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.