strike team, SHEILD, even the UN wanted a piece of him. He had no choice but to give it because so many of his relationships were on thin ice. His saving grace was Thor. Thor attended conferences with his full Crown Prince of Asgard attitude. He declared Tony Stark an ally of Asgard and his own shield-brother. He roared at any suggestion of naming a Midgardian ambassador other than him. He growled at those who tied to steer him into private rooms for ‘informal discussions”. He brandished Mjolnir, crackling with lightning, at one unfortunate UN representative who dared to suggest that the Jotun may have a legitimate grievance.

He was wonderful, and Tony gained a new understanding of how perfect he and Loki would have been as a team. It was not that Thor was stupid, or unsubtle, or lacked nuance, it was that he knew his role. He would be King of Asgard, and kings did not negotiate. They made their wishes known and they expected it to happen. Loki was the one who would have made it happen, with the power of Asgard and Thor’s hammer as his backup. But they were without one of the two, so Thor growled and made his demands known, and Tony had to do all the running around, deal-making, handshaking, negotiating and sometimes flat out bribery. Once it was clear that Thor would not back down, the end result was not in doubt, it was just a matter of how much it would cost.

In the end, it cost two things.

First, Tony gave Ljot, the new Jotun King, the technology he had frantically developed to harness the unique power of Jotunheim. It was a mimic of the abilities Byliestr had hoped to have from Loki’s child. That was enough to seal Ljot’s precarious position as ruler, he was the only who could wield the new technology. Tony had designed it that way, of course, and the power draw was severely limited to a fraction of what it was capable of. But it was enough. King Ljot, tested the device and became convinced overnight that Byliestr had invited his own death with his unending abuse of his slave. Loki had obviously finally snapped and murdered him to end his torment. Ljot had no doubt Loki had fled the realm and would never be seen or heard from again. Tony agreed wholeheartedly that Loki would not show his face again and that was the Jotun taken care of.

Second, Tony gave Stark Tower to SHIELD. More precisely, he gave it to Nick Fury. It was perfect as an uncompromised base of operations he could use to run his bug hunts and eliminate the rogue agents from his organization. The World Security Council screamed about it but they couldn’t stop him. The Bifrost landing site was on the roof, and they could not argue that leaving it in private hands was a good idea. Nick got his base, guaranteed free of infiltrators, highly secure, technologically advanced, and he was moving in before anyone could stop him. Before the end of winter, he was fully operational there, with his most trusted agents. Strike One, among others, found themselves on long, long missions overseas, without communications. Tony kept the penthouse, out of spite more than anything, but he told JARVIS to let Romanov use it whenever she wanted, as a thank you.

The sun was shining but the air was cold as Tony drove to the airport. His lab was packed up and ready to ship, the penthouse was pretty much cleared of his personal effects. Weeks ago, all Stark Industries employees had relocated to a luxurious new facility upstate. There were no more loose ends in New York, and it was time for his to go.

Tony activated his phone and looked at a single message he had received five months ago from an unknown number.

He had not replied, unwilling to draw any attention to that number, but he kept it close to him. His family was safe, and he was finally on his way to meet them. His heart was ready to float out of his chest. He alternated excitement, fear, anxiety, and hope on a constant cycle. He did not know how he had survived the last five months, never mind how he was going to survive the plane ride. He had ordered JARVIS to conceal any and all anomalous records from that location, and he had never checked in, not so much as peeked at a grocery bill. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes. Again and again on the plane he got out his phone and typed out a reply, but he never hit send. He had waited five months to avoid compromising that line. He could wait four more hours.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

He was a wreck when the plane landed in Malibu. He didn’t wait for his luggage, just got in the waiting car and told it to drive. He knew enough that he was in no state to drive himself. His jitters were out of control. He regretted the amount of coffee he had drunk on the plane. He should have eaten more. He should have worn something different. He should have shaved. He should have called before coming all this way.

He sprinted through the beach house, seeing everywhere evidence of Loki and Syla, drawings, coloring pages, light up shoes set neatly by the door, the dishwasher running in the freshly cleaned kitchen. He skidded out on the patio. Two figures were out on the wet sand, down by the crashing waves of the freezing Pacific Ocean. He shouted and waved, and they turned. His heart held still for an eternity, an eternity, until he heard their joyful shouts and they started to run back up the house. He ran down to meet them, his feet sinking into the sand. Syla reached him first, her light feet skimming over the beach, her cry of “ Fadi! ” as she leapt into his arms, her weight knocking him back into the sand, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care, he just lay there and cradled his precious daughter in his arms and let his heart explode out of his chest.

Loki looked down at him, his eyes alive with laughter. He looked well. He looked better than well. He looked happy, and healthy, and whole. He had cut his hair, dark curls framed his face and brushed his shoulders. His face had filled out, the corners of his eyes crinkled, his pale skin of his cheeks slightly pink in the cold air.

“Tony,” he said, reaching his hand down to pull him up. He yanked him into a hug, lifting him off his feet, Syla too, and spinning them all around in a dizzying whirl. Syla squealed and Tony laughed, lighter than air.

“I am glad to see you, Tony,” Loki said, when he put them down again, but his wide smile belied his formal words.

“Me too. For you. To see you. Both of you.” Tony stammered out, and Loki laughed, low and deep and full of joy. Tony felt like a teenager. He was giddy. He could not take his eyes off Loki, he glowed, he was so beautiful, Tony felt inadequate by comparison.

“Fadi, Fadi,” Syla was tugging at his hand, “Fadi, come see!”

Tony allowed himself to be led back up to the beach house. He and Syla climbed the wooden stairs hand in hand, Loki following behind. The wind from the ocean dropped as they entered the more sheltered patio. The big tubs of flowers had been replanted, and white flowers overflowed them the petals almost transparent in the bright sun.

“Fadi look!” Syla called, and held out her small hand next to the nearest plant. Moments later, a blue and white butterfly floated down from the sky, its wings glowing. Syla held perfectly still, and the butterfly gently landed on her fingers. Her smile shone like the sun to Tony's eyes, and Loki’s fingers found his own, as gentle as a butterfly, light and delicate and free.

Chapter Text

Loki did not know what to expect, that night. Tony had come to them, he had held them both in his arms, he had called them darling and precious and love . But still, once Syla was sleeping in her room, Loki was nervous. Syla had taken sole ownership of the room she and Loki had shared. She had had him change it entirely to her liking, the little queen that she was. Now it was a jewellery box, the walls festooned with every sparkling thing, painted with blue, teal and pink. Witchlights glowed on the walls, illusory butterflies floated near the ceiling. It was exactly as she wanted, down to the drawer full of snacks that she solemnly informed Tony she kept “for emergencies”.

Loki had made himself at home in the master bedroom. His excuse was that there was no other bedroom - the beach house was not as extensive as Stark Tower in New York. He had not transformed the room as Syla had hers, but he had made his mark. A desk and chair faced the ocean, a stack of books rested on the bedside table, the closet was half full of his clothes in silk and linen. Loki faced Tony in the hallway by the door. He shuffled his feet.

“I can sleep downstairs, Tony, if you wish. This room belongs to you.”

Tony took his hand. "You can sleep wherever you want to Loki. But if you do want...if you do want to you can sleep here. With me." If Loki did not know better, he would think Tony to be as nervous as he was. That made no sense. He had nothing to be nervous about. This was his house that sheltered them, his defense systems, his advanced technology that gave them this haven. Certainly, Loki could have found a safe-house elsewhere, if he had not had this place to run to. He could have made some semblance of home for himself and Syla. He was not without resources, he was clever, he was strong, and even though he could no longer trust a single one of his old contacts, he could have found new ones. But he was glad he did not have to. Tony had let them stay here, shelter here, in this peaceful place that Syla thought of as home.

They may be equal now, in the eyes of the Norns, but they were not in any other way. Tony still had his power, his wealth, his technology, his friends and allies. Loki had none of that, save his brother. Worse, he was wanted as a murderer, a regicide, a fugitive from justice on three realms.

He knew that Tony had not given him this shelter in expectation of being given favors in return. He scolded himself for such thoughts, whenever they crossed his mind. Tony had proved himself over and over. Such fears were remnants of Loki's past life, raising their ugly heads in his subconscious mind. But still, he was ashamed of those thoughts. He tried to replace them with new ones, with thoughts of Tony coming to him, his equal in all ways.

And here he was, standing before him now, at the doorway to a bedroom that they could share. Loki felt the universe pivot around them, around this doorway. Paths diverged from this place, and Loki knew without a doubt which path he wanted to be on.

He took Tony's shoulders, looked into his golden brown eyes. “Tony, it has been five months since I have seen you, five months since you swore yourself to me, and gave me my freedom. Do you think I would not want to be by your side?”

He pulled Tony through the door, and shut it behind them.

“Um…” Tony allowed himself to be manhandled, indeed, he seemed to rather enjoy it, if the flush of his cheeks was any indication. Loki let it inspire him, and he nudged Tony towards the bed, until he backed into it and fell down on the soft surface. Loki followed him and lay them both down, close, as close as they had ever been.

There was a moment of silence. Tony touched his hand to Loki's face, traced his cheekbone, his nose, his lips. "Loki," he said, "Loki, before we do anything. You don't owe me. You know that, right? You don't owe me this, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. If you just want to sleep, that's fine. We have plenty of time. We have all the time in the world. OK?"

Loki returned Tony's touch. He would have to tell him, but he let himself enjoy the moment for a few more seconds. It was unfair to draw it out, to let Tony think he would have something that Loki was not willing to give. He took a deep breath, and spoke.

“Tony, I am happy to be here with you, but I must tell you this. Whatever there is between us, now and in the future, I will cherish it. But I will not have any such things from you, as were done to me against my will. I will not. Tell me now if that is not something you can abide by. I will not have you inside me. I will not take you in my mouth. I will not kneel or be restrained or let you hurt me, even for sport. I am done with it. All those things. I will never do any of them ever again.”

Loki held his breath. He couldn’t meet Tony’s eyes. His belly churned with anxiety that Tony would reject such an arrangement. Would reject him. That he would not want be with someone who refused to let him do all that a lover might desire. But he could not. He could not. His nightmares would not allow it. He had closed the door on all those things, in order to survive. Even now, many months after the last time, the very idea of allowing himself to be penetrated made him want to vomit. He would not do it. Not even for Tony, his savior, his beloved, his avowed one, that he cherished above all others save his daughter. Even for him, he would not.

Tony put his hand to his cheek, softly. “I understand," he said, "I understand. I never took a bath again after Afghanistan. Some things can’t be undone. You can only draw a line and move forward. I don’t want anything that you don’t want to give."

Loki breathed again. Tony had not rejected him. He had not tried to talk him around. He had not tried to persuade him that it could be different. That he would be different than all the others who had made such use of him. Maybe he would, but Loki would not be sweet-talked into agreement, nor would he have tolerated any such attempt.

Tony smiled and kissed Loki's nose, "Anyway, it seems like there’s a lot still on the table. Some of my favorite things, actually. I mean, you know that, right? That I like things that way?"

“I may have thought about it,” Loki said, noting a light blush spreading on Tony's face. Tony squirmed closer on the bed. Both of them still fully dressed, entwined, they were each aware of the other's growing state of arousal.

"Uh huh." Tony said, his lips a mere breath away from Loki's. "You thought about it? What did you think about? Tell me."

Loki smiled and nibbled on Tony's neck. He allowed the conversation to turn in a new direction, away from darker places. He worked his way up to Tony's ear, where he whispered, his voice low, "Tony, I have thought of many things. Of you in my arms, in this bed. Of what lies under those clothes of yours, of touching every inch of you. Of having you beneath me. Of watching your face when I take you. Of having you on every surface in this room. Of kissing you under the stars and moon, the sound of the ocean below us. Of those delightfully large mirrors in your bathroom. I would bend you over the counter there and let you watch yourself taken apart."

Tony moaned at that, at the list of Loki's fantasies starring himself. Loki's head spun with them. All of them true, all of them played through his mind whenever he was able to divert himself from those ugly thoughts. He often recalled Tony's confession to him, that the contents of his bottom drawer was for others to use on him, not the other way around. He had found himself looking in that drawer with a different eye. Thinking of the leather cuffs around Tony's wrists, wondering if he would allow him to do that.

Judging by his reaction to Loki's list, he probably would.

Tony wriggled into a better position, his rapidly hardening cock pressed against Loki's hip. Loki knew exactly what he doing, and encouraged him, one hand on his lower back, tugged him closer.

"And now you, Tony. Tell me what you have desired."

"Ahhhh Loki, Loki." Tony ground against Loki's hip, clearly finding it hard to marshal his thoughts. "I haven't stopped thinking about you. Not for a single day. I watched the security footage of you in the gym, training with your spear. Ahh. With those tight pants on." Tony bit his lip at the memory and Loki tapped his finger to Tony's mouth.

"Tight pants? Is that all I am to you?" He huffed, mock-offended, making to move away from Tony's rolling hips.

"Ah no, no, no, it's not the pants! It's you! You with your grace and power and beauty and your spear and you...just you Loki...I would absolutely kneel for you! I would love to! I would get on my knees and do whatever you wanted. Anything Loki, if you would let me worship you the way you deserve.” Tony ground his hips and panted, his face flushed red, his breath short. “Do you like blowjobs? Because I really, really, want to suck your cock right now. "

Loki growled at him, at his words painting a picture in his mind, of all that they might explore together. More pressing, Tony's offer of his mouth. Loki rolled onto his back, Tony above him. It had been so long since anyone had done such a thing for him. In that moment there was nothing he desired more.

“Yes,” he said, realizing that Tony was waiting for his response, “Yes, yes, yes. Do it." Then, to avoid disappointment, he added, "It will not take so long, I think.”

Tony chuckled as he scrambled down Loki body and unbuttoned his pants. “I don’t think anything’s going to take very long tonight, to be honest.” He pulled Loki’s pants down over his hips and lowered his head, not bothering with any teasing, just taking Loki’s length in his mouth and sucking hard. Loki groaned and clapped his hand over his mouth, to muffle the sound of his pleasure. Tony was enthusiastic, he did not hold back and Loki could not, either. He lay back on the bed and wallowed in the sensation, of being pleasured, of being the one to be serviced, of his lover’s hot mouth around him. He thought in amazement Tony Stark is sucking my cock, and it was all over. He shuddered and groaned and Tony sucked and swallowed, their hands grasped together. They both lay dazed for a moment, Tony’s head on Loki’s hip, Loki stretched out on the bed.

“ Loki ,” Tony said, urgent, his voice still thick with arousal. Loki pulled him back up. He spun him around so his back was to Loki's chest, one arm holding him firmly, the other pressed to Tony's crotch. Tony gasped at finding himself so easily pinned. He writhed in Loki's hold, working his hips to get more delicious friction, kicking his feet just because he could, until Loki put one leg over both of his and held him still.

“Tony, Tony,” he growled in his ear, “That was wonderful. You have a wonderful mouth and I look forward to making much use of it." Tony panted at Loki's words, he whined and wriggled his hips, desperate for more of Loki's touch. Loki was delighted to have such an effect on his lover. He would not be cruel to the man, not after he had been so eager to please. "Tony," he sucked on his neck, rubbed his hand lightly, too lightly over Tony's length. "Tony, are you ready?"

“Yes, Loki, please!” Tony squirmed but was unable to break Loki's grip. Indeed, the heat in his face and the bulge in his pants told Loki that he was not trying too hard to get away. Rather he was relishing the firm hold his lover had on him.

Loki hummed in his ear, “Please what, Tony?”

“Please more!” Tony gasped out. Loki smiled and pressed the heel of his hand to Tony’s crotch, letting him rub against it. Tony pumped his hips, shameless, driving himself to a climax against Loki's hand, his hot breath in his ear, his lips on his neck.

They lay together after, sweaty and sticky, still mostly dressed.

Loki turned his head to catch Tony’s eye. “You may be interested to know, most mornings I get up early and train on the beach.”

Tony sat up, “With the spear?” he asked, his face alight.

Loki nodded, “With the spear,” he replied.

Tony hummed and tried to look nonchalant. "Don't let me sleep in," he said, "In fact, if you want to wake me up extra early and do a private demonstration right here..."

Loki smiled at him, amused. "You wish me to wake you early, for a private demonstration with my spear?" he asked, straight faced.

Tony grinned widely. “I mean, I'm really not that tired,” he said, smothering a yawn. “If you’ve got any interesting spear techniques that you wanna show me right now…”

Loki pulled him close, this mortal, his lover, his daughter’s fadi , who had given up so much to be with them. His heart was light, their family was together, and Tony seemed to take his limitations in stride. He held him close, wrapped his arms around him, breathed in the scent of him. Coconut and metal, and now the smell of sex. It was intoxicating. It was perfect.

Tony wriggled himself into a more comfortable position, his head on Loki's chest, his hand over his heart.

"Hey, this is pretty awesome," he said, sleep entering his voice. He had traveled from an earlier part of the realm, adding hours onto his day. Loki was not surprised he was tired. He should let him rest, but he could not resist the lazy conversation, laying abed with his lover.

"It is," he agreed, running his hands over whatever parts of Tony he could reach.

"I guess I never would have thought it, you know. That I would have this. A family. A kid. It’s like being married."

Loki's heart sank. He had dared to hoped that he would be enough. That even with his limitations, Tony would still be content with him. But if not...if not, there was one more thing he needed to tell. He should have said it before he bought the man to bed. He hated to ruin the tender mood, but he must. He cleared this throat.

“Tony, I should have told you this earlier. I apologize that I did not. But I must tell you now.”

Loki stopped, and took another breath. Tony propped himself up on his elbow, his expression going from sleepy to concerned. It was cruel to make him wait any longer.

“Tony, it is the nature of the oath that we both have made, that it must not be superseded by any other oath.”

Tony looked at him, nodding slowly, but not understanding what he was trying to say. Loki had to come out with it.

“Tony, you will not be able to be married.”

Realization bloomed on Tony’s face. Loki waited for him to cover up his disappointment, to put a brave face on such a loss. That was the best outcome Loki could hope for.

“To anyone else, you mean,” Tony said, as though such a thing was obvious.

“What?” Loki said.

“I will not be able to be married to anyone else. Other than you.” Tony said, and then, alarmed at Loki's shock, he added, "That is...if you want to! You don't have to think of it that way. Only if you want to!"

Relief flowed through Loki's veins. Loki grabbed his lover, his husband , and kissed him, hard. He rolled them both over and pinned Tony under him, spread beneath him on their bed.

“Yes,” he said, his voice low, “Yes. I do.”

Chapter Text

Tony poured his coffee, the rich smell of it seeping into his sleepy brain. He had been at the beach house for weeks now with his family, and they had fallen into a comfortable routine. They walked on the beach, collected shells and sea-glass, and enjoyed lazy lunches on the patio. At night, they shared bedtime stories with Syla, and once she was sleeping, long nights of exploration for Loki and Tony.

Thor had arrived yesterday, a broad smile on his face and his pack stuffed with secretly purchased Asgardian toys for Syla. She had squealed with delight to see her uncle, the two of them immediate partners in crime. Syla had woken Thor as dawn broke, and forced him down to the water with her. Even now, hours later, Tony could hear her shrieks as Thor flew her around the beach with Mjolnir, skimming her toes into the freezing ocean before lifting them back to the sand.

That left Loki and Tony alone in the house, for the first time. They had privacy at night, of course, but were always aware of Syla sleeping next door. Now, it was just the two of them, and Tony was watching Loki outside on the patio, his spear in his hand. The spear was now so well enhanced with magic that it glowed with its own internal light. It changed length at will, the internal mechanism no longer required, the blade was now gold, not steel. Loki insisted it was still the same spear that Tony had given him. Perhaps under the layers of enchantment it was, but Loki had made it his own, and named it Gjofin. He refused to tell Tony what the name meant, but Thor had nodded and smiled at Tony when he heard it.

Now, Tony cared less about the name of the spear than Loki's decision to train with it on the patio that morning, instead of on the soft sand of the beach as he usually did. He had cleared a space before the glass doors, and was standing still, looking out over the ocean, his back to Tony. He was wearing calf-length pants and a sleeveless tunic, the rising sun glinting in his hair.

Tony lurked in the kitchen, telling himself he was not lurking, and watched.

Loki raised himself on his toes, bounced once and began his warm-up, flowing from one pose to the next, balanced and powerful, graceful and deadly. Tony’s coffee went cold in his hand. He had no idea how to he got so lucky, to have someone like Loki in his life, someone so beautiful, so intelligent, who had been through such pain but still had allowed Tony into his heart. It took Tony’s breath away, that he had come so close to not having this. He was thankful every day that Loki had decided to give him a chance. Loki had trusted him, and Tony was determined to be worthy of that trust. Tony followed all of Loki’s rules, he respected all his limits, and he let him take the lead.

Watching Loki, Tony let his mind wander. His alien prince. His fierce warrior. Perhaps one day, Loki would like to play such games with him. To be the conqueror to Tony’s captured foe. To be the victor and Tony the spoils. Tony shivered. He had no idea if Loki would be interested in such things. It was not that he was not content with what they had, with Loki’s touch at night, his strong hands on his body and his teeth at his neck. This was merely a fantasy, and Loki with his spear was fuel for the fire.

Tony’s cheeks were hot, and he was thinking of heading back to the bedroom for a long shower, when Loki turned and regarded him through the glass. Tony blushed further, and bit his lip, almost certain that Loki knew what he was thinking. Loki slid back the glass door with a wave, stalked into the room, spear still in his hand.

Yep. He knew.

“Tony,” he growled, looking him up and down. He took in his flushed cheeks, the cold coffee in his hand, the beginnings of a telltale bulge in his pants. “You will tell me what thoughts are in your mind, that heat your blood so, my love,” he demanded, and Tony shivered at his imperious tone. Bossy Loki was one of his favorite things. It made his knees weak. He swallowed, licked his lips.

“You,” he said, trying to wriggle out of telling details “Just you.”

Loki suppressed his soft smile, turned it into a smirk, and stepped closer. “Oh, I think there’s a little more to tell than that, Tony,” he said. With a careful hand, he stroked under Tony’s chin with Gjofin , the blade retracted.

Tony tipped his head up, a slight moan escaping his lips at the touch of the spear. His head swam, wondering if this was real or if this was a very vivid fantasy. He tried to speak. “It’s you,” he said again, and before he could stop himself, his mouth ran away with him. “If you, um, if you want to tell me to kneel, I’ll do it.”

Loki grinned at him. “Will you now,” he said, as though considering it, weighing up Tony’s offer.

Tony nodded, “Yeah,” he said, his mouth dry, “and I’ll do anything else you want, too.”

“JARVIS, please alert us if Syla and Thor are returning,” Loki said, his tone mild. Tony swayed on his feet, realizing what that meant. That perhaps Loki was interested.

“Of course, Loki,” JARVIS replied.

Without another word, Loki pushed Tony with the spear. Tony stumbled back. He shoved his coffee cup onto the counter, allowing Loki to force him down the hallway and through the doorway into their bedroom. Loki kicked the door shut and in the same motion twisted Gjofin between Tony’s knees, tripping him and sending him sprawling to the floor. Tony tried to make his moan sound pained rather than aroused, but he doubted he was fooling anyone. He rolled on his back and looked at Loki, standing over him.

Loki let his mask slip a moment, “Tony,” he said, “I will stop whenever you want. Tell me the moment you are not enjoying yourself.”

Tony nodded eagerly. There was no way he wanted to stop. Instead, he said, “Put your foot on my chest and tell me what you’re going to do with me.”

Tony delighted at the flush on Loki’s face at his words. He did not waste any time to do as Tony asked. He set one foot flat on Tony’s chest, balancing his weight between his other foot and the butt of the spear resting on the ground. Tony squirmed, and Loki easily held him in place. Tony let his head fall back, baring his throat, waiting for Loki’s words.

“I’m going to fuck you, Tony,” he said, his voice hoarse. His own arousal was such that he had no silver words for his lover, only the plain truth. “I’m going to strip you and fuck you and cum in your ass, and you’re going to take it.”

Heat washed over Tony’s body from head to toe. Loki could wind him into a frenzy with teasing words, but this was even better. This was a flat promise, and Tony could do nothing but moan and nod and writhe under Loki’s heel.

Loki was as good as his word. Tony lay limp on the bed when his lover was done with him, sore and sated, the marks of Loki’s fingers on his hips and his teeth on the back of his neck. Tony did not let Loki heal his marks, but he did let him hide them from view. Their daughter had no need to see such things. She would not understand the difference between these consensual games they played now, and the abuse that Loki had suffered in the past.

They lay together, Tony’s head on Loki’s shoulder, until JARVIS told them that Thor and Syla were heading back up to the house. Tony groaned and tried to get up.

“Peace, Tony,” Loki said, with a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I will go and make breakfast. You need to recover.” He was insufferably smug at his ability to wreck his lover, and if Tony had the energy, he would throw a pillow at him. He settled for swatting at him with a weak hand, and he rolled himself into the blankets while Loki strolled off, highly pleased with himself.

Tony showered and re-emerged in time to join the others for omelettes and toast. He ignored Thor’s knowing smile and Loki’s wink as he gingerly sat down on the patio table.

Syla had her latest haul of pretty stones and sea glass laid out on the center of the table, and she told them about each one as they ate. She handed over the most special ones she found to her Modi and Fadi, green for Loki and blue for Tony, translucent gems rolled smooth by the ocean. Tony held his up to the light, the sun gleaming  through it. He wished he could save this moment, preserve it and live in it forever, but he knew that there would be many more such moments in the future. Each one would pass them by, but make way for the next, like the butterflies that alighted on the blooms and flew away, the blue wings glowing like the sea-glass in his hand.

Tony smiled around the table, at his family, his heart full of love for them all.

“Cheers,” he said, holding up his coffee cup.

“ Heilsa! ” Thor and Loki replied, holding up their cups. Syla looked at them all, and not to be left out she picked up her cup of juice, said, “Drink!”

And they did.