Chapter Text
Since the great war with Asgard was over, Jotunheim's economy was flourishing. Nowadays Jotunheim was one of the most advanced realms. A fact that made the life of Anthony Stark incredibly comfortable. As the son of a blacksmith who worked for the royal family, as well as the court, life couldn't be much easier. Orders came in almost every day and his old man couldn't work fast enough to complete them. The reputation that followed the name Stark was securing their well-being. His family was always held in high esteem and Tony, as he liked to be called, didn't need to lift a finger. Even though his mother always tried to convince him that her talented son should help his father in the workshop. She was a gorgeous woman. Lovely and caring, the exact opposite of his father.
Tony had already learned everything he needed from his old man and he didn't spend time with him if he could avoid it. Howard always did what his clients wanted, even though it was a dumb commission from an even dumber man. Tony couldn't do that. He wouldn't deliver anything but perfection, which had often caused him trouble when it came to work. No one seemed to care if the spectral knife was better balanced, or sharper, if it hadn't the look they wanted. So Tony had stayed out of the forge, only inventing his own technology. Some people called him arrogant, ignorant and egocentric, but the truth was, he was a genius. Even more so than his father, who always held his attitude against him, saying that his insubordination would be his death someday.
Little had he known that this would be his fate, after all. The realm of Jotunheim had many cities, which from the capitol, where more than a day's journey away. Since Tony refused to deliver their forged goods, his parents headed out to do this task. Unfortunately, winter had been already nearing, and Howard hadn't expected that the pass through the Hilgr mountains would be already buried deep within snow and ice. It had happened because he couldn't wait for the weather to get better, couldn't wait for spring. This stubborn old bastard.
Tony had mourned for his mother, but not for his father. He had brought them into this situation. It was entirely his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid to be always correct and punctual, Maria could still be alive. He blamed the man for her death. He had dragged her with him. And thus could be held liable for Tony's misery.
In the first time after the funeral, in which only replacements were buried in the frozen ground, people had expressed their condolences, given him all kinds of gifts to help him over the loss of his parents. But even the most kind people were eventually minding their own business and soon Tony was dependent on his father's forge. Now he had to work to earn enough money to actually eat. This was one thing he thanked his father for. His established clientele. The work was monotonous. Easy. Too easy for him. Some clients wanted weapons, others armor or simple jewelry. Nothing creative. Nothing challenging. Yet, Tony had trouble to comply to their wishes. It turned out that people still didn't appreciate getting something different from what they had ordered, improved or not. One single month did he last. Just one month until customers stayed out and Tony had to rely on the savings of his parents. Embarrassing, really, but what else could he do when these people were too stupid to admit that their ideas or drafts were not efficient. Their loss.
Much to Tony's dislike, it was his problem in the end. Without money there was no way for him to buy food. Trading was out of the question, because normal citizens didn't need ores or rough gems. They only needed smithery for luxury goods or weaponry. Most of them had their seidr for anything else. Magic. Tony was no seidr wielder. He had to depend on his own skills to forge what he needed. So there was only one thing he could resort to. Theft. It was strange how easy that was for him. At first no one noticed, he was smart, after all, only ever stole what he needed for survival, never too much, so nobody grew suspicious. It worked out for a couple of weeks. Not that he was proud of himself for stealing, but he had to say that he got pretty good at this. He could take items from people's pockets without them even noticing that he was there. Probably because no one would expect to get stolen from in the capitol. Royal guards roamed the streets day and night, at least facilitating the feeling of safety. Tony was thankful that he at least had the workshop and didn't need to sleep in some dark alley. The Jotuns living on the street had a hard furrow to plough this time of year. It got colder with each passing day, to a degree that the ice and snow would burn even a frost giant's skin when he wouldn't wear any protection from the cold. Tony hoped he wouldn't ever have to spend a night without a roof over his head.
But Tony got careless after these few weeks. Stole from the wrong people. A merchant caught him red-handed and was about to cut off his hand, for this was the appropriate way to handle a thief, but his wife prevented him from actually doing it. In their struggle, Tony accidentally knocked over a few objects made of porcelain, which only made everything worse. Not only was he accused of thievery, but was now also in the shop owner's debt. Guards dragged him out by his neck, the bulky men were much stronger than Tony, even though he wasn't slight by any means, and were quick to throw him into the dungeons. Normal or poor people couldn't effort trials. Nor could they demand a hearing.
The dungeons of Jotunheim were just that. Dungeons. Not like the ones in Asgard, or Midgard. The prisoners told each other tales that these realms actually put their captives into cells that had beds, or an adjoining bathroom. Something you could only dream of in here. Tony sat on the cold floor, hands enchained by iron manacles that cut into his skin whenever he had to move them. Warmth was only provided by a single fire in the middle of the corridor, barely reaching the cells that were separated by iron railings. It was barely warm enough to let them survive. And this was the whole reason why they shouldn't just die. They should suffer for their crimes.
Tony was starving. It had been almost a week since the guards had given them something to eat. It was strange what hunger could do to you. He sat there, leaning against the wall, head dropped to his chest, imagining how the meat of a Jotun would taste. Not that he could get out of his cell, or would actually try it, but this was just that kind of thought that came to you when you haven't eaten in days. A sound startled him, making him look up. He watched as a posh dressed Jotun with fair, slicked-back hair, walked to the door of his cell, gesturing to the guards to open up. Tony eyed him up suspiciously, asking himself mentally what this was all about and hissed in warning when the arrogant-looking man came too close to him.
“You will have to drop this attitude.” The man raised an eyebrow at the huff.
“And who are you to order me around?” Tony was surprised how hoarse his own voice sounded.
A guard yanked him up by the chains, causing pain to spread from his wrists into his entire body. Tony was barely able to stand on his legs when the guard unfastened the shackles, and not too gently. The blacksmith rubbed his aching wrists to soothe the pain, but the cuts were too deep and needed proper treatment.
“My name is Jarvis. I am the head of the royal servantry. I am here on behalf of king Laufey.” The other said, not a hint of emotion there. His voice was as cold as this prison.
And Tony just burst out in laughter when he heard the words.
“Oh? No shit?” He cursed and saw the man grimacing at the use of vulgar language. “Tell me then, valet, what do you want?”
Without his consent, one of the guards threw a thick fur around his shoulders, which in any other situation, Tony would have been glad for. Now he just tried to get rid of it, a wasted effort.
“You will also have to adjust your language.” Jarvis only said indifferently and stared down on the dirty man, eying him up from head to toe. “Your obligee has sold you to the royal house. Apparently you weren't able to square your debt, even though most of your possessions were disposed of.”
Tony's breath caught in his lungs. This couldn't be true. This was not happening.
“From this very second you are part of the king's property and will serve as a thrall.”
His gaping was answered with a wink of the man's hand, at which the guards grabbed Tony by his arms and started pulling.
“I won't serve anybody!” Tony spat, before his hair was grasped by a firm hand, keeping him in check.
“You will.”
Without being able to fight back, or even struggle, Tony was dragged out of his cell.