The first thing Tony thinks upon landing in Jotunheim is holy shit, it's fucking cold!

Which isn't surprising, seeing as it is the realm of Frost Giants, but the shock is still enough to make him bend over, and instinctive move to shield himself as much as possible.

His faceplate pulls back up, the heating systems activate, and he really needs to get moving if he doesn't want his armor to rust or freeze him in place.

It is hard, making his way towards the palace, because if the armor wasn't meant to be walked down paved streets then it definitely wasn't meant to be put through deep snow. But he carries on, because Tony has face spies and kings and ravens to get here, so what's a little bit of cold water going to do to him?

It takes minutes, or hours, most likely not a day because there has been no sunrise, but eventually he makes it.

The palace is… well, it looks broken. Walls that end in sharp cuts, towers that seem to spring from nowhere. Everything is hard stone and ice, and although Tony's sure that part of it is simply this place's aesthetic, there is no denying that a war was fought here. And this place is ruins left behind.

For the first time in his life, Tony is beginning to regret having gold on his suit. He doesn't want to be associated to Asgard in any way.

It's a little late for a color palette change now though, so he carries on. Around him, he can see shadows moving, big ass shadows that are suspiciously humanoid looking. His sensors pick up an alarming amount of heartbeats, a scientifically fascinating lack of body heat, and all of that adds up to one very alarming fact:

He is surrounded by a shit load of very real giants.

He has never felt so small. In every sense of the word.

But Tony is Tony, and he doesn't show fear (especially when his faceplate is still on, that helps.) So he walks with his head held high, straight towards the only figure that is clearly visible.

Tall and blue and sitting on a throne. Three guesses as to who that is.

"You come through the Bifrost, yet are not of Asgard," Laufey rumbles. His voice is low and rough, and Tony gets a feeling it always sounds like a growl. So different from Loki's, he cannot help but note.

"No, I'm not. I'm from Ear - Midgard," he answers. Who knows if these people have heard of "Earth" before, and he isn't going to risk a communication error this late in the game.

He is not going to doom Loki because he didn't chose his words correctly. That would be the ultimate insult.

"And what business does a Midgardian have here?" Laufey leans forward - and that is a Loki-move right there, when he wants to intimidate, to push. "Does the All-Father hide behind weaker men now? Or do you wish to speak of the war I have started long ago? I find both options unlikely, and yet can think of no other."

Really, there is only one answer Tony can give. It is also a question, and the only thing that matters. "Where is Loki?"

As soon as the name leaves his lips, he hears mutters all around him. A few hisses even. Tony ignores them.

"Unlikelier still," the King muses, leaning back once more. He looks at Tony appraisingly, though who knows what he is looking for behind the full armor gettup. He seems to find it though, and when he speaks again his eyes never leave Tony. "Leave us."

The court around him mumbles some more, but complies. A few giants give him one last inquisitory look as they leave, but soon enough he is alone with the King.

Laufey looks at him for a moment, expression unreadable for reasons far beyond its alien features. "How do you know him?" he asks eventually, tone as neutral as ever.

Tony squares his shoulders. "He's mine."

"No, he is not."

The simplicity of the response is more disconcerting than any long rebuttal. The King sounds so certain, as if it were his call to make. It is maddening. It just might be true. "He isn't yours."

"No, not yet."

"You can't have him!"

Tony lost whatever tacit battle had been going on as soon as he raised his voice. The situation reminds him far too much of his own arguments with Loki, of how flustered and temperamental Tony would get even as Loki remained stony and aloof. It isn't that his lover is incapable of emotion, to the contrary, it's that his god has long learned to hide behind a mask of calm certitude and slight disdain.

"Perhaps not. Perhaps none can. No being of flesh, at the very least." Laufey leans forward, eyes narrowing dangerously. His next words are spoken much more harshly, like a threat. "But if the realm beneath our feet lays will take him, then I at least will have second claim. My blood and my scars, he is more mine than yours."

Tony closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. "Look, I just used up all my quota of cryptic talk on a creepy raven, can't you be clearer?"

When in doubt, fall back on irreverence. When has that not worked before?

"What do you know of Loki Laufeyson?"

The non-sequitur would have thrown him off balance if Tony wasn't totally used to Loki pulling the same move. "I know he hates that name."

Laufey laughs at that, bitter and cruel. "The Spearbreaker has done good work. To take a child, a shaman born from Ymir's line, turn it against its home and deathen it to its song. To steal the heart of our Realm as he does it." He takes in a deep breath, his exhale more a growl than anything else. "He would see us waste away into nothingness."

"It isn't Loki's fault."

"Who is it that unleashed the Bifrost?"

Tony takes a deep breath. "So, this is revenge?"

"No. It is a trial."

It is funny, Tony thinks bitterly, how often trials are imposed on those who never asked. And yet they do it anyway.

Through dangers untold, I have made my way here, said a movie once. He had watched it with Loki, and his love had enjoyed it so very much. So had Tony, but where the human saw only a young girl and a quest, the god saw tales of childhood lost and love despite envy.

"How is this a trial?" Tony asks, trying so very hard not to glare.

If he knows the rules, then he knows how Loki will triumph.

And if Loki cannot triumph, then Tony will know how to help him cheat.

Laufey draws himself high. "I owe you no answers, mortal man."

"Oh buddy, you owe me way more than that," the human replied. "You took my stuff."

"He isn't yours."

"Yes, he is."

"He is my son."

"No, he is not."

As far as Tony is concerned, Loki has no father. He came into being one glorious day, fully grown and fully Loki. What happened before was just a prelude to a story that begins with an offered drink.

It's a much happier story than the one with parents in it.

"Ah, perhaps not." The King says finally. For a moment, he sounds so old and so sad, and Tony almost pities him.

Almost.

"But he should have been," Laufey continues, drawing his head high. "Still could be."

Tony doesn't say anything. He knows the King isn't finished.

"Jotunheim's soul, he could have been. Its death he was instead. A perversion. And who's fault is that?" Laufey's lips curl. "Shall we punish a child for being corrupted? If its nature is still true, can he not be saved? This is the trial."

"No memories. No past. And thus he who was Loki will reveal himself. We will see his soul, and judge it accordingly. And either we will welcome our shaman, or we will kill the kinslayer."

Laufey smiles, full of satisfaction and pride.

"And in the short time he has been here, he has begun to recreate our salvation. The Fimbulvetr. The Casket of Ancient Winter."

His red eyes come to land on Tony, his gaze intense and resolute. "He is not yours. He has proven himself to be ours."

Tony says nothing. The King's words dance in his mind, over and over again. He hears them, looks at them through every possible angle and when he is done, there is only one conclusion left.

"That makes no sense."

He blurted out the words before good sense could stop him.

"If he doesn't remember anything… If he can hear Jotunheim, or whatever the fuck shaman do… Then of course he's going to go along with it! Of course he's going to listen, because he knows nothing else. It makes no sense, it's rigged.."

And the brilliant man stops, because he just realized the truth.

His love was cunning, and took after his father in that. Both of them, as it turns out.

"You knew that," Tony whispers. The words are both awe filled and condemning.

"He is my son." The king is unrepentant, and why should he be? "And when I have the chance to have him back, did you think I would not be willing to cheat?"

Tony thinks of all he would do for Loki, all he has done, and finds that he cannot blame him.

The conversation could have continued, maybe, if it hadn't been for the shift in the air. A sudden noise, a swell of energy. The ghost of something so alien yet so familiar that it fills Tony's hear even as it breaks it.

The energy readings dance before his eyes, tell him everything he already knows, and just like that, the decision is made.

It has been a lovely chat, but he needs to go now.

He doesn't even say goodbye, doesn't acknowledge the King at all as his repulsors kick in.

He has managed to be rude to the rulers of three different planets, Loki will find that so funny.

As soon as he is in the air, he sees the palace in full. Sees the highest tower surrounded by a storm, wind and snow swirling around it. A shield of winter around one room.

One person.

His flight is unstable. His armor damaged.

But Loki is there, in the middle of this pocket blizzard, and so Tony doesn't even hesitate before rushing towards it.

There is a raven above his head, much smoother and elegant in his flight. It doesn't have an armor though, and so it doesn't follow him when he enters the storm.

The wind is like a whip, the snow is like stones, and they hit and tear at his suit as he makes his way towards the tower.

White on his fingers, white in his vision, creeping into his suit and suffocating him. It stabs at his skin like thorns, pulls him away like a thousand hands, but he pushes through.

On and on again, until he finds a wall to cling to. To guide him. Pulls himself up, higher and higher, until his fingers meet a window ledge and he pulls himself up.

Perched on the windowsill, it takes a moment for his vision to clear. When it does, he stumbles forward, hand reached out.

Loki is there. Loki is there, in front of him, and he is blue, and he has claws, and Tony doesn't care, because it is Loki, and -

And he isn't looking at him. His eyes are still on the glowing blue stone that is making the walls shake. There is something like delight, like love in them, the look he used to give Tony once.

It is comforting and terrifying all at once, so much so that the air leaves his lungs and he is left choking at the sight of it. It is comforting, because it is Loki, and it is home. It is terrifying, because that look is not aimed at him.

For the first time since he left the tower, Tony is confronted with the very, very likely possibility that Loki won't want to follow him home.

"Hey, snowflake," he says, when he can finally speak. Loki hates that nickname, so he's going to react, snap at him, right?

But no, he only curls further into himself, eyes half closing in bliss. The blue stone shine brighter, rays shining through Loki's fingers. The temperature around them drops, snowflakes forming from nothing.

The suit interface goes wild in its readings, displaying temperature curbs and energy patterns that Tony is incapable of interpreting, save for one: the green rises and falls that depict Loki's magic. Tony measured them once, after badgering Loki for days to get him to agree to it. It didn't have any true use at the time, really, but it was science, and Loki -

That of all things is what spurs him into action, makes him reach out towards his love despite the suit reading telling him "fuck no!", despite the cold he can feel seeping through his armor. Frost coats the gold-titanium alloy as his gloved hand come to rest on Loki's shoulder.

The reaction is immediate.

Tony goes flying backwards, crashing into an ice and stone wall that crumbles around him when he falls onto the ground.

"No!" Loki hisses, voice much lower, much rougher in this form. Or maybe it's the magic. "No, you shall not take him! You won't, you won't!'

It's hard to get back up. He may have sprained an ankle, and his armor is getting dangerously close to "too damaged to function". Still he manages, voice coming out as a croak when he speaks. "I'm taking you home, Loke."

But Loki doesn't listen, just curls in a protective ball around the stone. "He is here, I know it…" he mumbles. "So close."

That… That is something. More than he thought he would get.

What had the raven said?

He is looking for you, but in the wrong place.

He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, doesn't want to lose Loki forever because he acted too soon, but he cannot stop the hope swelling in his chest. It is an almost alien feeling after all this time. "Who are you talking about?"

Loki shakes his head. To block Tony out. To clear it. "Ice cubes on the tongue," he continues franticly. There is madness in his babbles, desperation. It breaks Tony's heart, even as it soars with joy when he hears the rest. "Brown and golden, red…. He's right there…"

He needs to be careful, needs to talk him down slowly. But he has something to work with now, something that comes from Loki's own desire to come home."I am, Loki. I'm right here." He speaks slowly, deliberately, like addressing a spooked animal. He raises his arm slowly, palm turned up as an offering. "Just… Just look at me. I'm here, I'm real, and I'm taking you home. Just, just listen, alright?"

Loki calms a little, but barely. He is looking at him now, which is something, but he looks so desperate, so lost. "The snow, the wind. They know," he adds in whisper, eyes wide as he wills Tony' to understand, "they sing!"

"And I'm not saying to ignore them! I just…" He swallows, and his voice drops to a murmur. "Just take my hand, and we'll be out of here. Just put the stone down…"

That was a mistake. The fragile, tentative look on Loki's face gives way to pure rage. "No!" He snarls, eyes shining bright with a sudden surge of magic.

It is all Tony has the time to see before he is slammed against the floor, head hitting the ice and stone so hard it rings. And then something heavy lands upon him, and of course it's Loki.

Loki, with his eyes wide and his hair whipping around his face. His lips parted, most likely in a snarl that Tony cannot hear. Strong legs squeeze at his armor, crushing it slowly, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

Well, babe, if that's what you're in the mood for, he thinks dizzily. It is a stupid thing to say though, so he abstains.

Anyway, with so little air in his lungs, he really doubts he could.

Loki claws as his face, and his faceplate just flies off. The cold and the abuse must have made the junctions weak, which is kind of upsetting all things considered because the damn thing keep falling off no matter how many times Tony tweaks it.

He'll never have the chance to fix it again.

He'll never get a chance, because Loki's hand is at his throat, claws digging into his skin, and Tony can't fight back. He won't. He knows Loki is strong, stronger than Tony will ever be, but still he cannot bear the thought of hitting him, of bruising blue flesh. Of giving him anything other than love, even as Loki destroys him with blind rage.

"I won't let you take it," his love growls. His voice seems so very distant under the roar of blood in Tony's ears. "I won't let you take him, I won't, I won't I won't!"

I'm here, Lokes. It took me a while, but I'm here.

But he'll never get to speak those words, will never get to say anything again. His vision is dimming, there is blood trailing down his neck from where Loki's claws cut into him.

He is a dying man.

Isn't he entitled to a dying wish?

There is only one thing he wants, only one thing he can think about. It is what moves his arms even when he strength fails him, what keep him breathing long enough to get it.

It takes all that he has to put his hand on the back of Loki's neck, and even more than that to pull him close.

But when those lips touch his, oh, what bliss!

It is nothing but a peck, a touch of lip against lip, and even that touch burns. Cold seeps into his flesh, blackens his skin. He'll probably look goth as fuck when Loki pulls away, all pale skin and dark lips.

He doesn't care though. This is all that he gets, and it is as perfect as it will ever get. And if it is Tony's dying wish, then it is also his last gift to Loki.

A kiss goodbye.

"A...Anthony?

A kiss to wake a slumbering Prince.

"Oh, Anthony, I… Oh Norns!" Loki babbles above him.

Loki should never babble, Loki should always be smooth and confident, but if it means that Tony gets to hear his voice one more time, then he will take it gladly.

He smiles, or tries to, but it hurts when flesh is frozen and death still near. But his vision is filled with red that fades to green, and the sight makes his heart burst with so much joy it eclipses any pain that might have been.

Loki. Loki.

"Oh my love, I am so sorry! I will save you, this I vow! I will save you!"

Awe, come on, that's my job!

But Tony isn't going to protest when strong arms wrap around him, lift him against a hard chest that smells of all that he has ever loved. When a voice fills his ears, telling him words he doesn't understand but are the sweetest lullaby he could hope for.

The world turns dark around him, and in Loki's arms, he falls.

The prince of Asgard sits alone in a living room, in a house, in the English countryside.

The wisest course of action might have been to return to Asgard, as his recent actions have not endeared him to SHIELD any. Thor does not care though: he is not their vassal, and he will not bow to their wants when they have proven to be most cruel.

So he stays in England, in Midgard, for that is how he can be closest to his brother. That is how he can bear the wait, the uncertainty, as another does the duty Thor himself should have done. His own love comforts him as best as she is able, as Thor will let her, and that makes inaction bearable.

He is pulled out of his thoughts by a tapping against the glass.

He looks up, and nearly bursts with joy.

The raven looks at him from behind the glass, its black beady eye somehow bearing a smile.

It is all he needs to know.

He settles back in his chair, closes his eyes in contentment and relief.

He will leave soon, will rush back towards his brother, take him in his arms and weep from relief. He will apologize, and he will love, and pray that Loki will allow both.

Soon. Not now.

For now, there is only one man Loki will want, and Thor would never think of intruding.

The raven comes to perch on the King's shoulder, whispers a few words and flies away.

When the King visibly sags in relief, the Queen smiles.

"Fortunate tidings, then?"

"It appears we both owe a mortal an invaluable debt," is the King's reply. "Or at the very least, I do."

"For saving my child, that man can demand my heart's blood that I would give it gladly," the Queen responds. "Though I doubt it will come to that."

"Most likely not."

"An apple, on the other hand…"

Odin groans. "One matter at the time, wife."

"Is it such a horrible thing to consider? That a man so deserving would be granted our lifespan?"

"It is not granting the apple that I dread," the King answers gruffly. "It is the comments I shall receive from our son that I shudder to think of."

And the Queen laughs and laughs.

The Ice King stands in the desolate room.

The furniture is broken, the mirrors have shattered. It is all ruin.

So much has been lost in but a moment. Jotunheim's heart must ache as surely as his own, he thinks.

He closes his eyes, ready to drown his sorrow in the one of an entire Realm.

Only, instead of weeping winds and moaning snow, he hears something very different.

A song, new but familiar, youthful yet ancient.

His eyes snap open, and rushes forward. He digs through the rubble, throws away broken wood and tattered blankets, digs and digs until he sees it.

There, on the ground, a small stone with a snowflake carved upon it.

A small stone, but growing, and glowing a familiar blue hue made of a thousand of wisps of winter.

Gingerly, he brushes his hand against it, and Jotunheim sings.

The King smiles.

The first thing Tony hears is very loud beeping.

The first thing he smells is sterilizing products.

The first thing he sees is Loki's face inches from his own.

"Have you been that way the whole time?" he asks, voice hoarse. "Cause that isn't nearly as romantic as the books made you believe."

Not that it isn't a pleasant sight to wake up to. Not that it isn't pleasant to wake up at all. He hadn't been sure if what he last heard before passing out had been a dream or not.

Loki chuckles, weakly but happily, leaning back just enough so that Tony can get a better view of him. "I apologize, beloved," he murmurs, wiping his eyes with his palm. "I heard you stir and I… Well, I was both relieved and very frightened."

"Scared that I would kick you off the bed?"

"Scared that it was only my own wishful thinking. But a dream," Loki corrects. His expression crumbles. "I dreamt of you very often, you see, even when I…"

"Hey, hey," Tony murmurs, reaching out with a weak arm to take Loki's hand. He cannot reach any further, but his grip around those long fingers is strong. "No crying here. We're all fine, we're all safe."

Loki doesn't listen, because he never does. He shakes his head, a few stray tears escaping the corner of his eyes - which, for Loki, basically equates to loud bawling. "I forgot you, Anthony. How could I ever? And you came, and I attacked you!" He lets himself fall on top of Tony, clutching his T shirt and weeping into the crook of his neck. "Oh, you must believe I would never have done such a thing voluntarily! You must…"

"Sssh, Lokes. Snowflake. It's alright," Tony whispers, rubbing his back as he lets him cry. "It was all magic, and magic sucks if it isn't yours. That's all there is to it. It's the bitch magic."

Loki chuckles weakly. "You speak nonsense even now. I don't know if it's a sign of comfort or anxiety on your part."

Tony swallowed. "I'm just…" And crap, he's going to cry too.

Loki is still soaking his T-shirt though, so what the hell. They'll both be emotional messes. Pepper will be so proud.

"I'm very glad I have you back," he says, voice growing thicker with each world. "It was hell, Lokes, and you know I don't even believe in that stuff. But you weren't there, and I… I just wasn't living without you." He clings to Loki tighter. "I missed you, Loki, I missed you so much that I couldn't…"

"I missed you as well," Loki cuts him off gently. He raises his head, lifts his hand to cup Tony's cheek. "Even when I could not remember you, I missed you," he added urgently. "You are a part of me, Anthony. Deeply ingrained, so very crucial. I could not suffer you being taken away more than I could suffer the removal of my own heart."

Tony reaches out, tears blurring his vision. He smiles. "You're home."

"I am," Loki whispers. "I am."

The kiss he gives Tony is gentle. It's perfect. It's an anchor into this moment, where Loki is here, Loki is with him, and he better get used to that because Tony is never letting him go ever again.

His god pulls away, barely. Tony wants to cry because the kiss didn't last forever.

"In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer," Loki whispers against his lips.

Tony chuckles. "It's spring, you idiot."