Archive of Our Own ^beta

The plains were long, barren and cold. Tony trudged through the snow, heavy cloak dragging behind him as the sodden fabric caught in a drift. It didn’t matter. It was always better to have protection against the winds when one travelled on Jotunheim. Much more than the snow, it was the frigid gale that ate through one’s bones and tore one’s warmth from their soul. 

Still. It would not stop him. 

He paused in his trek, eyeing the ridiculously even landscape. There wasn’t the slightest mountain at the horizon… but then, the storm might be responsible for that. Visibility was certainly not at its best, and Tony really shouldn’t have started his travels in such a foul weather. But the weather on Jotunheim was always bleak at best and unmanageable at worst. This was as good as it had gotten for one month of waiting, and Tony didn’t have the patience to wait anymore. And he couldn’t afford to either. 

He looked back to his exposed palm, the compass etched into his skin glowing softly with the seidr of the one whose lifethread the norns had tied to his own. Its arrow still pointed forward, inching slightly westward. 

But the arrow spinned horizontally, this time, not up, or down. There was a direction he could follow, a constant. He was in the right realm. 

He walked on. 

His hand was impossibly not cold, as though completely immune to the wrath of the elements, as though touching ice and snow and arctic winds was as natural as the warmth of a bright meadow’s sunlight. It was disconcerting to have a single part of his own body so unaffected by something that was slowly eroding his endurance everywhere else. But Tony had never been worried about strangeness, or peculiarities. They fanned his curiosity instead, catching the attention of his quick mind and curtailing his boredom for a moment. 

It certainly beat the bland whiteness of Jotunheim’s eternal fields. 

At least, he was still walking in the right direction. 

For all that the infinite expanse of snow was visually boring, it was still infinitely treacherous. Most jotnatr he’d asked had told him that this endeavor was foolish, that going that way would bring about his death. Aesir were not meant to sustain the cold in such a way, even the jotnar themselves were leery of going that way without proper preparation and caution. 

But Tony’s mark did not lie, and everyone who saw it recognized its truth. 

One’s Compass was a sacred thing. They showed the norn threads that connected all things, the link between two souls whose destiny was intertwined. Not everyone had one, but those who did were considered blessed. 

Or cursed. 

Tony didn’t believe in either. The Compass didn’t dictate his life, or his mind. Meeting the being on the other end of that thread would not change him, or magically fix the mess that was his life, but it was something. 

A constant. 

Tony seemed to be looking for those these days. 

Perhaps because that mark was the only thing he had left. The only thing from before.  

He always had it, for as long as he could remember. It earned him quite a few jealousies, but he’d never cared overmuch, and he’d never been overly curious about it either. Why would he? He had everything. A powerful family, status, tutors, room to experiment and servants at his beck and call. 

And then his godfather had taken regency at the death of his parents, and Tony hadn’t noticed, but that was the beginning of the end for him. 

Now he had nothing but the clothes on his back and the light on his palm, pointing ahead once again. 

Certainly, it was the most pitiful mindset to be in to look for one’s soulmate. Who wouldn’t want to be a fallen noble’s consolation prize? 

But Tony had nothing better to offer. Nothing more honest. 

It wasn’t that he’d never been curious. That he’d never felt lonely — though, arguably, it was supposedly difficult to feel lonely when at the heart of a crowd of admirers, and bedding a few of them each day. He’d still managed, however. He’d played the part and shared his body, partaking in pleasure and pleasantries, all without being able to shake off the lingering unease that came with every interaction. Though, admittedly, it was only now that he’d noticed, now that they’d all left to leech off someone else’s fame and fortune, and now that he found himself someone else’s beggar instead. 

They’d all been fake. Those friendships, those grand declarations of affection and loyalty, they’d been nothing but opportunistic lies. 

But Tony had been too young and naive, too privileged to notice. Not until he’d had it all snatched away from him, and all the doors he’d thought he could turn to had closed in his face. 

But he’d still had that mark. And, ridiculous as it was, he’d clung to it like a drowning man. 

Of course, it hadn’t been convenient. Otherwise, Tony would have long met them. Had they been asgardian, Tony would have probably sought them out during one of his youthful misadventures, maybe simply out of boredom. But they hadn’t been. 

Tony had done the math long ago, stealing star charts and charting the course of the arrow on his hand. It mostly pointed skyward, at an angle, and circled asgard in a very conspicuous pattern, and once Tony had mapped it out, there was only one possible place that he could find his mate to. 

He’d been horrified, of course, and never let anyone know. 

Because, while he couldn’t be blamed for refusing to seek out a jotnar mate, it wouldn’t stop people from eyeing him suspiciously for being tied to a monster in any way. Each tale of wedded bliss, of the beauty of a soulmate bond, of the perfection of matches only damned him further. Even the few tales of broken bonds and eternal enmities wouldn’t be enough to protect his reputation. How could his soul complete that of a jotun beast? No, best keep it under wraps. 

Perhaps Obie had come across his calculations. Perhaps he’d known, and that was the reason why he betrayed him. But Tony didn’t quite believe that. Obie was greedy, Tony had simply been a fool for not seeing it. 

He found himself grateful, now, that his compass had shown him such a remote place. He’d started to see the rot under the gilt of Asgard’s walls, tasted the corruption and the lies it fed upon. 

The pretty and proper behavior of the court now sickened him, the hypocrisy of their actions and the snideness of their behavior turned his stomach. 

He was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d once been like that, that it had taken him so long to realize how prejudiced he’d been, how shallow. Ashamed of how he’d simply written off his soulmark and all that it could have meant simply because of a few stories. 

Still, he wanted to try. To start anew, even if he maybe didn’t deserve to. 

He checked his palm again, the delicate lines that formed his mark pulsing with power. Either his mate was close, or they were impossibly powerful, but Tony would bet on the latter. 

Soulmarks were rare, but common enough that he’d seen people with a gloved hand before. There were books and treatises about them and he’d read them all. Most were about how to decipher the hidden meanings in their runes, to read through the symbols a hint of where to find their mate, the paths to follow, figure out intricate coordinates from the abstract lines etched on their hands. Of course, it was more of a divinatory type of science, one that, more often than not made sense on hindsight, or whose deeper meaning was entirely too personal to be universally interpreted. 

Still, they gave hints at the path to follow, and that was the reason why people sometimes called them Compasses.  

His was the only one that changed, that moved. The only one that was a compass in truth and not simply in essence. 

Sometimes, he liked to tell himself that his was the only true Compass, that all others were mere imitations, and that the name actually came from the one that laid in his palm. It was ridiculous, of course. Soulmarks had been in existence long before he’d even been born, people had looked to their Compasses for guidance since the dawn of time. 

Still. His own was special.

‘The more intricate the mark, the more magical power it requires’, that was common knowledge. When he’d been small, when he’d been brought to show his mark once to the Goddess of Marriages for a blessing — palm up so that the arrow couldn’t be seen, because even at that age he’d been a secretive little shit — and even she had exclaimed at how intricate and beautiful the surrounding designs were. She’d pointed to him the most obvious symbols, constellations and runes, exclaiming over how many there were. 

She’d said the seidrkonna who would be his fated must be a powerful sorceress — and that was without the knowledge of the delicate arrow that had been steadily pointing to the sky at that time. 

Tony hadn’t corrected her, though he’d long suspected that the one on the other end of his mark wasn’t a woman. Or at least, not only a woman. But that was yet another of the taboos of Asgard, yet something else that would be held against him by association, argr relations and vaeske genders being about as ill-seen as seidrmadr. 

Still, there was one thing he agreed on, and took pride in, for all that he kept it properly covered under a silken glove. His mark was beautiful. The lines were delicate and intricate, careful and even knotwork detailing along the outer edges of the disc, constellations dotted through a compass rose, along with alchemical symbols and runes. 

There was a meaning woven through those, something nebulous and more of a general idea than an actual quote, but Tony liked to think that the clear progression of the signs could be read, something that called to the sort of principles his soulmate would be living to. 

Many times, even before he’d decided to seek out the being on the other end of that arrow, he’d found himself stroking those signs and wondering at its meanings. 

Fate and chance might throw pitfalls on your way, but a wanderer never lacks in luck. 

Faced with rules unbending, one should strive for change. 

Adapt and create, smoke and mirrors help you navigate treacherous waters. 

Strive for improvement, but find balance in your heart. 

And there were others that he couldn't quite make sense of, something about life, or death, about finding fortune on the bend of a path, or chance encounters bringing estranged people back together. 

There were so many ways to read them, so many paths one could take to read this. Still, in his times of doubt, Tony had unknowingly taken this comfort from his mark. He’d let his eyes glance over those signs and divined whichever meaning helped him most. Perhaps it was silly of him, but he’d always thought of it as his soulmate offering him guidance in his times of doubt. 

It was ridiculous, of course. He didn’t deserve anyone’s guidance, and even less that of a being he’d shunned and refused all his life. 

And yet, here he was. Making his way through the storm, hoping to figure out how to fix something he’d never given enough time to even bother breaking before. 

What little time he had left to give, anyway. 

His chest ached. 

Perhaps it would be worth it regardless. 

The snow was thick and heavy around his boots. His feet sank into the mush, dragging him down, making him stumble and fall. Again. And again. 

He was getting tired. But then, it wasn’t really surprising. What had he expected, rushing off in this mad gamble? What had he been trying to do? What had he thought he could accomplish, heading out into the wilderness like that?

It seemed he would just disappear under the layers of snow, never to be seen again. A bit faster a demise than he would have liked, but maybe perhaps it would be easier like that. Obie would surely appreciate having one less headache to deal with. 

One knew it was the end when not even spite could motivate you to stand up and get moving again. He chuckled, curling under his cloak. The white mist in his breath burnt his nose. The snow grew heavier on his back, piling up with each second that he stayed unmoving. 

But Tony was just too tired. Too fucking tired. 

He looked at his palm again. The one thing that had remained a constant in his life. The green glow almost seemed brighter than he remembered. Almost blinding. 

Beautiful. He’d always found it beautiful. 

“Have you really come all this way only to die on my threshold? How rude.”

Tony huffed, half lidded eyes glimpsing the blurry shape leaning over him. How strange, why was there a sky above him? He’d thought he was under his cloak. His cloak was red. That man was blue. 

The world went black. 

Warmth was something people took for granted. As was pain. Tony hadn’t thought he could ever be so grateful for the pain that came as blood rushed back to his limbs, electrifying each last bit of skin he had on his body. 

He hissed. 

His soulmate glanced his way from where they’d been critically examining the frostbitten fingers on his non-marked hand. Their eyes were very, very red. 

Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew that red. That he’d seen it before. 

“So,” Tony broke the silence, awkwardly clearing his throat. He searched frantically for something to say. Anything. “You come here often?” 

Immediately, Tony wanted to take the words back. Looking around, he could clearly see that the place was inhabited. It looked like it used to be an ice cave, but it had been outfitted in a way that looked incredibly comfortable to the eyes of someone who’d been living in back alleys and forest scraps for the past few months. 

There were ice pillars holding up the highest roof of the cave, carefully carved with designs that looked to be a mix of vegetation and alchemical symbols, the ceiling gradually shifted into a geometrical ice dome inlaid with vibrant colors. Tony couldn’t tell from down there if they were precious gems or simply colored ice, or even glass, but the way sunlight shone through it certainly seemed magical. Sparkling colored lights were refracted through the entire room, shifting according to the path of the sun to bring into focus the sculpture carved into the walls. Or perhaps grown from there with ice? Tony couldn’t tell. And he wasn’t about to move, not with his mysterious savior currently keeping his fingers from falling off, or the warm water scalding the skin of his feet. 

“I live here. I have not changed homes since this compass appeared on your hand.” Red eyes looked back at him steadily. Strangely enough, for all that they were pointing out his failings, they did not sound accusing, or reproachful. They were… impossibly patient. As though polished by aeons, rough edges softened, gentled, worn down like a smooth stone rounded by the flow of the river around them.  

“Wait. Does that mean you stayed here because of me?” 

His soulmate smiled, teasing and mysterious. How that combination could work, Tony had no idea how it was possible, but they made it work. 

“People on Jotunheim aren’t sedentary by nature. Our land moves, changes. The seasons make places inhospitable, and then release them to us when they are once more fertile. It is our way, but I understand it is not Asgard’s way.” 

Tony averted his eyes, looking at the thin blue hands holding his own clasped in their careful grasp. They were surprisingly graceful, sure and knowledgeable. Just like the thin face, with elegant brows and sharp cheekbones, and the long mane of dark hair were nothing like the beastly monsters from the tales of jotnar one found in Asgard. 

But then, neither were the giants from the settlement before, those from whom he’d asked for direction. Even though they’d called themselve members of a tribe, even though their settlement was nomadic in nature, they had not seemed beastly. Nor savage or bloodthirsty. 

Tony didn’t know why he was even surprised. He’d already known to discount everything he’d heard on Asgard, he’d promised himself he would come with an unprejudiced mind. 

“Jotunheim isn’t Asgard’s way.” 

Perhaps it was simply easier said than done. 

“I gathered as much,” they smiled, sharp white teeth glittering in the low light. In fact, everything about them was sharp and lean. Angles and intensity, a buzz of restrained energy that couldn’t be measured but simply felt dangerous. 

The large spiraling horns on the stranger’s head were also quite intimidating. The bone was black as pitch, spiking off into three curled point on each side, with veins of glowing green symbols running through it, as though the horns themselves were a conduit for magic. Impossible. No children of Ymir could possibly become a magical conduit, their body couldn’t possibly contain enough magic to create such a thing. 

And yet, all of that laid dormant before that gentle facade, kindness crafted by age and power, and somehow that was even more terrifying than if they’d been peacocking and throwing barbs. 

Because power that did not need to be paraded about and thrown in your face was power that was sure of itself. They had nothing to prove. Not to anyone. 

Tony felt strangely humbled. 

“Can I have your name?” 

They smiled, “I am Loki. I rule over these parts. Though I do not have subjects, per se. I simply oversee the overall balance of the lands.” 

“Does that mean you’re a king?” That would explain the sheer assurance they exuded. 

Loki huffed, amused, “No, not quite. I have been, long ago. Long before you were born, even. But it has been long since anyone alive last remembered that time.” 

Tony looked at his palm. “I was born with that mark. Your mark.” It was strange to admit it. That the compass he’d lived with all his life belonged to this strange jotun. “How old are you?” 

Loki’s eyes narrowed with mirth. “Old.” Tony made a face. Loki laughed, “Let me put it that way: old enough to be patient enough to wait for you. Old enough that the few millennia it took you to grow into a man were not chafing on my wanderlust when I remained in this place. Old enough to be more legend than ymra anymore.” 

Tony frowned. “Isn’t ymra a really old name for jotnar?” 

Loki hummed, and released Tony’s hand. Tony blinked, distracted by the realization that he didn’t feel pain anymore. 

“You’re incredible!” 

Loki huffed a laugh, “Thank you. ‘Tis but a trick, but a useful one. Are you well, now?”

“Yes,” Tony smiled, relief making him feel light, “Thank you.” A shadow came over his mind, the reminder that, for all that the deadly touch of the cold had left him, it did not make him truly well. He dismissed it. 

Loki did not, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Perhaps I should mention that I can smell lies.” 

Tony gulped. “Well. There might be something else, but I don’t think you can do anything about that.”

Red eyes glittered with the challenge, something eager in their depths. “You should show me. You never know.” 

Loki certainly seemed powerful enough. But was he stronger than Gungir? Than the entire Odinforce? 

Still, it was best not to argue. He didn’t doubt that Loki would be capable of a ridiculous amount of stubbornness if pushed, and Tony didn’t really feel like fighting about something so small. 

And it would be better if they knew from the start. They were already so ancient, they were probably going to expect a few millennia of time before leaving Tony off to die. It was best for them not to get such expectations so soon. 

He removed his tunic, exposing the malignant sigils writing against the skin of his sternum. 

“I am sorry,” he said.

Loki’s eyes darkened, the storm roared outside the cave as power, vicious and green seeped around them. They growled, eyes flashing a golden green, clawed fingers dripping with magic. Their eyes met his, fangs bared. “This will hurt.” 

This was all the warning Tony received before the clawed points of each fingers pricked his skin, surrounding the Odincurse, before digging in. Tony howled, clinging to Loki’s arm, to their shoulders, holding in for dear life and trying to writhe away at the same time. 

It hurt. Norns, it hurt. 

But at the same time, it felt like the scalding water had on his frozen skin. A purifying fire scouring the taint from his flesh, immolating the curse and leaving him free. Cleansed. 

“Fuck.”

And then, Loki pulled his claws out, fist clenched over a writhing mass of darkness and taint, poisoned words and disgustingly dripping seidr. It struggled, sending coiling strands of poison back towards Tony’s chest, snapping and sticking to him, looking for a new foothold in his heart, a new way to attach to him and feed on his lifeforce. 

Loki snarled, ripping his hand out and tearing the curse off. It writhed on his hand, alive with the destructive intent that had been imbued into it; with the viciousness of all those who had denounced him in his trial. Tony shuddered as he looked at it, a primal sort of fear taking ahold of his heart at the sight. 

Loki looked at it, their features now almost back to normal, except for their still golden eyes and the smattering of scales that now painted markings on their skin. A shimmering array of greens, from the brightest, golden tinted chartreuse to the deepest, darkest emeralds. They had found stillness again, a serene sort of power as they prepared to mete out justice to the magic in their hand. 

“Burn.” They said, and the curse did, screaming as it died, a noiseless thing that shook Tony to the core. Green flames wreathed Loki’s hand, swallowing the black seidr, eating at it until there was nothing left but brightness, nothing but the magefire and its green glow throwing sharp panes of shadow against Loki’s face. 

They turned to him, eyes eerie and alien, their power unmistakable. “Are you well now, Anthony?” 

Tony didn’t even have to wonder how they knew his name. 

“You aren’t jotun, are you?” 

“Did I not tell you? I was never a jotun, not as you think of them. I was ymra, long ago. But time and duty has changed me, as it does all things.” 

Tony had never heard of ymra. Not really. Weren’t they part of the jotnar lore about their origins? But then, even if ymra were a race from before jotnar, that didn’t answer what Loki was now. 

“What are you?” A chilling suspicion came to his mind, “Are you… Are you one of the Old Ones?” Tony hadn’t even believed that they existed. 

Aesir were gods. They were immortals, powerful, had the power to influence the world according to their domains. When they saw the tiny mortals scurrying about with their too short lives, they thought themselves invincible. 

The Old Ones were something else entirely. A legend, a myth, the closest thing they had to higher beings besides the Norns. 

Magic on the scale Tony just saw was impossible. That curse had been wrought by Odin. By the King of Gods. By the force that held the entirety of Asgard together. It had sunk into his bones, poisoned his blood and eaten at his core, all without Tony being unable to do anything to even slow it. He had thought himself a dead man walking. Loki had disposed of it as though it had been nothing but a naughty octopus that didn’t want to stop latching on. 

“Do you even know what that means, Anthony?” 

Tony’s eyes were wide with something that wasn’t quite fear. And yet, awe had never felt like this before, there had never been that strange shiver deep in his gut, desire melding with terror, admiration and reverence blending in a mixture more potent than any drug he’d ever partaken before. It felt as though they had stopped hiding the colossal scale of their power now that Tony had figured them out.

“I have looked over the wanderers of the world ever since there was a world to roam,” Loki’s voice echoed strangely around them, many and layered, wrought with magic older than the stone under their feet, “Those who have lost their ways and those who have yet to find it. Their travels and the lessons those had taught them. The stories they brought with them and shared around a meal or a fire. The sparks of inspiration and the great realizations that were born from those journeys, big and small, physical or metaphorical, deliberate or unplanned.” 

Tony stood frozen. Loki’s eyes flashed gold, before their lips twitched with the beginning of a smile. “Does that answer your question?”

It answered many. “This is why you waited. That is why you aren’t angry at the time I took to come here.” 

Loki hummed, a glint of appreciation shining through their amusement. “Indeed. You took the long way to reach this place, but that path has taught you many things. The shortest route is not always the best, after all, and I have learned patience.” their eyes grew half lidded, a languorous edge in their words, “And I will admit, I am fond of knowing that you have some experience.” 

Tony let out a strangled laugh. Some, yes. He’d thought himself worldly, thought he’d seen and met and bedded many people through his life. But it was probably quite insignificant compared to one who’d lived to see mountains rise and fall, and oceans swell and dry up in turn. 

Loki’s gaze grew knowing. “You are feeling intimidated. I did not want that to happen.” 

“Who’s feeling intimidated?” Tony said, “Do you really think that’s enough to make me quake in my boots or something?” 

“Then does that mean you will stop feeling sorry for yourself?” 

How did Loki manage to be both stern and teasing at the same time? There was a strange edge of lethal mirth in their words, as though an unpredictable disaster was just about to be unleashed. It made Tony wary and fascinated in equal measures. 

“I… I haven’t been? Why would you think that?” At least Tony hadn’t thought so? But then, he supposed his attitude as he went looking for his mysterious soulmate had been more than a bit dreary. 

Loki raised an unimpressed eyebrow his way. 

Tony looked away, “In my defence, I thought I would be dying.” 

Loki sighed, the coiled viciousness disappearing as though it had never even been there. “Do you truly believe this to be the only reason?” 

Suddenly, Tony felt angry. “I lost everything! Why wouldn’t I be feeling sorry for myself? Why wouldn’t I be sad, and angry, and lost? Why shouldn’t I be feeling betrayed and sorry for myself? Everything I worked for, everything I built for myself, even my own realm, my home, all of that is just gone. What am I supposed to do with that? Am I supposed to be happy? Am I supposed to just accept what happened and move on?”

His blood boiled, hands cutting through the air with each word. He found himself walking it off, pacing back and forth under Loki’s gaze. 

Loki’s eyes glittered with satisfaction, “Are you?” 

“No!” The word escaped without Tony’s permission. “No. I’m angry. I want them to pay, to rot, to make them burn! I want what’s mine returned to me, and I want them to lose everything they earned in their betrayal, no, I want them to lose everything. An eye for an eye.” 

“Interesting,” Loki smiled, sharp and hungry, “Anything else?” 

“I… don’t want to be unhappy. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction. I don’t want to fail or be destitute and miserable. They want me to be small and weak. They wanted to see me a beggar. I want to be happy just to spite their ugly mugs. I want to see them despair. And regret. And beg for forgiveness.”

Loki hummed, without judgement, “They must be pretty damn important, then, if you want them to still be on your path?” 

Were they? It was true enough that they still haunted him. Tony had spent his life with them, looking up to and trusting his godfather, sharing his time and secrets with the others, with Ty, and Sunset, and Justin. And yet, did he still want them in his life? 

“No. No, you’re right. I never want to see them again. I never want to set foot on Asgard again.” 

“Are you sure? I could make it happen.” 

Tony believed it. After having seen them destroy Odin’s death curse with the same ease of a gardener crushing a slug underfoot, Tony absolutely believed that the God of Stories and Journeys would be able to get him into Asgard even after his formal exile. 

“There’s nothing left for me, there. Everything that I had been able to call mine was destroyed, or stolen. Every nice memory has been tainted. What would I even do, if I went there?” Tony slumped, “Even vengeance would be useless. Even if I got back everything I lost, I don’t think I would want it anymore. Is that strange?” 

“It is the path you followed. You’ve changed, it is not a bad thing.” 

Tony sighed, before Loki guided him down. He hadn’t even realized that he’d moved to the pit, a small recess where pillows and furs had been stacked in. He sank down into it, groaning as it swallowed his body into blessed softness. He found himself almost instinctively looking for warmth, for the embrace of a lover, for comfort. It had been too long since he’d been able to curl up with someone, to snuggle down under the blankets with people he could trust.

He looked at his palm, the compass now mostly dormant, though the needle pointed to Loki still. Loki folded himself down next to him, humming before their finger traced the ring of the mark. “Do you feel lost, Anthony? I can help you find your way, if you wish it.” 

Tony eyed the arrow as it followed the path of Loki’s finger, “I don’t want to follow the path someone else decides for me. I’m sorry, I know you mean well, but I don’t want to be bound by the Fate’s design, or anything grand like that.” 

Loki smiled, shaking their head. Their gaze was soft. “Of course not. I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to. I am the God of Wanderings, not of Fate or Predestination. Not of anything orderly like that. No. But I can make it so that this,” their finger crossed through the compass, sending an electrifying bolt of lust through Tony’s belly, “point you to your heart’s desire.” 

Tony’s breath caught. Loki’s voice was a sensual purr in his ear, a threat and a promise wrapped together in velvety lushness, images of bodies wrapped together in delicious bliss and intimate abandon flashing through his mind. Loki would be a cruel lover, Tony could already see it, demanding and devious, challenging, just the way Tony liked it. 

He shuddered, pressing closer to their greater frame, feeling them dwarf him, the lithe line of their torso against his back, the warmth of their breath against his ear. 

“Alright,” He breathed. “Alright.” 

He was lost. He was well enough aware that he’d only come here because that was the only thing he had left. Because, with no real idea of what he could do or where he could go, following the arrow pointing to an unfamiliar path was the easiest choice he could make. A compass, to tell him where to go when every other path was closed to him. His last resort. 

Loki probably already knew as much. Tony grimaced. He already didn’t being anyone’s second choice, he didn’t want to imagine what it would feel like to be their last. 

He looked at his compass again. It still faithfully pointed to Loki. 

He wished life could be so simple. 

There was a gentle glow, golden light seeping into the green, shimmering through his skin. The arrow started spinning aimlessly. He huffed, bitterly. Apparently, even his heart was undecided. 

“Would you like to eat something, Anthony?” There was something weighed in Loki’s words, as though there was something more to that question, some underlying meaning to it. 

He was hungry. Surprisingly so. 

A platter hovered before him, many dishes he couldn’t name offered to him, some of them fragrant, others sour smelling, but there was one that caught his eye, the familiar aroma of warm bread and spicy sauce, vegetation he could almost recognize piled upon it. When he reached his hand toward it, he saw his compass pointing straight to it. He blinked, eyes turning to Loki’s satisfied smile. 

“Is that normal?” 

Loki leaned back, lazily, putting their muscular torso on display. The arrow started traitorously pointing their way once again. Tony hurriedly took hold of the plate in order to hide it, but Loki’s gaze was knowing. 

“One does not always need to have a destination in mind in order to feel fulfilled. Perhaps what you need today is more of a place where you can learn yourself once more. If you wished to take the road again, of course, I would be happy to go with you, should you allow it. Or if you should want time for yourself, to figure out what you truly desire and need, then it is your right. You are free, as you have always been, to make your own decisions, and walk your own path. And it is also your choice, who you would wish to travel alongside of you.”

But maybe Tony didn’t want to travel anymore. He’d done that for half a year, aimless and destitute, he’d slept in doorsteps and been chased out of his temporary shelters, begged and scraped for any hint of food and shelter. 

He was tired of walking, trekking, searching. He wanted rest. Comfort. In his mouth, the berry sauce burst with flavor, hints of foreign spices teasing his tastebuds. He moaned, slumping with relief. It was warm, savory, the dough hot and fluffy, the crust still tender. Nothing like the dried chunks of stale bread he’d been thrown, and been grateful for before. 

Each mouthful felt like bliss, as though it fed not only his body but his very soul. As though it soothed a deep wound inside his heart. 

Soon enough, there was nothing left on his plate, and a comfortable drowsiness had fallen over his mind. 

“What if I don’t want to leave?” He asked, “Would that be alright?” The thought wasn’t a new one. One didn’t grow up with a soulmark without thinking of the ramifications. Having someone that could be there for you, complete you, a friend, an ally that you could rely on. 

He’d never thought he needed it. He’d always been mostly self reliant, and he’d valued the approval and attention of many over a single, controversial one. It was only the most recent events that had shown him how lonely he’d always been, how even when surrounded by smiles and accolades, he’d never had any true friends. It was only then that he’d considered that perhaps, perhaps, the one on the other end of that compass would be different. 

The need for that had become much starker in recent months. A different sort of person, with different priorities, building a different sort of relationship. 

Tony hadn’t let himself believe in it. If people he’d grown up with — people he’d trusted with his life — had betrayed him so easily, how could he possibly trust a perfect stranger? 

But Loki was different. They were alien, otherworldly, even to someone who was used to be held on a pedestal by others. They were generous, in a strange way, as though they never expected relationships to be held in a businesslike manner. As though they expected nothing back for what they freely gave, they expected no compensation for spending time with Tony, for offering him care and affection. 

And they felt familiar, in a strange way. As though they’d met before. 

“Of course. As long as you need. If you don’t object to my company.” 

Perhaps Tony’s surprise made him terribly pitiful. Perhaps it meant that he’d lived his entire life in a world of warped values. 

But Loki didn’t judge the tears in his eyes, nor the relief in his sigh. Instead, they welcomed his body when it slumped against their own, cradled him close and offered comfort. 

Their hand caressed his hair, tugging gently as they carded through it. Tony felt as though he could almost purr, melting from the pleasure and comfort that cradled his senses. It had been so long. 

Still, Tony had to ask, “Why?” 

Loki blinked golden eyes at him, eerie patience in their gaze, “Why do I allow my mate to find rest in my home? Because I want to, of course.”

But it didn’t make sense, it was too easy, too kind.

“But what do you get from this? I don’t have anything to offer anymore. No riches, no home, nothing.” 

“You have yourself.” A glint of greed flashed through Loki’s face, the scales growing ever more prominent over their blue flesh, blues, teals, spring greens and emeralds swirling over their exposed skin, mesmerising, tiny glittering gems harder than uru and infused with impossibly potent seidr. Tony could tell just by looking at them that these were not ordinary scales, no lizardskin or mertail. He knew how they would feel under his fingers if he caressed them. How they tasted.

Ymra. He’d heard the word before, he was sure. 

“How does that possibly compare?” 

He knew that word, though it had changed through the centuries, the millenia since people had last called them thus. Since they’d last known their true nature, and the secret of the jotun skin they sometimes wore when speaking with others of the high races. 

Loki scoffed, something indulgent and tender in their gaze, “Fortune can be found in any turn of one’s path. Luck, and lack thereof, changes like weather, favoring, then unfavoring its children. What had immense worth a millenia ago is now mere pebbles in the hands of today’s lords, what used to be beggar’s fare is now served on kings’ tables.  But there is no end in the worth of a soul, of their skills, of their feelings.”

Ymra. 

Dragon. 

“Do you collect them?” But how did one ‘collect’ a soul? 

Their claws had lengthened, bright azure and green wings sheltering them both, keeping Tony safe under their canopies. Tony eyed the golden patterns etched upon the delicate membrane, a pledge of love in a language long forgotten by any As. But Tony could understand it, could feel his heart burn with the echo of those words. 

He remembered them. 

“Only one. The same soul, born and reborn again through the ages, stumbling upon my path. Similar and yet never the same. My darling phoenix.” 

Tony’s heart twisted. “I don’t always find you, do I?” 

Loki’s words were soft, gentle, “No. You walk your path, in whichever way is best for you. And we do not always meet, and you are not always mine when we do. But I fall in love with each and every form you take, and each life that you allow me to share is one blessed with the fire of your life, until you decide to depart.” 

“Then, this time, I will stay.” Tony wasn’t even sure what he was offering, wasn’t sure why it was so very important, but he knew it was the right thing. 

He understood now, the wariness that had plagued him. The loneliness. The need to life hard and party all he could to fill the hole in his chest, the urgency he couldn’t even understand. He’d thought it was the thought of finding his soulmate that had made him wary. Thought that finding this place had been a last resort. There was a weight in his heart that he’d carried for as long as he could remember, a heartbreak that had made him think he would never be able to give his heart to anyone. 

Because it already belonged to someone. Because Loki had held his heart since long before he was born. 

“But I’m not them.” It was important to say as much, though Tony didn’t believe Loki would have an issue with that. Didn’t believe Loki would ever forget. 

“I know. But I look forward to getting to know you just the same.” Tony let his eyes well up with a grief not his own, and Loki wiped off the tears they could not cry for their previous mates that had not remained. “And if you chose to go, then I will mourn you all the same.” 

“I won’t.” Tony knew, with a certainty that wasn’t his own. “I don’t know you yet, I don’t love you yet, but it feels like it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall for you.” Being around Loki felt comfortable, safe and familiar, and yet at the same time, thrilling and exciting. Arousing. The memories were still faint, still barely there ghosts of half remembered dreams, but he did know this, “My travels were long to find you. Many lives to explore the world on my own and experience the hardships of life. I think, now, I would prefer to only walk with a companion. I am tired of loneliness.” 

Loki smiled, a relief that would not let itself be spoken in their gaze, “As you wish. As you wish, my phoenix.” 

And Tony smiled, soothed down to his soul, and let himself fall into the gentle embrace of sleep, dreaming of a firebird who had sealed his power and a dragon who waited time and time again for when their paths would cross. 

He could feel the great size of Loki’s serpentine body looping around him, their amused grumble and their gigantic size a long forgotten comfort, their gentle but powerful breaths ruffling his feathers in his slumber. 

He remembered the embers of fire dancing under his fingers as he forged, the infinite expanse of the sky gliding under his wings, lives lived and lost, betrayals and loves and joys and tragedies. 

He remembered, and he smiled, because Loki’s wait had come to an end. Because neither of them would be wandering alone anymore. Because, after so many years and lifetimes, they’d finally found each other for good. 

In his heart, the embers of the firebird’s soul unfurled; the seed of eternity mingling with the magic of the dragon who’d laid claim to his soul. 

On his palm, the compass burnt anew, its arrow pointing unerringly to a heart that was already his to claim, its great beat echoing slowly under his ear. 

There was peace.

And the promise of future happiness. 

Till the end of time.