There's a wrenching behind his navel, and then Tony Stark is thrown forward, almost violently. It feels like his muscles are being pulled through a very tight, narrow tube; all around him he sees a kaleidoscope of colors, a swirling vortex of greens and blues and reds. He is vaguely aware of the other man's hand still on his arm, and supposes he should be grateful for that, but mostly what he's focusing on is trying not to vomit.

When they land, they land hard, and Tony spills from his captor's grip, rolling a bit before coming to a stop less than an inch away from the edge of wherever it is they've fallen—it's some bridge type thing, made of a material that's too thick to be considered glass but too heavy to be plastic. He can feel some sort of electricity crackling up from the bridge and into his body, making the arc reactor hum. The flashing of colors continues just below his eye; it is a moment before Tony realizes the colors are now coming from the bridge.

Behind him, he hears the other man getting up and walking over to him. "Anthony," he starts, and Tony rolls over, wincing.

"If we're going to be talking for a while, it has got to be 'Tony'," he says. "C'mon, I was only 'Anthony' when I was in trouble for drinking too much liquor from Dad's basement stash."

The man holds his hand out, and Tony takes it, surprised by his strong grip. "Fandral," he introduces himself. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Tony Stark."

"Yeah, uh," says Tony, trying to get up and discovering it is much easier to just lie here, with the electricity humming in his ears and the strange, star-ridden sky spinning above him. "That's kind of really weird that you know my name; I mean, seriously, who are you, and where am I, and please tell me this is some sort of rescue mission Rhodey set up because honestly, I like pranks, especially when they involve my life being saved."

Fandral frowns. "Who is Rhodey?" he asks, and maybe for the first time Tony notices, really notices, his accent, and how strange it is—like he's British, or maybe German, but not.

"So you aren't with the Navy," he says, and tries to laugh, but it comes out kind of flat. Fandral just keeps staring at him, like he doesn't quite know what to do with him; after a moment, he holds his hand out again.

"Come with me, Anthony," he says.

"Tony, come on; you had it a second ago, Elvis."

Fandral pauses, his eyebrows coming together. "I apologize, Anth—Tony, I do not understand—"

Tony just shakes his head and breathes out hard through his nose, taking Fandral's hand and forcing himself to stand on uncertain legs. "Don't worry about it," he says. He unwraps the jacket from around his head and slips it back over his arms—the fabric is rough on his cut shoulders, but he's too exhausted and confused to complain. They start down the bridge, the moving colors beneath their feet disorienting Tony—it's like being in a rave, except colder—and are nearly to solid ground before a voice, unfamiliar and deep, calls to them:

"How did you get past me, Fandral?"

Fandral stops and winces, and Tony pauses as well. "Oh fuck," he says, "there are more circus freaks?"

"Heimdall," Fandral replies, ignoring Tony's jab. "I thought you had seen us returning."

"You know very well I had not," Heimdall growls. "Although you called for me, I did not see you land on the Bifrost. Who is the mortal, Fandral, and what business does he have here?"

"No Midgardian has set foot in Asgard for several centuries. I thought I would take him here, show him around, then bring him back home."

"Sorry, you keep mentioning Asgard, what's Asgard?" Tony asks, loudly, but Fandral ignores him, keeping his eyes on Heimdall. Both of them are quiet for a long time; finally Heimdall says:

"Do not cause any trouble, Fandral," and turns away. Fandral lets out a sigh of relief and takes Tony's arm again. He wants to pull away, but his body is starting to feel weak, like he might collapse again; his throat burns and his head is throbbing, and for all that he breathes in he cannot quite get enough air. And he's tired, so fucking tired; betrayed and drained and exhausted. His eyelids are drooping and he keeps stumbling against Fandral as he is half-dragged away from the Bifrost.

"Where're we going?" he asks finally, slurring a bit like he's drunk. "Where's Asgard?"

"We are going to the castle of Odin," Fandral says, his voice tight with irritation. "I shall allow Loki to explain the rest—once he gets his voice back."

Tony perks up slightly at the mention of Loki—finally, something he recognizes, even through the haze of pain that has descended over him. "That's a Norse god," he says. "I know Loki—he did a lot of really weird shit, and no one trusted him, and didn't he fuck a horse once?"

"Gods, Anthony, you do not shut up, do you?" Fandral jerks him along a little rougher, and Tony manages to force his cracked lips into a smile—at least he still knows how to push people to their limits. He's opening his mouth to ask whether they're going to see the horse Loki fucked or not when they arrive at the castle, and the sight of it renders Tony speechless. It's massive, stretching nearly the length of two football fields, and—Tony guesses—taller than the Empire State Building. The entire building seems to be made of solid gold, which gleams and shines in the sunlight. Surrounding it on all sides are fields, luscious and green enough to make Tony's eyes ache, and water, sparkling and lovely. Tony runs his tongue over his lips, suddenly hyperaware of his extreme thirst.

"I'm guessing it's out of the question for me to have a drink," he says, gesturing at the water with his free hand, and Fandral shakes his head, hurrying Tony along and frowning.

"Mortals," he mutters, sounding disgusted.

"Yeah, and that's another thing, Prince fucking Charming," Tony says as they approach the front doors. "If you don't like mortals—which by the way, what does that even make you; are you immortal?—why the hell did you bring me here?"

"I am immortal, yes," Fandral says, lifting the knocker on the door and letting it fall with a clang, "and as I have already stated, I will allow Loki the privilege of explaining this situation to you."

Tony snorts. "Jesus, you talk like I'm actually going to meet Loki." A light sweat has broken out on his skin, and his heart is racing so fast it's starting to hurt. The wounds on his shoulders ache from the material digging into them, but the air is still cold, and he doesn't want to take his jacket off.

He is not aware of falling asleep until Fandral shakes him, waking him up just as the doors open and a guard appears. He lifts his staff, but Fandral holds his hand out, shaking his head rapidly.

"Do not announce my return to the Allfather," he says. "Tell no one I have come back, and tell no one I have brought a mortal with me." He goes inside, still dragging Tony along, and the doors shut behind them.

The instant they are in the castle, Tony's arc reactor begins humming louder than before, vibrating in his chest. Tiny electroshocks pulsate from its center to Tony's heart, and he winces, gritting his teeth. "Hey, whatever the fuck you've got going on in here that's making the palladium react like this, could you turn it off, just as a favor to me? I mean, seriously, you've established about a billion times that I'm a mortal, so you have to know that if I get electrocuted by my own device I'm not gonna survive the way you would—"

"Loki will take care of all of your concerns," Fandral interrupts. "Come, we are late." He leads Tony down long corridors, past guards; past large, empty rooms that smell faintly of incense and raw meat; past tapestries that hang, long and beautiful, along the walls. Several times, Tony opens his mouth to ask, again, where they are and what's going on, but his arc reactor is really starting to hurt, and he can't focus on much except the pain.

After what feels like hours, they arrive at a second set of doors, less grand than the entrance, and Fandral pushes them open and leads Tony down a flight of stairs. The further they go, the colder it gets; Tony pulls his jacket harder, winces at the pain, and manages:

"Where are we, Antarctica?" before his legs give out and he stumbles. Fandral catches him just as he's falling, and for the first time since they met back in Kunar Province, something like concern flashes across his face.

"Are you all right, Tony?"

"Just fucking peachy," Tony snaps.

Fandral sighs softly, and leads him to the bottom of the steps. Tony automatically heads for the glowing blue box at the center of the room—it's emitting the cold air, and maybe there's an off switch, because goddamn, it doesn't need to be this temperature, not even in the middle of the summer—when he hears Fandral say:

"I have brought you Anthony Stark, Loki."

"Loki?" Tony repeats, his voice too loud in the large chamber. He turns away from the blue box and, with an effort, manages to walk over to where Fandral is standing. He's addressing a pale man, with startlingly emerald eyes and high, sharp cheekbones; his hands are tied behind his back, and he's half-sitting, half-lying on the ground. His gaze flickers between Fandral and Tony, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Is this the correct mortal?" Fandral asks, and Tony frowns.

"Whoa, wait, what—"

Loki nods, then narrows his eyes. He stares at Tony, and the engineer sits down next to him, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.

"So you're Loki," Tony says.

A nod.

"Do you talk or what, because Fandral said you'd explain some shit to me, and I'm actually really wondering when I can go home—"

Loki shakes his head, glares at Fandral, and shifts his body weight so that he is facing Tony completely. He's staring, now, just staring, and it's starting to freak Tony out—not to mention the silent thing, or the fact that Fandral has said nothing since they first made eye contact. He's opening his mouth to ask if he's maybe on an episode of Punk'd, or if this is Doctor Who come to life and Loki's the Doctor and Tony's about to become a companion, when the doors at the top of the stairs open and two guards approach the three of them. Loki looks up, a worn, wary expression crossing his face; an expression Tony recognizes as one of his own, the way he'd look at the Ten Rings members, sometimes, when everything had been going on for over a week and he was starting to realize there was no way out.

"Odin Allfather requests your presence in the upper chambers," says one of the guards. The other one reaches down and grabs Loki by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Loki wrenches his shoulder out of the man's grasp, flexing his still-tied fingers behind his back, resentment and hatred burning in the backs of his eyes.

"Wait, am I coming up?" Tony asks. "Because honestly, I can't move."

"You are to stay here," Fandral says. "I will watch outside the room for any possible intruders."

"If I die, you're liable," Tony says cheerfully to Loki, who rolls his eyes before being led away by the guards. Fandral follows them, and Tony collapses backwards, feeling the cold rising up, numbing his wounds. He stares at the ceiling until the vastness of the room makes him dizzy, and when he shuts his eyes all he can see is stars, and the vast kaleidoscope of colors from when he and Fandral came here—wherever here is.

Eventually, he passes out, the arc reactor still clenching and humming in his chest like a live wire.

Loki is brought before Odin, who sits on his throne, the staff clenched in his right hand, a stack of parchments in his left. He seems annoyed at Loki's presence, and Loki wishes he had the words to tell him that he was the one who requested Loki be summoned in the first place. There is no sign of Thor, or of his friends Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg.

"Loki," Odin starts. "Do you know why I have brought you before me today?"

There is a beat of silence. Loki can hear the guards in the back of the chamber trying to restrain their laughter, and even as he imagines impaling their heads with a spear, he feels his cheeks flushing. Good jest, Allfather, he thinks, staring at the floor. Asking a question to which I physically cannot provide an answer. How very humorous.

"I have summoned you in regards to the binding spell which I placed on you nearly one month ago," Odin continues after a moment. "You have been without speech or magic, and restricted to the lowest chambers of my castle, all because you chose to try and destroy Jötunheim. Do you now regret your actions?"

Loki does not make any movements, just continues staring at the ground. He wonders at the irony of asking the god of lies a question such as that.

"Do you regret your actions?" Odin repeats.

Another moment of hesitation, then Loki nods, although of course he doesn't regret his actions at all. He sees himself, in his mind, how his skin can change from pale to blue in seconds, and a shudder of revulsion passes over him. He will never regret what he tried to do to the Frost Giants, how he nearly obliterated his own race in the hopes that maybe he could work it in as a kind of absolution to himself for what he truly is.

"Good," Odin says, and suddenly the handcuffs are gone. Loki feels his magic returning in a sudden rush, and he flexes his fingers, watching tiny green sparks fly off their tips. A small smile flits across his face, and he looks up for the first time since he arrived in the hall.

Odin is glaring at him, as though he's already done something wrong. "Do not think that just because I have returned your magic and restored your speech, you are free to roam as you please. There are to be restrictions on you until we can be certain of trusting you."

"I am prepared to hear whatever you have planned for me, no matter how ridiculous it is," Loki says, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"You are forbidden from traveling between realms for six months. You shall not try and make contact with other worlds during this time. Should this occur, we shall bind you again and leave you at the mercy of the Frost Giants—and there is little chance they will still be on your side now. This is my final word. Do you accept?"

Six months is long enough, Loki thinks, to get Tony to be on his side. In six months, he and Tony can make so many plans; can come up with so many brilliant ideas. He shrugs, nods. Odin nods too, and Loki is allowed to leave.

He cannot keep the smirk off his face as he heads back down to the lowest chambers of the castle, where Fandral and Tony are still waiting for him.

When Tony wakes up, he is lying in a bed covered in thick, heavy furs, with a mattress that feels like feathers. It takes him a moment to notice that the pain in his chest is gone, as well as the aching in his shoulders, and that he is wearing clothes that are not his own. There is a candle on the engraved stand beside the bed, and he reaches out to run his fingers over the markings.

"Don't," says an unfamiliar voice to his right, and he startles, turning, to find Loki standing next to the mattress, no longer handcuffed. His accent, like Fandral's, is a mix of British and German.

"Why not?" he asks, splaying his fingers over the furs.

"You are still weak, Anthony. I do not wish for you to overexert yourself."

Tony arches an eyebrow. "You kidding? I feel better than I have in months." He shifts himself up against the pillows and runs a finger over the skin on his shoulder—it's smooth, as though the Mark I never exploded on him, never burned him. "Although I am kind of wondering about that, and about who you are—I mean, Fandral did say I was going to get an explanation, and honestly, I think I've waited long enough."

Loki smirks. "My name is Loki Laufeyson," he says, "and I am the god of mischief… among other things. You, Anthony Stark, are on Asgard—or as some would call it, the Realm Eternal."

Tony's eyebrow creeps up further. "You're kidding, right? I mean, I know you guys are supposed to be immortal or whatever, but seriously, I thought Fandral was joking about that—I mean, you aren't really Loki, right?"

For an answer, Loki extends his hand and allows a soft glow of some green light to hover around it for a moment before pulling back.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tony says.

"Very eloquent."

"So wait, what'd you say, Asgard?"

"Asgard," Loki nods. "Home of the gods. Welcome, Anthony Stark."

"Okay, no, seriously, that whole 'Anthony' thing has got to stop—"

"I shall call you as I wish to." Loki folds his arms across his chest and does that same thing from the basement where he narrows his eyes—and it doesn't scare Tony exactly, but it sends a chill up his spine.

"Yeah, whatever," he says. "I mean, you could even call me by my last name if you wanted."

"I may," Loki replies, and both of them are smirking without realizing it.

"So you're immortal," says Tony. "So you can't die?"

Loki hesitates. "I could die, Stark," he says, after a few seconds. "Just not the same way as you. It is complicated. You shall learn, in time."

Tony, who had started staring at his arc reactor, trying to make a mental note to look at it later and figure out why the castle's interior made it vibrate so much, suddenly glances up. "Wait, what do you mean, 'in time'? Exactly how long are you planning on keeping me here, because I have a schedule to keep up with. I'm three months late for a press conference—Rhodey's probably gonna kill me, Pepper's probably fucking gone batshit wondering where I am—"

"You are to stay in Asgard for six months," says Loki, quietly, and Tony's mouth drops open.

"Just a second, Shakespeare," he says. "Weren't you listening? I have shit to do. I can't just do a little vacation here with you and the other gods—what the fuck, wait a minute, who even lives here besides you, wait, that's not the point, I can't stay here, Loki. I just can't."

There is a beat of silence. Then, slowly, Loki walks around to the other side of the bed, so that he's closer to Tony. Without speaking, he reaches down and encircles his long fingers around Tony's arc reactor. The physicist's breath hitches at the back of his throat, but before he can say anything he feels that vibration starting up again, harder than before. For just a second, he thinks he is going into cardiac arrest, but then something inside him settles down, and he's left feeling more whole than he did before the bomb exploded in Afghanistan.

Loki steps away; nods downwards, eyes on Tony's chest. Slowly, uncertainly, Tony unbuttons his shirt and looks, and sees the arc reactor, now fused into his skin completely, the blue glowing from inside of him, part of him. His eyes widen, and he stares, his mouth working in silence.

"I am a god, Stark," is all Loki says. "And you are the most intelligent mortal I laid eyes on when I visited Midgard. We shall be good together, you and I."

"I can't stay," Tony repeats, but with less conviction. He's tracing the outline of the reactor with his fingers, wondering if he could have done that back on Earth, wondering where science stops and magic begins.

"What would you have to go home to?" Loki asks, and his voice is oddly soft, and Tony cannot bring himself to look up. "You are every bit as lost as I, Anthony. You cannot lose anything by staying here for a few months."

Tony is quiet for a minute, still tracing his arc reactor. Then his lips twitch, and it's that same self-loathing smirk Loki remembers from watching him on television.

"Yeah," he says. "Okay, yeah, I'll stay here. But I'm gonna need someone to turn up the air, because seriously, it is freezing in here."

Loki smiles faintly. "I believe that can be arranged," he says, and then he walks out, and the expression in his eyes is brittle and unbalanced and a little bit insane.

He meets Fandral halfway down the corridor, and claps him once on the shoulder. "Thank you for all your help, Fandral," he says.

"My pleasure, Loki," Fandral replies. He glances at the shut door, then at Loki, and a tiny frown creases the space between his eyebrows. "Why did you need him, anyway?"

"None of your concern, not now," Loki says, and it's obvious that he's distracted. "I won't be needing your aid again, not any time soon."

"What—"

"Goodbye for now, Fandral," and Loki walks off, and Fandral does not call after him, though he desperately wants to.

He senses a change coming, not just in Loki but in that mortal he's brought over, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like any of it—especially not the way Loki looked at Tony, down in the lowest chambers of the castle. He glances at the shut door again, and considers going and warning Tony of all that Loki is capable of doing—but then why would he, when Tony is, to Fandral, a threat?

Sighing softly, he continues down the corridor to his own chambers, and, locking himself inside, pulls down several ancient tomes of Asgard's history and begins to read.