![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tekia.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Room for Improvement 2.5 and 2.75
Fandom: Avengers/Exalted
Prompt: Strange Fruit
Warnings:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After falling into a trap, the first order of business it to find out where you are. But, if where you are makes no sense, then what are you supposed to do? Traveling to the future is easy, just fall asleep, right? Waking up to a whole different world is harder. Luckily, Tony Stark can adapt to any environment.
Tony woke with White Song’s nose pressed to his collar and Iron Dust’s pressed between his shoulder blades. White Song had slipped one knee between his and Iron Dust had curled a fist in the cloth at his waist. Tony smiled sleepily and snuggled down into the warmth the three bodies provided.
White Song woke with his movement and he could feel her lashes against his skin as she blinked. “You smell like the forge.”
He smiled. “And yet you’re still here.”
She lightly shoved at his shoulder until he released her and she rolled away. Behind him, Iron Dust murmured something softly and turned to bury his face in the pillow as Tony moved to sit up. His hand fell from his waist and onto the bed. Tony smiled fondly down at the silver hair before he realized what he was doing.
Was this how they felt when dealing with him? Pepper and Rhodey? He reached out and ruffled Iron Dust’s hair. “Wake up, we have things to do, I’m told.” Iron Dust grunted and pulled his pillow closer to his face.
“Leave him,” White Song said, pulling Tony’s shirt on once more. He frowned at her.
“Why am I not allowed to wear that, but you are?”
She propped one hand on her hip and smiled saucily at him. “Because I’m better looking than you.”
He copied her smile. “Not by much, sweetheart.” She laughed and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She danced away and slapped a hand on Iron Dust’s hip.
“Up, lover, we have things to do.” She was out of the room in the next breath. Tony chuckled and reached for his tunic.
“Do you people have showers?”
Iron Dust mumbled something, then forced himself upright, his hair a wild mess over his eyes. He pushed his hair away, and Tony’s eyes widened. He was rubbing a hand over one eye when he noticed Tony staring. “What?”
“What happened to your face?”
Before, his eyes had the vaguely Asian look to them, his chin soft. Now he looked more like a European or American, thicker chin, round eyes, and even had a faint five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. The startling yellow of his eyes was gone, and in their place were a pair of brown eyes that left Tony yearning to see the magical color once more.
“Nothing.” He shook his head and swung his feet off the side of the bed. “It’s a spell.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Don’t call me Iron Dust anymore. My name is now Stars of Sorrow.” He caught Tony’s eye. “Don’t forget it.”
Tony nodded. “Right.” He arched a brow. “Life or death type of thing?”
“Isn’t it always?”
They dressed and met with White song and Wisp of Shadow in the hall. Wisp of Shadow motioned for them to follow them. “My lord has summoned me to his side. The house is yours, but if you cause trouble, I don’t want it coming back here.” He eyed Iron Dust. “Try not to bring me into the middle of it. You know how difficult it is to start a new life once the gods have their sights set upon you.”
Iron Dust’s lips curled up, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I will use the utmost discretion.”
Wisp of Shadow bit back a laugh and turned to White Song. “With this, we are even, Lunar. I have turned a blind eye on your actions while you’ve been here, and if my master finds out about this, my life may be forfeit. We are even.”
She nodded. “We will stay out of sight.”
“See that you do.”
He didn’t even glance at Tony, and Tony fought the urge to flip him off. A carriage ducked out in black wood was waiting before the house, a set of black horses leading. He climbed into the carriage and then was off. They watched the carriage pull away for a moment in silence, then White Song clapped her hands.
“Who knows how long he’ll be gone, so let’s eat then see Sorrow off.” She wrapped one arm around Iron Dust’s shoulders and led the way back into the house. Breakfast was similar to lunch, with the food laid out on the buffet table and they made their own selections. There were cakes not unlike crepes and several types of strange fruits that Tony couldn’t name. There were warm breads with melted butter, and even something closely related to coffee.
Tony gulped two cups of the stuff before he even made it to the table, feeling the caffeine refilling his system. He filled a third and finally sat with his two companions. “So, for however long, we’re going to be doing this. Me working on the clock, and Ir-Sorrow working for Wana?”
White Song swallowed her mouthful. “I’ll keep an eye out for the Hunt and protect you. You become quite distracted while working, don’t you?”
Tony grinned. “With you protecting me, I’m allowed to be.”
She sat up straighter and preened at Iron Dust. “Of course.”
“What about your pack,” Iron Dust asked. “You met up with them?”
“I did. It was only two kittens, and they had a message from the Leader.” She took a drink of her water. “They’re moving north, away from the battles to protect the children.”
“That’s a wise move.”
“And they’re dividing the pack. The warriors will remain, fighting. Dying.”
“You should be there.” She shook her head. Iron Dust turned toward her and touched a hand to her forearm. “You should. You don’t have to be here. You can be there, saving your people. They need you there.”
She shook her head again. “Luna may have come to you alone, but I am a Lunar. If Luna has commanded that this man be saved and protected from our world, then I will make sure it happens, if it’s your mission alone or not. We are in this together.” Her eyes were blazing with anger. “Do not try to send me away.”
Iron Dust nodded. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “I must go. Until tonight.” He turned his gaze toward Tony and for a moment the dull brown gaze turned yellow. When Tony blinked, they were back to that nondescript color. “Don’t overwork yourself.”
Tony touched two fingers to his brow. “Yes, sir.”
Iron Dust nodded and started toward the door. Nearly through the threshold, he paused as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Oh, yes, you should work with the gauntlets. Maybe you can make them work with your armor.”
Tony suddenly had hundreds of thoughts of how to integrate this new material into his armor. He felt a grin curving his lips. “Yeah, that’s sounds like a plan.”
Iron Dust nodded, then left. Tony turned to White Song. “Before I go into the forge, how about a bath or shower?”
“Sure, come on.” She led him to a bath room, which she very Britishly called a water closet. There wasn’t a shower, but there was running water, and heated water. He soaked gratefully for a good hour before his hands were itching once more for the tools in the shop. He dressed in a grey tunic and brown pants, the outfit brought together with a brown leather belt.
He went barefoot down stairs to find White Song writing letters in the main hall. She looked up at his entrance. “Just after lunch, I need to deliver these. You will come with me.”
He nodded. “Okay.” He sat beside her on the bench and began pulling on the boots she had provided him long ago. Or five days ago. Something like that. He sat back and playfully slapped a hand on her thigh. “The gears should be ready to be broken from their molds. I should have most of the clock finished by then.”
She nodded absently, absorbed in the letter she was composing. He leaned over to read the letter, and found that whatever Iron Dust had done to his head to let him speak the language didn’t allow him to read it. “Who are you writing to?”
“My pack leader.”
“Why pack leader and not tribe leader? Village leader?”
She turned her eyes up from her letter to smile at him. “My tribe is a pack of wolf men. We’re a pack, not a tribe.”
Tony blinked, absorbing that little bit of information. “Wolf men?”
“Wolf men.”
“Half wolf, half human?” She nodded. “Like, do they spend the month human, then on the full moon turn into blood thirsty wolves?”
She frowned. “Your people have strange stories. No. Beastmen, half human, half beast.”
“And those are your people. Are you half… wolf?”
She sat up straight and preened. “Do I look wolf to you?”
He looked her up and down, starting with her wild mess of golden curls, her honey tanned skin, and her bright blue eyes. If she were a wolf, she’d be a golden wolf. Her eyes were slanted, not unlike Iron Dust’s had been before his change that morning. She was thin, tall, and lithe.
“No, you don’t look like a wolf.”
“Good, because I’m not.”
He chuckled. “But your pack is?”
She nodded and finished her letter with a flourish. “Yes, I was adopted into the tribe when I gained my second breath. Exalted,” she clarified at his questioning look. “Most of us that Exalt are kicked out of our human homes. After all, are we not taught from birth that to be anything other than Dragon Blooded is to be a demon? So I ran away from my village and the pack adopted me.”
She poured sand on the ink of her letter and shuffled it about until the ink was dry. Dusting off the excess, she glanced at Tony. “I’m not a beastman.”
“Oh good,” Tony said. “Because I was starting to wonder where you were hiding your tail.”
She laughed and folded her letter. “Lunars give birth to beastmen, but we are not the same.” She grinned slyly at him. “I can make my tail appear and disappear at will.”
Tony filed that away for another time and asked, “Are beastmen Hunted?”
“Sometimes. If they’re known to help Celestial Exalts, or if they’re hostile, sure they are. Dragon Blooded treat us all as if we’re lesser life forms. To them, we’re all just fodder in their quest for the Scarlet Thorne.”
“Scarlet Throne?”
She shook her head and laughed. “You really know nothing about us. The Scarlet Throne, the head of the Scarlet Empire, which the Houses of the Dynasty all are a part of. A few years ago, the Scarlet Empress disappeared and left the Houses in disarray. Now, instead of focusing on protecting Creation from her enemies, they’ve been fighting each other.”
“Doesn’t that keep them out of your hair?”
She stood and stuffed the letter into her belt. “Normally that would be good, but we’re at war, war for the whole world. They shouldn’t be wasting their time with this.” She looked him up and down, quickly. “Let’s go deliver this letter before you get all singed from the forge.”
“All right.”
They left the house and Tony blinked in the startling bright light. There were dozens of people milling about the street before tem, and White Song led them through the throng without effort. She held his hand the whole time as they made their way out of the blacksmith’s corner and into the city proper.
Tony’s first glimpse of a beastman left him gaping. The man stood eight feet tall, covered in black fur, with wolf ears and a muzzle. He wore green trousers and a white tunic clinched together with a wide studded belt. His legs were mostly feet, the ankles high off the ground.
It was so surreal how these half human, half beast men stood amid the huge crowd without anybody so much as blinking an eye at their appearance. But then again, from where Tony was standing he could see a woman with wood for skin, another with water for hair that dripped down her dress, gluing it to her skin, and a man with eyes far too large for his face.
The beastman moved gracefully when he stooped down to hug White Song, and his voice was high pitched. “Sister, we’ve missed you.”
“I didn’t know you had come with Broken Arrow and He Who Stares.”
He shook his head. “I arrived this morning with news about our pack for our brothers that had scouted ahead.”
“What news?”
Two more beastmen arrived, one yellow in fur, the other black and they watched the newcomer with wide eyes. One looked less wolf-like than the other two, his muzzle shorter and his hair thinner. The yellow one grasped the first one on the forearm with his paw that looked more like a hand.
“Father is dead. He fell in the last battle.” He lowered his head mournfully. White Song went somber and placed a hand on the beastman’s chest. She stepped close and the four of them stood in silence in the middle of the crowded street for a moment. Tony felt awkward as if he were viewing something private.
Then the spell was broken as abruptly as it happened as White Song stepped back and shook her hair away from her shoulders. “Who has taken his place?”
“Bear Killer.”
She nodded, expression thoughtful. “He will do the pack well.”
“We want you,” he said, catching her gaze. Immediately, she shook her head. “Luna has other plans for me. I can’t lead our pack. Besides, Bear Killer is the rightful successor.”
“You are Exalted,” he protested.
She threw back her shoulders. “And as such, I have a duty to Luna. I must remain here until this quest is finished.”
He reached out, wrapping a massive paw around her arm. “After, you will return?”
For a moment, Tony could see how torn she was. These were her people and Tony was nothing to her, a job that had to be done. There was a war going on that they may not win, (Tony ignored how he already believed that they had lost the war) and her people were on the front line. She licked her lips and her eyes glanced at him before returning to the beastman. “If that’s where my path takes me. For now, return to the pack and support Bear Killer. He will need all the strength that he can get to back him.” She pressed close, hugging him. “Tell him I advise him to take the pack far away from the Border Marches and away from the front lines of the war. Protect our people.”
The man closed his eyes, ears drooping as he clearly fought with himself not to break down. “As you wish, Sister.”
She nodded and pulled away. She pulled out the letter she had composed and held it out. “Give this to Bear Killer. It was meant for your father, but it will do Bear Killer well to have it instead.”
The beastman nodded, then turned his cold black eyes to Tony. Tony didn’t quite quiver in his boots, but it was a near thing. White Song smiled.
“Brother, this is Lost Path, my traveling companion. Path, this is my pack brother, Wild Heart.” Tony hesitated for only a second before he thrust out his hand.
“Pleasure,” he said and didn’t even wince when the paw wrapped around his hand.
“Indeed.”
“My condolences, you know, about your father,” he said awkwardly. He pulled his hand back when it was released, scratching at his hair.
Wild Heart shook himself not unlike a dog and smiled at White Song. “Let us sup and catch up.”
“Yes,” White Song said eagerly. She grabbed Tony’s wrist and led the way to a small café that had outdoor tables. Tony let her order something for him and he picked at the meat placed before him while the pack members talked happily about their pack and achievements since the last they saw each other. It wasn’t unlike sitting with Thor and Sif and the Warriors Three while they regaled the team with their stories.
They asked for tales from him, and Tony told how he had been captured by the enemy, in enemy territory and tortured until he agreed to build weapons for them. The men leaned forward as he confessed that he played the men who would use him like fools and destroyed them all with his armor. He told them of how his most trusted friend betrayed him, sold him to those men, and then tried to kill him using the armor he had copied.
He didn’t tell them about the arc reactor.
He did speak highly of his teammates and how they defeated the Chitauri and Loki, a god.
Even White Song looked impressed with that story.
They chatted late into the afternoon until the café owner shooed them away with a snap of her apron. Laughing, Tony clasped hands with each beastman as easily as if he were a part of their pack. They patted him on the back as they went their separate ways, and Tony and White Song walked slowly back toward the Death Knight’s house.
“Why do you refuse to go back with them? Iron Dust, sorry, Stars of Sorrow would understand. He told you to go.”
She shook her head. “I must stay here. Something tells me that it is here that I am needed.” She screwed up her face in a frown. “Stars of Sorrow needs me, as much as he denies it. You will need me.”
They entered the house with the late afternoon light pouring in after them. He stretched and bemoaned the hours lost that he could have put to use in the shop.
White Song rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Go play with your armor and tools.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Slaves had cleaned up much of the mess he had left behind, but hadn’t touched the table he had been working on, his tools and molds still sitting right where he had left them. He seated himself once more and began carefully removing the gears from the molds.
Several hours were spent sanding down the gears and placing them just right. There was a primitive soldering gun that he put to good use, and even a pair of tweezers that helped him with the finer gears. The copper he used for the gears was thin enough that only a small hammer was needed to refine them, and before he knew it, the clock was finished.
He sat back and wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled at the job well done.
“Finished already?”
He jumped in his skin at Iron Dust’s voice. The man was leaning against the doorway, his no longer pure silver hair hanging in a braid over his shoulder. He was wearing purple robes over black trousers and a belt of golden silk embroidered to an inch of its life.
“Is that your uniform?”
Iron Dust looked down at his outfit and smiled. “It seems so.”
“I remember his slaves wearing something similar.” Tony reached for a cloth and wiped his hands free of the oil and dirt as well as he could.
“Is it that late, or are you home early.”
“Home? Is this home?”
“You know what I mean,” Tony said with a growl.
He smiled. “It is indeed late. White Song sent me to fetch you. She told me you skipped the last meal. Again.”
Tony scratched his chin, no doubt leaving behind oil. “I tend to do that when I’m working. Look!” He held up the finished clock, one hand carefully holding the pendulum. “What do you think?”
Iron Dust approached the workbench and reached out to touch one finger to the clock, but stopped just short. His lips were parted in wonder, his eyes wide. “It’s beautiful. You are very talented.”
“Yes I am.” He set the clock back down on the cloth and grinned. “It’s not the best thing I’ve ever created, but I think it will do.”
Iron Dust chuckled. “Indeed it will. Is it finished?”
Tony shook his head. “I want to polish it still.”
Iron Dust pulled the cloth over it, hiding it from sight. “Well, keep it under wraps. The slaves like to gossip and we don’t really want word of this to get out. It is our bargaining chip.”
Tony gave a two finger salute. “Yes, sir.” He stood and his stomach growled. “Oh. I think you’re spoiling me. I’m not used to eating three meals a day.”
Iron Dust shook his head. “Come along, let’s eat.”
Tony cast a longing glance toward his armor, still damaged and sitting on a table. Iron Dust’s hand on his arm pulled him from the shop and back into the house.
Slaves were laying out the food when they arrived, White Song already sitting at the table, nibbling on a small loaf of bread. Tony sat opposite her and reached for the warm bread. “What did you do all afternoon?”
“I trained.” She flexed an arm. “Gotta stay in shape.”
“I take it you didn’t train,” Iron Dust commented.
Tony grinned. “Blame White Song, she took me out to see the city.”
Iron Dust arched a brow, and White Song shook her head. “No, no, no. Blame him, it was he who spent all afternoon in his shop.”
Iron Dust rolled his eyes and filled his plate. Tony copied him and devoured much more food than he thought he had ever eaten before. He turned toward Iron Dust once his plate was empty and the slaves had cleared the table.
“What did you do all day?”
He shrugged. “Mostly negotiations between gods. I told you that it’s mostly politics between gods in Yu-Shan. It’s the same down here. I keep the peace between hot tempered gods.”
“How much politicking can a sundial god do?”
“You’d be surprised.” He smiled. “Why do you think he wants you to make a timekeeper that can keep time after dark?”
Tony arched a brow. “You mean he wants to change from being a god of sundials to a god of clocks?”
“Perhaps.”
Tony shook his head. “Okay, it seems things never change. People always want more power.”
“That they do.”
White Song broke in, saying that Tony was now on Iron Dust’s watch and she was going out. Tony frowned. “I’m not a child. I don’t need anybody to watch me.”
Both of them smiled indulgently at him. “You can’t fight,” Iron Dust said. He held up a hand to stop Tony from objecting. “Yes, I know you can fight, but you are not allowed. We don’t want to risk you Exalting. Thus, you’re not allowed to fight. If you get attacked or someone decides that you’re better off in our world rather than your own, then one of us must be here to defend you.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “I can fight,” he mumbled as they all stood. White Song hugged him and slapped him on the rump as she ducked around him and latching onto Iron Dust.
“Love,” she said, her voice suddenly sultry. “My pack had been shrinking in size these past few years. We should mate and have litters of children.”
It was Iron Dust’s turn to roll his eyes as he disentangled her arms from around his neck. “Go, be a hedonist elsewhere.” He turned her away and pushed her out of the room. She skipped away and they heard the door close behind her.
Tony turned to Iron Dust. “Are you a virgin?”
“What?” Iron Dust frowned at him. “What kind of question is that?”
He held up his hands. “It’s just a question. How can you say no to her?”
Iron Dust laughed. “She’s like a sister to me, I suppose. That, I just can’t do.” He started out of the room and Tony followed.
“You’ve only known each other for a few years, right?”
“Yes, but she’s so young.” Iron Dust walked up the stairs, his hand resting on the rail, trailing after him. “I love her, I do, but not the way she wants me to.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
Iron Dust laughed. He opened the door to their bed chamber and shooed the slave inside away. “I had a wife and a daughter, once.” He sat on the bed, eyes gazing at something only he could see. “They were beautiful.”
Tony sat at the table pushed up against the wall, under the window. He leaned against the wall and pulled the dark curtain aside to let in the moonlight. “Tell me about them.”
“My wife’s name was Lark. She was the daughter of the local baker. She always smelt of freshly baked bread. We grew up together.”
“You married her after you Exalted?”
He shook his head. “No, I married her only weeks before.”
Tony’s eyes snapped back to Iron Dust. “You were fifteen!”
He shrugged. “It was the way things were done. Our daughter was born five years later, and she looked like her mother.”
“You loved her.”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
He leaned forward until his elbows were braced on his knees. His hair fell forward, the single braid laying heavily on his clasped hands. “My job. Exalts live hard lives. I was warned long ago that we should never have families, they only suffer because of us.” He sighed heavily. “My daughter was killed because of me.” He shook his head. “I’ll never forgive myself for allowing her to die like that. I don’t think Lark ever did.
“She told me to leave; she never wanted to see me again, she said. So I did leave, and have never been back.” He looked to Tony, catching his eye. “And I shall never bring another child into this world, if they’re only going to suffer like Blue Feather did.”
The guilt and pain in Iron Dust’s eyes was too much, and Tony dropped his gaze to his feet. “I’m sorry.”
Iron Dust shook himself, stood, and then began removing his outer layers. “It’s long ago and over. Many years have passed since then.”
He climbed into the bed and hugged his pillow to him. “Go to sleep, Lost Path.”
Tony stripped down to his under layers and joined him. “Right. Sleep. Like a normal person.”
Iron Dust chuckled and drifted off. Tony watched him for a moment longer, letting his eyes trace his features. He wondered what his daughter must have looked like. He was fair enough that his daughter must have been beautiful.
Between one breath and the next, Tony was asleep.
*~*~*
Iron Dust was gone before Tony woke the next morning. White Song was sitting in the chair that Tony had occupied the night before, the curtain pulled back to allow the morning sunshine to spill through. He sat up and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What time is it?”
She glanced at him, then shrugged. “The sun isn’t at its peak, yet.”
“Oh.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and winced as his feet touched the cold floor. “I hope there’s coffee this morning too.”
“What’s coffee?”
He grinned and stood, stretching his arms over his head, ignoring the twinge of pain in his lower back from stooping over a desk all day. “I don’t know what you call it, but that brown drink that was served at breakfast.”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know what it’s called either. It’s from the South.”
He nodded. “Coffee it is, then.”
Together, they made their way down to the breakfast table, and Tony made quick work of the food White Song piled in front of him. He gulped down the hot drink as she shook her head at the taste. “I’ll tell the slaves to make you more,” she said as he finished the pot.
He thanked her with a kiss to her brow and disappeared into the shop.
Finally, he could start on his armor.
He pulled the gauntlets to him, first, tracing his fingers over the scrollwork etched into the golden metal. They were long, thin and gaudy. The metal was thicker than his armor, but he didn’t know how well it would hold up with his armor. He slipped his right hand into one and marveled at the workmanship. It fit like a glove, almost like it had been made for him. Still, it was too heavy for him to use with the armor. He flexed his fist a couple times before finally pulling it off and setting it aside.
First, he had to pound out the dent in his chest plate, or he was never going to be able to wear the armor comfortably.
He pulled the chest plate toward him and set to work.
He never noticed the hours passing him by when he was working. He never noticed the needs of his body when he was working. It always seemed so unimportant as he focused everything he had on the armor, or whatever project he was currently working on. Before, not even his teammates could pull him from his zoned out state while in the lab, and White Song learned quickly to sneak bits of food in with his tools so that he absently ate whatever his hands landed on.
He heard Iron Dust talking with her and knew that the day had come to an end, but he was so close to getting the chest plate just right, he couldn’t stop now. And then he had an idea of how to make the gauntlets attach to the armor in a similar way that his old ones had, and he had to start that right away.
He worked hard through the night, and well into the afternoon when White Song threw something at his head. The soft object bounced off his head, nearly making him smack face first into the table in front of him.
He whipped around to glare at her.
“What the hell?”
“I’m tired of staring at you staring at that. Get up, get cleaned, and we’re going out.”
He gaped at her a moment, and, when he didn’t move fast enough, jumped to his feet when she advanced on him, frown firmly in place. “Get up, get up, get up!”
She all but chased him into the water closet, throwing new clothes at him and ordering him to clean and change.
Without a shower, he soaked in the tub for a good half hour, letting the warm water wash away the aches and pains he had acquired in the past week. With steam curling up around his ears, he closed his eyes and drifted off, only to wake when sprinkles of cool water splashed on his face.
White Song was sitting at the edge of the tub, a smirk curving her lips. “Have a nice nap?”
“Yes, I did, until you ruined it.”
She nodded. “It is what I do. Get out and dressed. I want to eat, and then I want to play.”
He hesitated a moment, but when it became clear that she wasn’t moving, he stood and reached for a towel to dry himself with. She didn’t watch him, nor did she actively look away and there was something odd and fresh about that. People in his time were either lustful, or ashamed of the naked body. Here, people didn’t care. He dressed in the clothes she had brought him, pleasantly surprised to find that instead of the course wool he had grown accustomed to these past days, they were fine cotton, and the tunic was tickly embroidered. Thick enough to hide the light of the arc reactor.
He turned to face White Song. “Red?” he questioned, fingering the delicate threads of bright embroidery.
“You look good in red,” she said, standing and pulling him after her as she went down the stairs and out the front door. As always, Tony winced at the bright light after the darkness of the house.
She directed him through the crowds of people and into the pleasure district, the air suddenly filled with laughter and heady scents. Stalls of fresh and easy to eat food cluttered the street enough to make it impossible for a carriage to fit, leaving the street walking room only. Buildings were stuffed so close together that balconies stretched from one to the next without a break in between.
White Song led them into a tavern, the crowd boisterous and light hearted. There was loud music provided by a set of musicians seated in a far corner. Small groups of people were dancing. There were games of cards scattered around the wide room, and smoke hovered low in the air.
White Song seated them at a table in the back, catching a tavern maid by her skirt. She held up two fingers and the girl hurried off with a nod.
Tony sat back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I thought you said there was a war going on?” He waved a hand at the crowd before them. “It doesn’t look like they’re too worried about it.”
She shook her head. “The war hasn’t reached this far inland. They currently have nothing to fear.”
A woman bumped into their table and grinned down at Tony. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, a man grabbed her by her arm and swung her away. She laughed and danced into his arms as they galloped around the tavern to the steady beat of drums. Tony kept beat with his foot as White Song tapped along with her fingers on the table.
The maid brought two tankards of ale, slapping them down before them and holding her hand out for payment. White Song forked over two chips of green jade, and before she could pocket the rest, Tony reached out to inspect the currency.
“Jade? You use jade for armor, and for money?”
She fisted her hand over the chips. “It’s a magical material. You could use gold, silver, or even shells, if you’d like, but jade is the most widely accepted.”
“Shells?”
She grinned. “It’s common in the West.”
“And jade is common here.” He pulled one of the tankards toward him and sipped, pleasantly surprised to find it much tastier than he’d expected. He licked his lips and wiped the back of his hand over his moustache to rid it of the foamy head.
“This is good,” he commented. White Song had already emptied half her tankard.
“The best in Great Forks,” she said. “Old man Hunter makes the best.”
Tony drank more and suddenly realized that hadn’t eaten in quite a while. His stomach growled and as he drained the tankard his head swam. He carefully sat the tankard on the table. “I’m hungry.”
White Song laughed. “We’ll get our food soon enough.” She twisted around in her seat. “You stay here and wait for the food. I’m going to dance.”
She was gone. Tony blinked at the empty seat with a smile. She had been twitching like there were bugs under her skin since they left the house. Being his babysitter didn’t sit well with her. He assumed she was always moving and doing something. He was cutting into her active lifestyle.
He didn’t feel guilty, because she’d been offered twice to be free of him. She could have left, gone with her tribe, been active in this war. He caught sight of her, a man’s arms around her thin waist, her knee length skirt whipping with her every movement. She was laughing, but he couldn’t hear her voice over the racket of the crowd.
Then the maid came with two plates of food. She placed the steaming plate before him, and Tony didn’t wait for White Song to return before he dug in.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he found that he knew what he was eating. Steak. Glorious steak. And potatoes. Yum.
He was nearly finished with his plate, and White Song’s had cooled before she returned. She plopped down beside him, laughing.
“Do you dance.”
He stuffed another potato in his mouth, smiling over his mouthful. He swallowed before answering, “I do. My mother taught me ballroom dancing. That’s all I’m good for, though.” He waved his fork out at the crowd. “Not like this.”
White Song finished off her ale before pulling her plate toward her. “You will learn.”
He paused with another forkful half way to his mouth. “What?”
“After I finish. You’ll dance with me.” She waved two fingers at a passing barmaid, and, a few moments later, two more tankards appeared.
White Song was a very beautiful woman, thin, tall, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. Her skin was kissed by the sun, and she nearly always had a smile on her face, her eyes sparkling. She was more open and honest than anybody he had ever met save for Steve. She stood out in any crowd, so full of color in a dull world.
She gulped her food like it was her last supper, then downed the ale in one long drag. She wiped her mouth with one hand and pulled Tony to his feet with the other.
They danced well into the night, one pattern of music blending into the next until Tony couldn’t count the songs played, nor remember the steps to any dance beyond moving his body. He laughed and flirted like he hadn’t since before Afghanistan.
It was liberating, really, to be here, where nobody knew him by sight. Not a single person knew how rich or famous he was back home, and nobody wanted anything more from him than what he gave. A woman with black hair wanted a partner for one dance; a young slave wanted someone taller than her to reach a tray sitting on the top shelf; White Song wanted a back to lean against while she laughed uncontrollably at the antics of two drunken men dancing on a table. He could be himself without his father’s shadow, or his past actions hanging over him.
He was free.
There were no people here that he felt obligated to protect. There was nobody here that knew of his past and judged him accordingly. It was like he was a different person. Someone without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
When the barkeep started chasing people out, White Song led the way once more. She skipped a head of him, humming quietly to herself. She didn’t quite have a steady step and Tony held a hand out to catch her just in case. She didn’t need it though.
She turned around so that she was walking backwards, her arms thrown behind her head as she smiled softly at him. “I wish Iron Dust were with us.”
Ah, yes, there was that familiar guilt. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. Even if he wasn’t working for that god, he wouldn’t have joined us. He’s not one for parties.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s more of the type to have a proper sit down with other well-bred people, talking about politics and plots.”
There was a slave waiting for them just outside the door, and White Song shooed him off to his bed. She let them into the house and, when Tony absently started for the door toward the back of the house that led to the shop, she gripped him by the collar. “To bed with you,” she said, marching him up the stairs. Chuckling, he let her lead him and they turned into two giggling fools as they both crashed into the door of their bed chamber.
Iron Dust was already in the bed, his hand curled into a loose fist by his cheek on the pillow, his hair a silver mess. They both froze when they saw him, but their racket hadn’t woken him, so they shushed each other and prepared for bed quietly.
Once more, Tony was laying between the two of them, Iron Dust’s back to his side, and White Song pressed close, her head resting on his shoulder. Tony tangled his fingers in her hair, staring at the ceiling.
“Why do you not want to go back to your pack?”
She sighed, and he could feel her lashes against his collar as she closed her eyes. “I want them to live.”
He frowned and tried to look down at her, but from this angle, all he could see was her crown and the tip of her nose. “Wouldn’t that make you want to go to protect them?”
She smoothed the thin night tunic over his chest, tracing the ridge of the arc reactor under the cloth. Her voice was low when she finally answered him. “No. As a Lunar in the middle of a pack of beastmen, they will expect me to lead them into battle, to be a great warrior. Without me, they will focus on taking care of their weak and young. They will retreat from the front lines and hide away. They may even survive this war that’s tearing Creation apart.” She turned so that her nose was buried in Tony’s shoulder. “Without me to lead them to their deaths, they may live.”
Fandom: Avengers/Exalted
Prompt: Strange Fruit
Warnings:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After falling into a trap, the first order of business it to find out where you are. But, if where you are makes no sense, then what are you supposed to do? Traveling to the future is easy, just fall asleep, right? Waking up to a whole different world is harder. Luckily, Tony Stark can adapt to any environment.
Tony woke with White Song’s nose pressed to his collar and Iron Dust’s pressed between his shoulder blades. White Song had slipped one knee between his and Iron Dust had curled a fist in the cloth at his waist. Tony smiled sleepily and snuggled down into the warmth the three bodies provided.
White Song woke with his movement and he could feel her lashes against his skin as she blinked. “You smell like the forge.”
He smiled. “And yet you’re still here.”
She lightly shoved at his shoulder until he released her and she rolled away. Behind him, Iron Dust murmured something softly and turned to bury his face in the pillow as Tony moved to sit up. His hand fell from his waist and onto the bed. Tony smiled fondly down at the silver hair before he realized what he was doing.
Was this how they felt when dealing with him? Pepper and Rhodey? He reached out and ruffled Iron Dust’s hair. “Wake up, we have things to do, I’m told.” Iron Dust grunted and pulled his pillow closer to his face.
“Leave him,” White Song said, pulling Tony’s shirt on once more. He frowned at her.
“Why am I not allowed to wear that, but you are?”
She propped one hand on her hip and smiled saucily at him. “Because I’m better looking than you.”
He copied her smile. “Not by much, sweetheart.” She laughed and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She danced away and slapped a hand on Iron Dust’s hip.
“Up, lover, we have things to do.” She was out of the room in the next breath. Tony chuckled and reached for his tunic.
“Do you people have showers?”
Iron Dust mumbled something, then forced himself upright, his hair a wild mess over his eyes. He pushed his hair away, and Tony’s eyes widened. He was rubbing a hand over one eye when he noticed Tony staring. “What?”
“What happened to your face?”
Before, his eyes had the vaguely Asian look to them, his chin soft. Now he looked more like a European or American, thicker chin, round eyes, and even had a faint five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. The startling yellow of his eyes was gone, and in their place were a pair of brown eyes that left Tony yearning to see the magical color once more.
“Nothing.” He shook his head and swung his feet off the side of the bed. “It’s a spell.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Don’t call me Iron Dust anymore. My name is now Stars of Sorrow.” He caught Tony’s eye. “Don’t forget it.”
Tony nodded. “Right.” He arched a brow. “Life or death type of thing?”
“Isn’t it always?”
They dressed and met with White song and Wisp of Shadow in the hall. Wisp of Shadow motioned for them to follow them. “My lord has summoned me to his side. The house is yours, but if you cause trouble, I don’t want it coming back here.” He eyed Iron Dust. “Try not to bring me into the middle of it. You know how difficult it is to start a new life once the gods have their sights set upon you.”
Iron Dust’s lips curled up, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I will use the utmost discretion.”
Wisp of Shadow bit back a laugh and turned to White Song. “With this, we are even, Lunar. I have turned a blind eye on your actions while you’ve been here, and if my master finds out about this, my life may be forfeit. We are even.”
She nodded. “We will stay out of sight.”
“See that you do.”
He didn’t even glance at Tony, and Tony fought the urge to flip him off. A carriage ducked out in black wood was waiting before the house, a set of black horses leading. He climbed into the carriage and then was off. They watched the carriage pull away for a moment in silence, then White Song clapped her hands.
“Who knows how long he’ll be gone, so let’s eat then see Sorrow off.” She wrapped one arm around Iron Dust’s shoulders and led the way back into the house. Breakfast was similar to lunch, with the food laid out on the buffet table and they made their own selections. There were cakes not unlike crepes and several types of strange fruits that Tony couldn’t name. There were warm breads with melted butter, and even something closely related to coffee.
Tony gulped two cups of the stuff before he even made it to the table, feeling the caffeine refilling his system. He filled a third and finally sat with his two companions. “So, for however long, we’re going to be doing this. Me working on the clock, and Ir-Sorrow working for Wana?”
White Song swallowed her mouthful. “I’ll keep an eye out for the Hunt and protect you. You become quite distracted while working, don’t you?”
Tony grinned. “With you protecting me, I’m allowed to be.”
She sat up straighter and preened at Iron Dust. “Of course.”
“What about your pack,” Iron Dust asked. “You met up with them?”
“I did. It was only two kittens, and they had a message from the Leader.” She took a drink of her water. “They’re moving north, away from the battles to protect the children.”
“That’s a wise move.”
“And they’re dividing the pack. The warriors will remain, fighting. Dying.”
“You should be there.” She shook her head. Iron Dust turned toward her and touched a hand to her forearm. “You should. You don’t have to be here. You can be there, saving your people. They need you there.”
She shook her head again. “Luna may have come to you alone, but I am a Lunar. If Luna has commanded that this man be saved and protected from our world, then I will make sure it happens, if it’s your mission alone or not. We are in this together.” Her eyes were blazing with anger. “Do not try to send me away.”
Iron Dust nodded. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “I must go. Until tonight.” He turned his gaze toward Tony and for a moment the dull brown gaze turned yellow. When Tony blinked, they were back to that nondescript color. “Don’t overwork yourself.”
Tony touched two fingers to his brow. “Yes, sir.”
Iron Dust nodded and started toward the door. Nearly through the threshold, he paused as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Oh, yes, you should work with the gauntlets. Maybe you can make them work with your armor.”
Tony suddenly had hundreds of thoughts of how to integrate this new material into his armor. He felt a grin curving his lips. “Yeah, that’s sounds like a plan.”
Iron Dust nodded, then left. Tony turned to White Song. “Before I go into the forge, how about a bath or shower?”
“Sure, come on.” She led him to a bath room, which she very Britishly called a water closet. There wasn’t a shower, but there was running water, and heated water. He soaked gratefully for a good hour before his hands were itching once more for the tools in the shop. He dressed in a grey tunic and brown pants, the outfit brought together with a brown leather belt.
He went barefoot down stairs to find White Song writing letters in the main hall. She looked up at his entrance. “Just after lunch, I need to deliver these. You will come with me.”
He nodded. “Okay.” He sat beside her on the bench and began pulling on the boots she had provided him long ago. Or five days ago. Something like that. He sat back and playfully slapped a hand on her thigh. “The gears should be ready to be broken from their molds. I should have most of the clock finished by then.”
She nodded absently, absorbed in the letter she was composing. He leaned over to read the letter, and found that whatever Iron Dust had done to his head to let him speak the language didn’t allow him to read it. “Who are you writing to?”
“My pack leader.”
“Why pack leader and not tribe leader? Village leader?”
She turned her eyes up from her letter to smile at him. “My tribe is a pack of wolf men. We’re a pack, not a tribe.”
Tony blinked, absorbing that little bit of information. “Wolf men?”
“Wolf men.”
“Half wolf, half human?” She nodded. “Like, do they spend the month human, then on the full moon turn into blood thirsty wolves?”
She frowned. “Your people have strange stories. No. Beastmen, half human, half beast.”
“And those are your people. Are you half… wolf?”
She sat up straight and preened. “Do I look wolf to you?”
He looked her up and down, starting with her wild mess of golden curls, her honey tanned skin, and her bright blue eyes. If she were a wolf, she’d be a golden wolf. Her eyes were slanted, not unlike Iron Dust’s had been before his change that morning. She was thin, tall, and lithe.
“No, you don’t look like a wolf.”
“Good, because I’m not.”
He chuckled. “But your pack is?”
She nodded and finished her letter with a flourish. “Yes, I was adopted into the tribe when I gained my second breath. Exalted,” she clarified at his questioning look. “Most of us that Exalt are kicked out of our human homes. After all, are we not taught from birth that to be anything other than Dragon Blooded is to be a demon? So I ran away from my village and the pack adopted me.”
She poured sand on the ink of her letter and shuffled it about until the ink was dry. Dusting off the excess, she glanced at Tony. “I’m not a beastman.”
“Oh good,” Tony said. “Because I was starting to wonder where you were hiding your tail.”
She laughed and folded her letter. “Lunars give birth to beastmen, but we are not the same.” She grinned slyly at him. “I can make my tail appear and disappear at will.”
Tony filed that away for another time and asked, “Are beastmen Hunted?”
“Sometimes. If they’re known to help Celestial Exalts, or if they’re hostile, sure they are. Dragon Blooded treat us all as if we’re lesser life forms. To them, we’re all just fodder in their quest for the Scarlet Thorne.”
“Scarlet Throne?”
She shook her head and laughed. “You really know nothing about us. The Scarlet Throne, the head of the Scarlet Empire, which the Houses of the Dynasty all are a part of. A few years ago, the Scarlet Empress disappeared and left the Houses in disarray. Now, instead of focusing on protecting Creation from her enemies, they’ve been fighting each other.”
“Doesn’t that keep them out of your hair?”
She stood and stuffed the letter into her belt. “Normally that would be good, but we’re at war, war for the whole world. They shouldn’t be wasting their time with this.” She looked him up and down, quickly. “Let’s go deliver this letter before you get all singed from the forge.”
“All right.”
They left the house and Tony blinked in the startling bright light. There were dozens of people milling about the street before tem, and White Song led them through the throng without effort. She held his hand the whole time as they made their way out of the blacksmith’s corner and into the city proper.
Tony’s first glimpse of a beastman left him gaping. The man stood eight feet tall, covered in black fur, with wolf ears and a muzzle. He wore green trousers and a white tunic clinched together with a wide studded belt. His legs were mostly feet, the ankles high off the ground.
It was so surreal how these half human, half beast men stood amid the huge crowd without anybody so much as blinking an eye at their appearance. But then again, from where Tony was standing he could see a woman with wood for skin, another with water for hair that dripped down her dress, gluing it to her skin, and a man with eyes far too large for his face.
The beastman moved gracefully when he stooped down to hug White Song, and his voice was high pitched. “Sister, we’ve missed you.”
“I didn’t know you had come with Broken Arrow and He Who Stares.”
He shook his head. “I arrived this morning with news about our pack for our brothers that had scouted ahead.”
“What news?”
Two more beastmen arrived, one yellow in fur, the other black and they watched the newcomer with wide eyes. One looked less wolf-like than the other two, his muzzle shorter and his hair thinner. The yellow one grasped the first one on the forearm with his paw that looked more like a hand.
“Father is dead. He fell in the last battle.” He lowered his head mournfully. White Song went somber and placed a hand on the beastman’s chest. She stepped close and the four of them stood in silence in the middle of the crowded street for a moment. Tony felt awkward as if he were viewing something private.
Then the spell was broken as abruptly as it happened as White Song stepped back and shook her hair away from her shoulders. “Who has taken his place?”
“Bear Killer.”
She nodded, expression thoughtful. “He will do the pack well.”
“We want you,” he said, catching her gaze. Immediately, she shook her head. “Luna has other plans for me. I can’t lead our pack. Besides, Bear Killer is the rightful successor.”
“You are Exalted,” he protested.
She threw back her shoulders. “And as such, I have a duty to Luna. I must remain here until this quest is finished.”
He reached out, wrapping a massive paw around her arm. “After, you will return?”
For a moment, Tony could see how torn she was. These were her people and Tony was nothing to her, a job that had to be done. There was a war going on that they may not win, (Tony ignored how he already believed that they had lost the war) and her people were on the front line. She licked her lips and her eyes glanced at him before returning to the beastman. “If that’s where my path takes me. For now, return to the pack and support Bear Killer. He will need all the strength that he can get to back him.” She pressed close, hugging him. “Tell him I advise him to take the pack far away from the Border Marches and away from the front lines of the war. Protect our people.”
The man closed his eyes, ears drooping as he clearly fought with himself not to break down. “As you wish, Sister.”
She nodded and pulled away. She pulled out the letter she had composed and held it out. “Give this to Bear Killer. It was meant for your father, but it will do Bear Killer well to have it instead.”
The beastman nodded, then turned his cold black eyes to Tony. Tony didn’t quite quiver in his boots, but it was a near thing. White Song smiled.
“Brother, this is Lost Path, my traveling companion. Path, this is my pack brother, Wild Heart.” Tony hesitated for only a second before he thrust out his hand.
“Pleasure,” he said and didn’t even wince when the paw wrapped around his hand.
“Indeed.”
“My condolences, you know, about your father,” he said awkwardly. He pulled his hand back when it was released, scratching at his hair.
Wild Heart shook himself not unlike a dog and smiled at White Song. “Let us sup and catch up.”
“Yes,” White Song said eagerly. She grabbed Tony’s wrist and led the way to a small café that had outdoor tables. Tony let her order something for him and he picked at the meat placed before him while the pack members talked happily about their pack and achievements since the last they saw each other. It wasn’t unlike sitting with Thor and Sif and the Warriors Three while they regaled the team with their stories.
They asked for tales from him, and Tony told how he had been captured by the enemy, in enemy territory and tortured until he agreed to build weapons for them. The men leaned forward as he confessed that he played the men who would use him like fools and destroyed them all with his armor. He told them of how his most trusted friend betrayed him, sold him to those men, and then tried to kill him using the armor he had copied.
He didn’t tell them about the arc reactor.
He did speak highly of his teammates and how they defeated the Chitauri and Loki, a god.
Even White Song looked impressed with that story.
They chatted late into the afternoon until the café owner shooed them away with a snap of her apron. Laughing, Tony clasped hands with each beastman as easily as if he were a part of their pack. They patted him on the back as they went their separate ways, and Tony and White Song walked slowly back toward the Death Knight’s house.
“Why do you refuse to go back with them? Iron Dust, sorry, Stars of Sorrow would understand. He told you to go.”
She shook her head. “I must stay here. Something tells me that it is here that I am needed.” She screwed up her face in a frown. “Stars of Sorrow needs me, as much as he denies it. You will need me.”
They entered the house with the late afternoon light pouring in after them. He stretched and bemoaned the hours lost that he could have put to use in the shop.
White Song rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Go play with your armor and tools.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Slaves had cleaned up much of the mess he had left behind, but hadn’t touched the table he had been working on, his tools and molds still sitting right where he had left them. He seated himself once more and began carefully removing the gears from the molds.
Several hours were spent sanding down the gears and placing them just right. There was a primitive soldering gun that he put to good use, and even a pair of tweezers that helped him with the finer gears. The copper he used for the gears was thin enough that only a small hammer was needed to refine them, and before he knew it, the clock was finished.
He sat back and wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled at the job well done.
“Finished already?”
He jumped in his skin at Iron Dust’s voice. The man was leaning against the doorway, his no longer pure silver hair hanging in a braid over his shoulder. He was wearing purple robes over black trousers and a belt of golden silk embroidered to an inch of its life.
“Is that your uniform?”
Iron Dust looked down at his outfit and smiled. “It seems so.”
“I remember his slaves wearing something similar.” Tony reached for a cloth and wiped his hands free of the oil and dirt as well as he could.
“Is it that late, or are you home early.”
“Home? Is this home?”
“You know what I mean,” Tony said with a growl.
He smiled. “It is indeed late. White Song sent me to fetch you. She told me you skipped the last meal. Again.”
Tony scratched his chin, no doubt leaving behind oil. “I tend to do that when I’m working. Look!” He held up the finished clock, one hand carefully holding the pendulum. “What do you think?”
Iron Dust approached the workbench and reached out to touch one finger to the clock, but stopped just short. His lips were parted in wonder, his eyes wide. “It’s beautiful. You are very talented.”
“Yes I am.” He set the clock back down on the cloth and grinned. “It’s not the best thing I’ve ever created, but I think it will do.”
Iron Dust chuckled. “Indeed it will. Is it finished?”
Tony shook his head. “I want to polish it still.”
Iron Dust pulled the cloth over it, hiding it from sight. “Well, keep it under wraps. The slaves like to gossip and we don’t really want word of this to get out. It is our bargaining chip.”
Tony gave a two finger salute. “Yes, sir.” He stood and his stomach growled. “Oh. I think you’re spoiling me. I’m not used to eating three meals a day.”
Iron Dust shook his head. “Come along, let’s eat.”
Tony cast a longing glance toward his armor, still damaged and sitting on a table. Iron Dust’s hand on his arm pulled him from the shop and back into the house.
Slaves were laying out the food when they arrived, White Song already sitting at the table, nibbling on a small loaf of bread. Tony sat opposite her and reached for the warm bread. “What did you do all afternoon?”
“I trained.” She flexed an arm. “Gotta stay in shape.”
“I take it you didn’t train,” Iron Dust commented.
Tony grinned. “Blame White Song, she took me out to see the city.”
Iron Dust arched a brow, and White Song shook her head. “No, no, no. Blame him, it was he who spent all afternoon in his shop.”
Iron Dust rolled his eyes and filled his plate. Tony copied him and devoured much more food than he thought he had ever eaten before. He turned toward Iron Dust once his plate was empty and the slaves had cleared the table.
“What did you do all day?”
He shrugged. “Mostly negotiations between gods. I told you that it’s mostly politics between gods in Yu-Shan. It’s the same down here. I keep the peace between hot tempered gods.”
“How much politicking can a sundial god do?”
“You’d be surprised.” He smiled. “Why do you think he wants you to make a timekeeper that can keep time after dark?”
Tony arched a brow. “You mean he wants to change from being a god of sundials to a god of clocks?”
“Perhaps.”
Tony shook his head. “Okay, it seems things never change. People always want more power.”
“That they do.”
White Song broke in, saying that Tony was now on Iron Dust’s watch and she was going out. Tony frowned. “I’m not a child. I don’t need anybody to watch me.”
Both of them smiled indulgently at him. “You can’t fight,” Iron Dust said. He held up a hand to stop Tony from objecting. “Yes, I know you can fight, but you are not allowed. We don’t want to risk you Exalting. Thus, you’re not allowed to fight. If you get attacked or someone decides that you’re better off in our world rather than your own, then one of us must be here to defend you.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “I can fight,” he mumbled as they all stood. White Song hugged him and slapped him on the rump as she ducked around him and latching onto Iron Dust.
“Love,” she said, her voice suddenly sultry. “My pack had been shrinking in size these past few years. We should mate and have litters of children.”
It was Iron Dust’s turn to roll his eyes as he disentangled her arms from around his neck. “Go, be a hedonist elsewhere.” He turned her away and pushed her out of the room. She skipped away and they heard the door close behind her.
Tony turned to Iron Dust. “Are you a virgin?”
“What?” Iron Dust frowned at him. “What kind of question is that?”
He held up his hands. “It’s just a question. How can you say no to her?”
Iron Dust laughed. “She’s like a sister to me, I suppose. That, I just can’t do.” He started out of the room and Tony followed.
“You’ve only known each other for a few years, right?”
“Yes, but she’s so young.” Iron Dust walked up the stairs, his hand resting on the rail, trailing after him. “I love her, I do, but not the way she wants me to.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
Iron Dust laughed. He opened the door to their bed chamber and shooed the slave inside away. “I had a wife and a daughter, once.” He sat on the bed, eyes gazing at something only he could see. “They were beautiful.”
Tony sat at the table pushed up against the wall, under the window. He leaned against the wall and pulled the dark curtain aside to let in the moonlight. “Tell me about them.”
“My wife’s name was Lark. She was the daughter of the local baker. She always smelt of freshly baked bread. We grew up together.”
“You married her after you Exalted?”
He shook his head. “No, I married her only weeks before.”
Tony’s eyes snapped back to Iron Dust. “You were fifteen!”
He shrugged. “It was the way things were done. Our daughter was born five years later, and she looked like her mother.”
“You loved her.”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
He leaned forward until his elbows were braced on his knees. His hair fell forward, the single braid laying heavily on his clasped hands. “My job. Exalts live hard lives. I was warned long ago that we should never have families, they only suffer because of us.” He sighed heavily. “My daughter was killed because of me.” He shook his head. “I’ll never forgive myself for allowing her to die like that. I don’t think Lark ever did.
“She told me to leave; she never wanted to see me again, she said. So I did leave, and have never been back.” He looked to Tony, catching his eye. “And I shall never bring another child into this world, if they’re only going to suffer like Blue Feather did.”
The guilt and pain in Iron Dust’s eyes was too much, and Tony dropped his gaze to his feet. “I’m sorry.”
Iron Dust shook himself, stood, and then began removing his outer layers. “It’s long ago and over. Many years have passed since then.”
He climbed into the bed and hugged his pillow to him. “Go to sleep, Lost Path.”
Tony stripped down to his under layers and joined him. “Right. Sleep. Like a normal person.”
Iron Dust chuckled and drifted off. Tony watched him for a moment longer, letting his eyes trace his features. He wondered what his daughter must have looked like. He was fair enough that his daughter must have been beautiful.
Between one breath and the next, Tony was asleep.
*~*~*
Iron Dust was gone before Tony woke the next morning. White Song was sitting in the chair that Tony had occupied the night before, the curtain pulled back to allow the morning sunshine to spill through. He sat up and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What time is it?”
She glanced at him, then shrugged. “The sun isn’t at its peak, yet.”
“Oh.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and winced as his feet touched the cold floor. “I hope there’s coffee this morning too.”
“What’s coffee?”
He grinned and stood, stretching his arms over his head, ignoring the twinge of pain in his lower back from stooping over a desk all day. “I don’t know what you call it, but that brown drink that was served at breakfast.”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know what it’s called either. It’s from the South.”
He nodded. “Coffee it is, then.”
Together, they made their way down to the breakfast table, and Tony made quick work of the food White Song piled in front of him. He gulped down the hot drink as she shook her head at the taste. “I’ll tell the slaves to make you more,” she said as he finished the pot.
He thanked her with a kiss to her brow and disappeared into the shop.
Finally, he could start on his armor.
He pulled the gauntlets to him, first, tracing his fingers over the scrollwork etched into the golden metal. They were long, thin and gaudy. The metal was thicker than his armor, but he didn’t know how well it would hold up with his armor. He slipped his right hand into one and marveled at the workmanship. It fit like a glove, almost like it had been made for him. Still, it was too heavy for him to use with the armor. He flexed his fist a couple times before finally pulling it off and setting it aside.
First, he had to pound out the dent in his chest plate, or he was never going to be able to wear the armor comfortably.
He pulled the chest plate toward him and set to work.
He never noticed the hours passing him by when he was working. He never noticed the needs of his body when he was working. It always seemed so unimportant as he focused everything he had on the armor, or whatever project he was currently working on. Before, not even his teammates could pull him from his zoned out state while in the lab, and White Song learned quickly to sneak bits of food in with his tools so that he absently ate whatever his hands landed on.
He heard Iron Dust talking with her and knew that the day had come to an end, but he was so close to getting the chest plate just right, he couldn’t stop now. And then he had an idea of how to make the gauntlets attach to the armor in a similar way that his old ones had, and he had to start that right away.
He worked hard through the night, and well into the afternoon when White Song threw something at his head. The soft object bounced off his head, nearly making him smack face first into the table in front of him.
He whipped around to glare at her.
“What the hell?”
“I’m tired of staring at you staring at that. Get up, get cleaned, and we’re going out.”
He gaped at her a moment, and, when he didn’t move fast enough, jumped to his feet when she advanced on him, frown firmly in place. “Get up, get up, get up!”
She all but chased him into the water closet, throwing new clothes at him and ordering him to clean and change.
Without a shower, he soaked in the tub for a good half hour, letting the warm water wash away the aches and pains he had acquired in the past week. With steam curling up around his ears, he closed his eyes and drifted off, only to wake when sprinkles of cool water splashed on his face.
White Song was sitting at the edge of the tub, a smirk curving her lips. “Have a nice nap?”
“Yes, I did, until you ruined it.”
She nodded. “It is what I do. Get out and dressed. I want to eat, and then I want to play.”
He hesitated a moment, but when it became clear that she wasn’t moving, he stood and reached for a towel to dry himself with. She didn’t watch him, nor did she actively look away and there was something odd and fresh about that. People in his time were either lustful, or ashamed of the naked body. Here, people didn’t care. He dressed in the clothes she had brought him, pleasantly surprised to find that instead of the course wool he had grown accustomed to these past days, they were fine cotton, and the tunic was tickly embroidered. Thick enough to hide the light of the arc reactor.
He turned to face White Song. “Red?” he questioned, fingering the delicate threads of bright embroidery.
“You look good in red,” she said, standing and pulling him after her as she went down the stairs and out the front door. As always, Tony winced at the bright light after the darkness of the house.
She directed him through the crowds of people and into the pleasure district, the air suddenly filled with laughter and heady scents. Stalls of fresh and easy to eat food cluttered the street enough to make it impossible for a carriage to fit, leaving the street walking room only. Buildings were stuffed so close together that balconies stretched from one to the next without a break in between.
White Song led them into a tavern, the crowd boisterous and light hearted. There was loud music provided by a set of musicians seated in a far corner. Small groups of people were dancing. There were games of cards scattered around the wide room, and smoke hovered low in the air.
White Song seated them at a table in the back, catching a tavern maid by her skirt. She held up two fingers and the girl hurried off with a nod.
Tony sat back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I thought you said there was a war going on?” He waved a hand at the crowd before them. “It doesn’t look like they’re too worried about it.”
She shook her head. “The war hasn’t reached this far inland. They currently have nothing to fear.”
A woman bumped into their table and grinned down at Tony. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, a man grabbed her by her arm and swung her away. She laughed and danced into his arms as they galloped around the tavern to the steady beat of drums. Tony kept beat with his foot as White Song tapped along with her fingers on the table.
The maid brought two tankards of ale, slapping them down before them and holding her hand out for payment. White Song forked over two chips of green jade, and before she could pocket the rest, Tony reached out to inspect the currency.
“Jade? You use jade for armor, and for money?”
She fisted her hand over the chips. “It’s a magical material. You could use gold, silver, or even shells, if you’d like, but jade is the most widely accepted.”
“Shells?”
She grinned. “It’s common in the West.”
“And jade is common here.” He pulled one of the tankards toward him and sipped, pleasantly surprised to find it much tastier than he’d expected. He licked his lips and wiped the back of his hand over his moustache to rid it of the foamy head.
“This is good,” he commented. White Song had already emptied half her tankard.
“The best in Great Forks,” she said. “Old man Hunter makes the best.”
Tony drank more and suddenly realized that hadn’t eaten in quite a while. His stomach growled and as he drained the tankard his head swam. He carefully sat the tankard on the table. “I’m hungry.”
White Song laughed. “We’ll get our food soon enough.” She twisted around in her seat. “You stay here and wait for the food. I’m going to dance.”
She was gone. Tony blinked at the empty seat with a smile. She had been twitching like there were bugs under her skin since they left the house. Being his babysitter didn’t sit well with her. He assumed she was always moving and doing something. He was cutting into her active lifestyle.
He didn’t feel guilty, because she’d been offered twice to be free of him. She could have left, gone with her tribe, been active in this war. He caught sight of her, a man’s arms around her thin waist, her knee length skirt whipping with her every movement. She was laughing, but he couldn’t hear her voice over the racket of the crowd.
Then the maid came with two plates of food. She placed the steaming plate before him, and Tony didn’t wait for White Song to return before he dug in.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he found that he knew what he was eating. Steak. Glorious steak. And potatoes. Yum.
He was nearly finished with his plate, and White Song’s had cooled before she returned. She plopped down beside him, laughing.
“Do you dance.”
He stuffed another potato in his mouth, smiling over his mouthful. He swallowed before answering, “I do. My mother taught me ballroom dancing. That’s all I’m good for, though.” He waved his fork out at the crowd. “Not like this.”
White Song finished off her ale before pulling her plate toward her. “You will learn.”
He paused with another forkful half way to his mouth. “What?”
“After I finish. You’ll dance with me.” She waved two fingers at a passing barmaid, and, a few moments later, two more tankards appeared.
White Song was a very beautiful woman, thin, tall, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. Her skin was kissed by the sun, and she nearly always had a smile on her face, her eyes sparkling. She was more open and honest than anybody he had ever met save for Steve. She stood out in any crowd, so full of color in a dull world.
She gulped her food like it was her last supper, then downed the ale in one long drag. She wiped her mouth with one hand and pulled Tony to his feet with the other.
They danced well into the night, one pattern of music blending into the next until Tony couldn’t count the songs played, nor remember the steps to any dance beyond moving his body. He laughed and flirted like he hadn’t since before Afghanistan.
It was liberating, really, to be here, where nobody knew him by sight. Not a single person knew how rich or famous he was back home, and nobody wanted anything more from him than what he gave. A woman with black hair wanted a partner for one dance; a young slave wanted someone taller than her to reach a tray sitting on the top shelf; White Song wanted a back to lean against while she laughed uncontrollably at the antics of two drunken men dancing on a table. He could be himself without his father’s shadow, or his past actions hanging over him.
He was free.
There were no people here that he felt obligated to protect. There was nobody here that knew of his past and judged him accordingly. It was like he was a different person. Someone without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
When the barkeep started chasing people out, White Song led the way once more. She skipped a head of him, humming quietly to herself. She didn’t quite have a steady step and Tony held a hand out to catch her just in case. She didn’t need it though.
She turned around so that she was walking backwards, her arms thrown behind her head as she smiled softly at him. “I wish Iron Dust were with us.”
Ah, yes, there was that familiar guilt. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. Even if he wasn’t working for that god, he wouldn’t have joined us. He’s not one for parties.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s more of the type to have a proper sit down with other well-bred people, talking about politics and plots.”
There was a slave waiting for them just outside the door, and White Song shooed him off to his bed. She let them into the house and, when Tony absently started for the door toward the back of the house that led to the shop, she gripped him by the collar. “To bed with you,” she said, marching him up the stairs. Chuckling, he let her lead him and they turned into two giggling fools as they both crashed into the door of their bed chamber.
Iron Dust was already in the bed, his hand curled into a loose fist by his cheek on the pillow, his hair a silver mess. They both froze when they saw him, but their racket hadn’t woken him, so they shushed each other and prepared for bed quietly.
Once more, Tony was laying between the two of them, Iron Dust’s back to his side, and White Song pressed close, her head resting on his shoulder. Tony tangled his fingers in her hair, staring at the ceiling.
“Why do you not want to go back to your pack?”
She sighed, and he could feel her lashes against his collar as she closed her eyes. “I want them to live.”
He frowned and tried to look down at her, but from this angle, all he could see was her crown and the tip of her nose. “Wouldn’t that make you want to go to protect them?”
She smoothed the thin night tunic over his chest, tracing the ridge of the arc reactor under the cloth. Her voice was low when she finally answered him. “No. As a Lunar in the middle of a pack of beastmen, they will expect me to lead them into battle, to be a great warrior. Without me, they will focus on taking care of their weak and young. They will retreat from the front lines and hide away. They may even survive this war that’s tearing Creation apart.” She turned so that her nose was buried in Tony’s shoulder. “Without me to lead them to their deaths, they may live.”
