raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2020-07-01 01:05 am
raisedbymoogles) wrote2020-07-01 01:05 am
MCU, Steve/Tony UST, portal fantasy AU
Inspired by this post over on Tumblr.
*
Tony missed JARVIS like a pulled tooth. Shuffling paper maps around a long wooden table and trying to make them produce useful data was the absolute worst when he was used to a computer that could crunch any numbers he asked for and project them in the air at a word, accompanied by a decent degree of sass. God, he missed being sassed.
“Your Majesty?”
Tony jolted. “Uh. Yes!” His advisors were all looking expectantly at him like they were all his fifth-grade teacher having asked a question he’d missed because he was focusing on literally anything else. A whole room full of Mrs. Lindens, all of them insisting on calling him ‘my liege’. What god did he piss off?
Aside from the obvious.
“The Vasila Pass,” one of them prompted. “Are we reinforcing it or crossing it?”
Tony held back a groan, forcing his attention back onto the relevant map again. The label for the Vasila Pass through the Mist Mountains (as distinct from the Misty Mountains, for all the strange and varied not-human-people he’d met in this medieval-fantasy fever dream he’d yet to meet a dwarf) was longer than the pass itself, a tiny winding double-line leading into the heart of enemy territory. It looked, on paper, like their best move, wide enough to accomodate an army but short enough that the march wouldn’t exhaust them, just a hill fort and a few towns between them and the capital. A surgical strike, breaking the heart of the enemy alliance before they could sweep around the battered country Tony had accidentally taken responsibility for. The problem was the same could be said about Tony’s territory, and Dark Lord Whatshisface was likely working from the same maps he was. No, better maps, and he was probably more used to reading them, could get something more useful out of them than basic geography-!
“This is useless,” Tony muttered.
“My lord?”
…fuck, he’d said that out loud. Well, fine; he was a Divinely Appointed Monarch, or something. “This is useless,” he repeated. “I need more than borders. I need to hear from people who know the area, I need topography, I need - I need agricultural data.”
And now Chief Advisor Stuffed Shirt was looking like he just bit into a lemon. (Did they have lemons here? Dammit, now he wanted a lemon drop martini.) “Agri- agricultural data, your Majesty? Whatever for?”
And all right, he was showing his ignorance here, but they were the ones who pointed at him and said ‘king!’ and they hadn’t taken it back yet, so they could just deal. Tony opened his mouth to say something to that effect, and the door creaked open and Tony lost their attention as all his advisors looked to see who dared to enter the King’s domain unannounced-!
“Army runs on its stomach,” said Steve Rogers, clad in leather trousers and a fur vest and not much else, and Tony abruptly had to swallow. “Sorry, gentlemen, couldn’t help but overhear.”
Tony stood, which forced the advisors to stand - sour about it, but they stood and stayed standing as the King’s favorite concubine entered in. “That’s exactly what I was about to say,” Tony agreed, moving over to make room for Steve and both of his shoulders. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we stack the deck in our favor,” Steve answered, long clever artist’s fingers reaching for the maps. Chief Advisor Asshole looked like he was about to protest; then he looked like the advisor next to him had stepped on his foot to stop him from starting shit with the king’s favorite bed warmer, which was a mix of chagrin and pain that Tony was just gonna treasure if nobody stopped him.
“Great,” he said instead, clapping his hands. “What do you need?”
“Mountain soil’s not great for farming,” Steve muttered, eyes flickering over the maps like Tony’s repulsors. “So they’re getting supplies from somewhere. What do they grow on that side of the mountains?”
“We, uh.” Another advisor dared to speak up. “Turnips and deadly nightshade, so it’s said.”
“It’s said?” Steve pinned him in a gaze turned just-off-the-coast-of-Greenland icy. “You don’t know?”
“I- …no.”
“Then bring your king someone who does,” Steve ordered, all the ‘amused concubine’ falling out of his voice. “All of you. Troop numbers, weapons, terrain, something other than rumors and legend.”
“You heard him,” Tony confirmed when they still hesitated. “Get your asses out there.”
As the advisors filed out, Steve placed a careful hand to his lower back, silently offering support, but only when the last advisor exited and thoughtfully closed the door behind himself did Tony allow himself to lean into it. “This sucks,” he groaned. “The Narnia books lied to me, this sucks.”
“The what books?”
Tony winced at himself. “Children’s book series. Portal fantasy, four British children find their way into a magical world through a wardrobe and become its kings and queens. I mean, at the end of the book they do. A lot of stuff happens first, not like what happened here with the regent's man - lady - second in command dragging us back to Mom's castle as soon as she laid eyes on me.” He became aware that Steve was directing him to sit when his knees hit his Fancy Chair and folded, but he couldn’t complain too much when Steve was dragging another chair over to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “Anyway it’s all a thinly-veiled Christian allegory,” he went on, because Steve didn’t care if he babbled mindlessly. “Jesus Christ is a lion.”
“No shit,” Steve said dryly, case in point, that tone was encouraging him.
“Yep. Sacrificed for Edmund’s sins and came back to life and everything. Edmund was always my favorite.” His arms folded on the table, elbows shuffling amid the absolutely useless collection of maps, and he put his head down to let Steve rub warmth into the top of his spine. “You might like it, if we ever find a way back home.”
“We will,” Steve answered, as easy and assured as if he were commenting on the likelihood of the sun rising tomorrow. “Though I admit I haven’t been checking wardrobes.”
Tony snickered into the crook of his elbow. “Can’t be that easy, but what the hell. Mom found her way out, and she actually belonged here. We will too.”
Steve’s thumb moved against the back of his neck, a little too intimate for just-a-backrub, and Tony held still because if he called attention to it, it might have to stop. “She can’t have felt like she belonged here too much,” Steve said quietly, clearly feeling his way toward seeing through the eyes of a woman he’d never had the chance to meet. “Never looked back, never brought it up with you.”
Tony closed his eyes. How would that conversation even go? Hey, son, you’re a fairytale prince from a parallel universe. Anyway, have a nice day at school, honey! “Can you blame her?” he snarked, banishing the ghost of her face. “Look at who she had to work with.”
Steve chuckled in agreement; the careful stroking thumb didn’t cease. “I’m building my contacts,” he assured, and Tony nodded reluctantly - he really hadn’t suggested the concubine thing to humiliate Steve, but there was something defiant in the way Steve had taken the role and turned it to his advantage. “And we know the others are out there making it work in their own ways too. You just focus on keeping us all alive, okay?”
“Great, no pressure,” Tony muttered without heat.
“Well, you got me in your corner for that too.”
“…thanks.”
*
Tony missed JARVIS like a pulled tooth. Shuffling paper maps around a long wooden table and trying to make them produce useful data was the absolute worst when he was used to a computer that could crunch any numbers he asked for and project them in the air at a word, accompanied by a decent degree of sass. God, he missed being sassed.
“Your Majesty?”
Tony jolted. “Uh. Yes!” His advisors were all looking expectantly at him like they were all his fifth-grade teacher having asked a question he’d missed because he was focusing on literally anything else. A whole room full of Mrs. Lindens, all of them insisting on calling him ‘my liege’. What god did he piss off?
Aside from the obvious.
“The Vasila Pass,” one of them prompted. “Are we reinforcing it or crossing it?”
Tony held back a groan, forcing his attention back onto the relevant map again. The label for the Vasila Pass through the Mist Mountains (as distinct from the Misty Mountains, for all the strange and varied not-human-people he’d met in this medieval-fantasy fever dream he’d yet to meet a dwarf) was longer than the pass itself, a tiny winding double-line leading into the heart of enemy territory. It looked, on paper, like their best move, wide enough to accomodate an army but short enough that the march wouldn’t exhaust them, just a hill fort and a few towns between them and the capital. A surgical strike, breaking the heart of the enemy alliance before they could sweep around the battered country Tony had accidentally taken responsibility for. The problem was the same could be said about Tony’s territory, and Dark Lord Whatshisface was likely working from the same maps he was. No, better maps, and he was probably more used to reading them, could get something more useful out of them than basic geography-!
“This is useless,” Tony muttered.
“My lord?”
…fuck, he’d said that out loud. Well, fine; he was a Divinely Appointed Monarch, or something. “This is useless,” he repeated. “I need more than borders. I need to hear from people who know the area, I need topography, I need - I need agricultural data.”
And now Chief Advisor Stuffed Shirt was looking like he just bit into a lemon. (Did they have lemons here? Dammit, now he wanted a lemon drop martini.) “Agri- agricultural data, your Majesty? Whatever for?”
And all right, he was showing his ignorance here, but they were the ones who pointed at him and said ‘king!’ and they hadn’t taken it back yet, so they could just deal. Tony opened his mouth to say something to that effect, and the door creaked open and Tony lost their attention as all his advisors looked to see who dared to enter the King’s domain unannounced-!
“Army runs on its stomach,” said Steve Rogers, clad in leather trousers and a fur vest and not much else, and Tony abruptly had to swallow. “Sorry, gentlemen, couldn’t help but overhear.”
Tony stood, which forced the advisors to stand - sour about it, but they stood and stayed standing as the King’s favorite concubine entered in. “That’s exactly what I was about to say,” Tony agreed, moving over to make room for Steve and both of his shoulders. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we stack the deck in our favor,” Steve answered, long clever artist’s fingers reaching for the maps. Chief Advisor Asshole looked like he was about to protest; then he looked like the advisor next to him had stepped on his foot to stop him from starting shit with the king’s favorite bed warmer, which was a mix of chagrin and pain that Tony was just gonna treasure if nobody stopped him.
“Great,” he said instead, clapping his hands. “What do you need?”
“Mountain soil’s not great for farming,” Steve muttered, eyes flickering over the maps like Tony’s repulsors. “So they’re getting supplies from somewhere. What do they grow on that side of the mountains?”
“We, uh.” Another advisor dared to speak up. “Turnips and deadly nightshade, so it’s said.”
“It’s said?” Steve pinned him in a gaze turned just-off-the-coast-of-Greenland icy. “You don’t know?”
“I- …no.”
“Then bring your king someone who does,” Steve ordered, all the ‘amused concubine’ falling out of his voice. “All of you. Troop numbers, weapons, terrain, something other than rumors and legend.”
“You heard him,” Tony confirmed when they still hesitated. “Get your asses out there.”
As the advisors filed out, Steve placed a careful hand to his lower back, silently offering support, but only when the last advisor exited and thoughtfully closed the door behind himself did Tony allow himself to lean into it. “This sucks,” he groaned. “The Narnia books lied to me, this sucks.”
“The what books?”
Tony winced at himself. “Children’s book series. Portal fantasy, four British children find their way into a magical world through a wardrobe and become its kings and queens. I mean, at the end of the book they do. A lot of stuff happens first, not like what happened here with the regent's man - lady - second in command dragging us back to Mom's castle as soon as she laid eyes on me.” He became aware that Steve was directing him to sit when his knees hit his Fancy Chair and folded, but he couldn’t complain too much when Steve was dragging another chair over to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “Anyway it’s all a thinly-veiled Christian allegory,” he went on, because Steve didn’t care if he babbled mindlessly. “Jesus Christ is a lion.”
“No shit,” Steve said dryly, case in point, that tone was encouraging him.
“Yep. Sacrificed for Edmund’s sins and came back to life and everything. Edmund was always my favorite.” His arms folded on the table, elbows shuffling amid the absolutely useless collection of maps, and he put his head down to let Steve rub warmth into the top of his spine. “You might like it, if we ever find a way back home.”
“We will,” Steve answered, as easy and assured as if he were commenting on the likelihood of the sun rising tomorrow. “Though I admit I haven’t been checking wardrobes.”
Tony snickered into the crook of his elbow. “Can’t be that easy, but what the hell. Mom found her way out, and she actually belonged here. We will too.”
Steve’s thumb moved against the back of his neck, a little too intimate for just-a-backrub, and Tony held still because if he called attention to it, it might have to stop. “She can’t have felt like she belonged here too much,” Steve said quietly, clearly feeling his way toward seeing through the eyes of a woman he’d never had the chance to meet. “Never looked back, never brought it up with you.”
Tony closed his eyes. How would that conversation even go? Hey, son, you’re a fairytale prince from a parallel universe. Anyway, have a nice day at school, honey! “Can you blame her?” he snarked, banishing the ghost of her face. “Look at who she had to work with.”
Steve chuckled in agreement; the careful stroking thumb didn’t cease. “I’m building my contacts,” he assured, and Tony nodded reluctantly - he really hadn’t suggested the concubine thing to humiliate Steve, but there was something defiant in the way Steve had taken the role and turned it to his advantage. “And we know the others are out there making it work in their own ways too. You just focus on keeping us all alive, okay?”
“Great, no pressure,” Tony muttered without heat.
“Well, you got me in your corner for that too.”
“…thanks.”
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