Chapter Text
Tony lazily eyes another ubiquitous overblown mural picturing battling Aesir and gleaming swords, all painted in vibrant colours that don’t seem to have eroded the slightest by the touch of time. And it looks more or less like the one they passed only minutes ago, though the artist seems to have been a little less generous with the splatters of fake blood in this one.
Truth be told, even a place like the Royal Halls starts to loose a bit of its splendour and impressiveness after having walked around in it for what must amount to several hours by now. His feet are beginning to feel a bit sore and to top it off his stomach has been giving a couple of angry growls, protesting the recent lack of attention.
And as cool a tourist attraction as this might be, it unfortunately doesn’t come equipped with the usual overpriced restaurants and cafes and ice cream shops normally sprinkled around places like this. Perhaps they should head back to their room so he can have the servants bring them something nice to eat, and they can rest up for a little bit. Smiling to himself, he wonders if it would be possible to have that Arnulf guy sent over to give him a foot massage while he’s at it, but then he figures it might not be such an advisable idea after all, tempting as it might be.
“You know, as awesome as this is, both my stomach and my feet are screaming for a break, so I think we might as well call it a day for now and head back, or what do you think?” he says, hands massaging at the small of his back.
“It sounds like a good idea,” Loki agrees. “I’m starting to get hungry as well.”
They turn back again, Loki leading them through another maze of corridors and rooms and hallways, most of which Tony isn’t sure they’ve already passed before or not. He really has no idea how far they are from where they started out – it could be half a castle away or just around the corner for all he knows. He’s long ago lost all sense of direction.
As they turn a corner and head into a hallway, he can quickly tell that this is one area they haven’t walked through yet, though. The corridor is almost ridiculously broad and spacey, as if meant for an entire army of soldiers to march through, side by side. He makes some comment on that, and Loki raises an eyebrow into his direction.
“Actually, we’re just outside of Asgard’s weapons vault right now, passing it by on the left-hand side,” he says with a toss of his head to the wall on their left and whatever lies beyond.
“The weapons vault?” Tony asks, his interest piqued once more. “You mean where you guys keep all your fancy dragon-slaying swords and armour and stuff?”
“Yes, among other things,” Loki nods. “The armoury is large enough to equip all of Asgard’s fighting forces in case there should be an attack on the realm by enemy forces.”
The protests of Tony’s feet and stomach are quietening down all of a sudden, and as a huge double gate comes looming into view, they’re all but forgotten. Obviously, the armoury is housed behind those humongous doors that are more ornamented and gilded than any doors he’s encountered so far.
And damn, he really wants to see this. After having come face to face with endless overblown paintings and stern-looking statues and ornamented furnishing, he’d love to get a look at the combined weapons collection of an entire alien army. If there is even half as cool stuff in there as Thor’s mighty hammer or Loki’s pretty glow stick of destiny, he’d never forgive himself if he passed this one up. It would be like going to Paris and skip out on the Eiffel Tower, only a hundred times worse.
“Can we go inside?” he asks, feeling a twinge of excitement at the prospect.
Loki shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Citizens of other realms are not permitted to enter the vault.”
And Tony feels a sharp twinge at disappointment at that. “Why not?”
“Well, I would not think that you Midgardians allow outsiders access to your armouries either, even if it’s just to have a look, do you?” Loki says with a raised eyebrow.
Okay, so the god has a point. Still…
He comes to a halt as they reach the impressive gilded gates and studies the inscriptions lining them. Not that he can understand a word of the beautifully carved runes, but they’re nice to look at.
“And what would happen if an outsider like me were to enter the vaults anyway? Would I get zapped by some fairy magic spell or something?” he asks, curiously studying the runes. Maybe they’re not just there to be pretty.
He thinks the soft sound he hears is a sigh escaping Loki’s lips, but he’s not sure.
“No, Tony, you would not get ‘zapped’. While the wards placed on the vault will prevent unauthorized removal of weapons or other equipment with rather forceful means, they will not stop anyone from merely entering. Wards are complicated things and will not be crafted without good reason,” Loki explains, eyeing the gates with a thoughtful expression, making Tony wonder if maybe the god himself has once helped placing those ward-things on this place. But before he can ask about it, the god continues.
“It’s very unusual to have guests from other realms walking around the Halls unaccompanied, so the risk of an outsider trespassing has not been deemed big enough to merit any wards to protect against such an occurrence. But it’s still prohibited for non-Asgardians to enter,” he says, this time looking right at Tony instead of the lumbering doors.
“So why aren’t there guards posted outside, then?” He automatically pictures the heavily armed and highly trained guys that would be guarding a place like this back home.
“As it is, the protective wards prevent anyone from steeling from the vault. No guards are necessary. However, there is still a number of guards patrolling certain sections of the Halls, and they might come by here any time,” Loki answers, shifting a little where he’s standing.
“And what would happen if a guard were to… come across someone in there who wasn’t supposed to be there? Would they get like beheaded or something?”
“It depends on their intent,” comes the answer.
And he can’t help it – he just has to ask. “Okay, so what would happen if I got caught in there? I mean, considering that I’m an honoured guest and all?”
This time there is definitely a sigh escaping Loki’s lips. “You would be thrown into the dungeons until Thor comes back to vouch for you and can assure the guards that you had no ill intention to the detriment of Asgard and are to be set free.” he says, lips pursing into a discontented grimace.
“That’s it? I’d have to sit in some dungeon for a couple of hours until Thor gets back, and then I’d get off scot-free?” Doesn’t sound like a too-terrible prospect.
“Yes,” Loki confirms, but he doesn’t look happy in the slightest. “But spending time in the Asgardian dungeons is not something I would recommend, not even to an honoured guest.”
“Eh, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten my ass thrown into jail for a few hours,” Tony says with a shrug as he steps up to the gates, a fingertip trailing over a band of runes. “I think I could handle it.”
Loki takes a step forward as well, a crease of concern marring his forehead. “Tony, the dungeons are not a nice place. Believe me, I know. Even if there most likely won’t be any guards in the vault right now, it’s an unnecessary risk to take.”
Well, since when was he someone to let himself be intimidated by the puny word ‘risk’?
“So tell me, would you get into trouble in any way if we were to waltz in here and be spotted by a guard?” he asks, wanting to make sure.
“No,” Loki says quietly. “Slaves wouldn’t be expected to question their masters, even if they’re doing something that’s not permitted. No one would place any blame on me for that.” He makes a pause, then speaks more forcefully. “But you do not want to spend time in the dungeons, Tony, even if it’s just for a few hours, so please reconsider this.”
“I’ll risk it,” he says. “I’m just going to take a quick peek, and then walk out again. Nothing more than that, alright?”
Before Loki can offer any further protests, he pushes the handle down, being rewarded with a soft creak and a slow opening of lumbering doors. He doesn’t even have to use force, the doors just slide open as if by their own volition; he suspects that there’s some magic involved in that but he’s not even going to ask this time.
He blinks at the sight that greets him as the gates part, the sharp gleam of blank armour piercing his eyes. And it’s even more impressive than he thought – along one of the walls hang perfect rows of sharp swords stretching out as far as the eye can see, the well-polished metal glittering like the summer sun reflected on the surface of the sea. Each of them looks like they could skewer a lion in half. Or a dragon. Or anything, really.
Above the swords hang similarly long and perfect lines of pointed spears, creating a forest of jagged metal. He can just imagine a front line of soldiers turning that on the advancing enemy, making them run into a wall of merciless, deadly metal. Like in Braveheart, but a hundred times more badass.
Along the opposite wall, there are full bodies of armour, some of them so full that they give the impression that there are actual soldiers beneath all that steel standing there at attention, waiting for the enemies of Asgard to strike so that they can grab the nearest sword and march right into battle. He can’t help but wonder how heavy all that stuff must be to wear. Not like his own suit that moves by its own volition as opposed to hanging off him like normal plates of metal would.
A bit further away, there are other weapons as well, though he can’t fully discern them from this distance, but they look bigger and more dangerous than the swords and the spears. And he wonders if they’re meant to be used against anything at all human or Aesir-like, or for creatures of an entirely different kind.
And before he even realizes it, he’s already stepped inside the humongous vault, as if his feet are moving by their own volition. But he can’t help it – he just has to go inside and see this stuff up close.
He can hear Loki follow him on silent feet, though his steps are hesitant and reluctant. “Just a quick peek, you said,” he all but whispers, cautiously looking around.
But there are no guards to be seen, so Tony steps forward, undeterred, to the closest sword hanging on the weapon racks, and lets his fingers trail over it. It’s a magnificent piece of work – no, a piece of art – the hilt gleaming with golden inlays, beautifully carved into the shape of a dragon’s head. He doesn’t dare touching the blade, it looks so sharp that he’s afraid he would cut himself even touching just the flat of it, but he curiously closes his hand around the hilt, feeling the cool metal against his skin.
Wow. Maybe he should have his suit fitted with a retractable version of this. Now wouldn’t that look awesome, and he could even--
Then, without warning, there’s suddenly a rough voice booming to their left, the sound echoing eerily between the metal items on the display.
“Who goes there?”
And Tony can feel his entire body freeze up at the sound.
Ops.
But whereas Tony is frozen to the spot, Loki is not. In the flash of a second, he moves, quick as a viper. With one swift movement, he has pulled off his own shirt and discarded it on the floor, then grabbing hold of a flabbergasted Tony and pushing them both up towards the wall, twisting so that he ends up with his bare back scraping against the rough stones, arms pulling Tony into a tight embrace, their bodies pressed flush against each other.
And Tony is still far too confused and shocked to even speak a word as the smart clicks of steel-plated boots come to a halt right behind him. He can only turn and stare as he slowly disentangles himself from Loki’s arms and pushes himself up from where he has braced himself against the wall on either side of the god, whose arms slowly let go of him and fall to his sides.
The very much bearded and helmeted head of a guard is staring him right into his face, the look on the man’s features reflecting every bit of the shock and confusion that Tony is feeling. His hand is on the hilt of the sword at his belt, but at least he’s made no move to draw it yet.
“Man of Iron?” comes the incredulous exclamation as he blinks at Tony, no doubt recognizing him by the very much un-Asgardian clothes he’s wearing. Well, that and Loki’s company too, he supposes.
“Uh yeah, that would be me,” he manages.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the man barks, sounding angrier now. “No outsiders are allowed inside the weapons vault and you are trespassing without permission! Explain yourself at once!”
But before he has a chance to speak up, Loki’s smooth voice cuts him off. “Please forgive my master, Halvar,” he says with a courteous bow of his head. “He was being very… ah, anxious and didn’t wish to… hold off. I am afraid this was the nearest secluded place, as inappropriate as it obviously was for such activities.”
And it’s like it’s only then that the guard is really seeing Loki, but as his gaze roams over the god, taking in his half-clothed appearance, there is a nasty grin spreading across his face.
“Oh, I see,” he says, the previous anger having been replaced with obvious glee, before he takes a step back, his hand dropping from the sword hilt. “Well, then. I will let your trespassing slide this once, but don’t ever come in here again. Leave at once and take your business elsewhere.”
And Tony wants to say something, to protest – it’s not what it looks like – but before he can get his lips to move, Loki snags his shirt up from the floor with one hand and grabs hold of Tony’s nearest arm with the other, discreetly pushing him towards the exit without a word.
And Tony meekly follows, feeling like the biggest idiot in all of Asgard.