Chapter Text
The circumstances in which he would arise at a later hour than dawn were few, but never none. Loki had spent most of the night tangled in his dark quilts, chasing sleep with the kind of desperation that only ensured it would stay well out of reach. Two hours, perhaps. Three, if he were feeling generous, and Loki was not often generous with himself.
Now, standing before the mirror and looking like mayhem, he lamented not procuring a sleeping draught the night before. There was no time to tend to his hair as it demanded. He briskly stepped into the bath and scrubbed his body with soap, the smell of dark berries and citrus helping to calm his mind for one brief, stolen moment before he had to move into action once more.
Loki walked over to the chest containing his collection of potions, from which he extracted the small vial filled with shimmering teal liquid. He poured it into his palm and then swiftly raked it through his hair. He knew he would later regret being so careless with it, but he had little choice at the moment.
"Lagfæra," he whispered as he used the boar-bristle brush in an attempt to distribute it evenly. The waves smoothed into silky-straight strands, save for a stubborn coil he forced back from his brow with the brush. It sprang back almost immediately. With a growl, he went to the washbasin to scoop a handful of water and tame the wretched curl once and for all.
The room was bathed in coral and orange light, and he knew he had to leave.
Asgard was famous for many things across the realms, mostly for their barbaric ways. And all that gold, of course. The stark difference between the lush greenery of Alfheim, the boring infrastructure of Midgard, and the ostentatiousness of this place was jarring. Tony had to cover his eyes when he stepped out of Heimdall's fortress onto the really long bridge connecting to the city, grimacing. He quickly turned that moue into a smile because he was not about to be flogged for offending the Aesir. It was very ugly, though.
The opportunity to visit the realm presented itself on a silver platter, and honestly, Tony had had no intention to take it. He had heard about how seriously the Aesir took blood purity and all that. Tony could never even pretend to be of pure elf lineage, what with his lack of pointed ears and pretty much any other elvish features. Basically, he looked Midgardian as hell. And he was eccentric and strange, if he was to believe literally anyone who met him ever. But.
He was also a genius. And charming. That had to count for something even in the realm of the gods, right?
The letter he had received as a form of invitation (though he suspected the option to reject it wasn't really there) had read:
ASGARD'S CROWN PRINCE NATAL DAY
Anthony Edward Stark of Alfheim and Midgard, you have been bestowed by Asgard's royal family with the honour of attending the crown prince Thor Odinson of Asgard's Natal Day celebrations, which will consist of a fortnight of feasts, balls and leisure time for the guests and courtiers alike.
Be assured, these festivities shall fare like no other.
Signed,
Odin AllFather
Frigga AllMother
Thor Odinson
Loki Odinson
It had been sealed with green wax and everything. Serious business, the prince's birthday. The guards escorting him and the rest of the Alfheim dignitaries looked at him funny when he chuckled. He masked it as a cough, and they stopped paying attention. Almost. They kept stealing glances at him, but they didn't seem openly hostile, which he counted as a win. Tony kept walking with his head held high and his hands in his pockets.
The guards led them to a golden (of fucking course) boat that was floating in the air, and opened the small door for them to enter. Maybe Tony had been spending too much time on Midgard, but what was wrong with regular old cars? He scratched his head before boarding the… boat? Ship? Plane? Whatever.
Fifteen minutes later, they were all standing outside the bright double doors of the palace. They were like 10 feet tall. A bit excessive, in Tony's humble opinion. Behind the Elvish diplomats, Tony could see presumably important and very impressed-looking people from Vanaheim and Nidavellir arriving. Tony did suppose it was at least a little bit impressive to stick to a theme that aggressively.
To his right, a sharp yet smooth voice was shouting orders left and right. Tony's skin tingled, and he stood on his toes to look for that voice that felt like velvet and steel. His eyes zeroed in on a head with long (like, waist-length long) raven hair. The light caught in it, and an ethereal blue shimmer looked woven between the strands. He was about to step forward, chase that voice, touch that hair. He was intercepted by a heavy hand landing hard and careless on his shoulder, making him stumble forward, nearly falling on his fucking face.
"Thor!" the pleasant voice hissed, sounding alarmed behind Tony. Tony went to turn around, the magnetic pull not easy to elude.
He was interrupted again by a gigantic arm around his shoulders, pressing him close to the crown prince, who smelled like he had not touched soap or water in a while. Like horses and battle, he smelled.
"Do not mind my brother, friend Anthony! For he tends to exaggerate a great deal," Thor boomed, laughing like it didn't matter at all. Brother?
It did, though. Had Thor done what he did to Tony to literally anyone else, he might as well have started a war. Dignitaries and diplomatic guests were not to be touched without explicit or contextual permission. Much less almost have a bone broken because the prince was too negligent in containing his strength.
"Your Royal Highness, I don't think he was ex—"
"None of that. Let us enter! My dear friends await your arrival, as did I." Thor said that like it was supposed to be a compliment, but Tony didn't feel like it was. It kinda felt like a threat. Like: play nice with all of us or suffer the consequences. Also, don't complain at all or I will bury you deep in the dungeons. Alright, then.
"Thor, please, I need you to greet—" that nice voice again, way closer to Tony's back. He was just about to turn around and finally take a look, only to be brusquely brought right back and dragged inside the palace after Thor whisper-shouted, 'Know your place, brother.'
Tony could feel the rest of the guests' eyes burning holes behind his and the crown prince's head. Not entirely sure how, he knew he could feel the 'brother's' heavy, disapproving stare, too. And for some reason, he wanted more than anything to turn around and meet that fury with his own eyes.