For the WIP snippet tag game thingy - NORTHMAN NORTHMAN NORTHMAN! Pls and thank you
Several of you have requested a snippet from The Northman, so here you go! Thank you all for your enthusiasm!
“I have given you what you want. Do not ask more of me.”
The finality of Steve’s last words to him as he sat atop his horse, staring down at Tony with a stone-faced expression, still gripped Tony’s chest like a cold, steel hand. He stared out the small window, watching the war-ravaged countryside pass as the wagon wheels jostled over the pit-marked road. The sun was starting to set, and the city walls had long since faded to an indistinct, earthen-colored blur behind them. Soon, they would need to camp for the night. He should be thinking of what was to come, but his mind refused, dwelling instead on his Alpha’s grim-faced farewell in the bailey this morning as Tony had asked, once more, without truly expecting a different outcome, for Steve not to do this.
This was what he wanted. What he had always wanted. Freedom, or as close to it as an Omega like him could hope to enjoy, and yet, he felt nothing. Only a cold, empty certainty that nothing about this was as it should be, not anymore, but he had destroyed the chance to have anything else. He would have been happy. A month ago. A week ago. He would have been happy. But, he had been given a glimpse of a different path, a different life, only to have it torn away from him when it was just in reach, so close he could almost touch it.
I didn’t know, he thought, I didn’t know I could have that. No one told me.
Except, he couldn’t have that. Not now, not ever. That life had been fantasy, nothing more. A delusion his Heat had produced, mostly likely, he told himself. If he truly meant anything to Steve, his Alpha would not do this. Not this. Punish him, yes, Tony could have accepted that, but this? Banished, his mind spat at him, a fresh wave of humiliation rolling through him. The bond severed, as if he was just some lowborn Third who had failed to please their Alpha, and not a prince in his own right whose birthright was to sit at the side of a King as his First and bear his heir.
A child, Tony thought, stomach twisting. He couldn’t think of it. If he did, a great maw of loss and fear opened up inside of him, making him want to retch. It was unlikely he would quicken from one Heat, he knew, but still, he prayed he was as barren as the fields after the war. No, there would be no child. He would not think otherwise. He would live out his days alone in this place. Perhaps he would even find contentment. Perhaps that would be enough, and he would learn to let go of this gnawing, clamoring regret that threatened to overwhelm him.
He would be alone, and Steve would find a new First. Perhaps Steve was already looking to the Lady Sharon for comfort, Tony thought bitterly, then forcefully pushed away the notion, though it niggled at him, as if it had a hook that had caught on the hem of his robe and he could not shake it loose. If Steve were to replace him, and Tony supposed, with a sharp, gutting pang, that such a future was inevitable, it would not be immediate, at least. Steve, along with his Northmen, save Clint, had left at the same time as Tony’s caravan, on the hunt for Rumlow and his followers. Those who remained alive after the first attack had been flushed out of their hiding place, but remained to be dealt with, and Tony had little doubt that Steve would deal with them. As angry as he was with Steve, Tony was oddly certain that Steve would fulfill his promised act of obligation.
The King says that this will be done in your name by his hand, this he so swears, Tony remembered Yinsen saying. Steve would keep his word, Tony was sure of it. He would almost feel sorrow for Rumlow, were he not aware of the atrocities committed by the man. As it was, there was some small comfort in knowing that the one who had placed his thumb on the scale of Tony’s life and sent it into a spiral would meet a fate he deserved.
As will I, Tony thought, grimacing. Maybe that’s true for all of us.
The past few days, Tony had been so sure that Steve would relent, if he could only have a moment to explain himself, but the days flew by in a whirlwind, and in the few encounters he managed to have with his Alpha, Steve refused to even countenance Tony’s entreaties.
Truthfully, Tony had no idea exactly what he would say that could possibly soften Steve’s resolve. He had conspired with Maya, who was in league with Rumlow, he now knew--a fact he likely could have discovered before, but had he questioned her? Demanded to know what conspiracy he was so willinging joining? Admitted his guilt to Steve in full instead of trying to hide the worst parts of it? No. He had been at the bottom of a pit and grabbed onto a rope without worrying about what awaited him when he climbed out. When he had the opportunity to beg forgiveness, he had kept the biggest secrets to himself, so sure that his perfidy would never be discovered.
He had known what that Maya woman wanted though. He had known what her endgame was to be--Steve, dead, and someone else in his place. Tony had barely questioned it, at least not until it was far too late. And where had this recklessness gotten him? Well, he thought dully, it had gotten him stuffed into the back of a wagon on his way to something that once may have looked like freedom, but now just seemed like a hollow, empty prison.
Tony’s caravan, such as it was, plodded along towards the old keep at what had once been a thriving river crossing where merchants and farmers traded wares. It had been ravaged in the war many decades ago, and the river diverted, then poisoned by Pierce’s forces, leaving the keep and its fortifications a vestige of a more prosperous time, but not one worthy of much attention during the war. Pepper had arranged to send servants to prepare it, along with wagons of supplies, which was why today’s party was so sparse.
There were four wagons in total, surrounded by guards that Tony knew Rhodey had handpicked for the task. Tony was as comfortably ensconced as he could be in a covered relic that he thought may have belonged to his great-grandfather. It was supposedly built for travel, but showed remarkably little evidence of it. The seats were padded and lined with velvet, and he had a window to allow for fresh air, but it swayed worse than a ship at sea during a storm. Tony clutched at his stomach as it roiled in time with the wagon as it plodded over the uneven terrain, trying to keep his meager breakfast from making a reappearance.
He wished Rhodey was with him, both for a distraction and the comfort of his company, but his best friend rode next to the wagon at the front of their little convoy, leaving Tony alone with his melancholy, his mind replaying Steve’s all but expressionless face as he had stared at Tony across their bedchamber, the small potion bottle clutched damningly in his hand. It was that image and the knowledge of the contents of the wagon bringing up the rear that kept cascading through Tony’s mind in a tumultuous jumble of thoughts as uneven as the road itself.
The rear wagon held all the books, instruments, models, and other bits and pieces from his workshop, all carefully arranged and secured in trunks of straw and other padding to accompany him, as if it was just as precious as the jewels and finery that had been sent ahead to wait for him, the boons of what Yinsen explained was a cultural taboo against taking back a gift once given. He would be the most finely attired cast-aside in the realm. He would have everything he had ever wanted, just as Steve said. He would not think about that one, brief moment when he had wanted something more.
Do not ask more of me.
I won’t, he thought, but I wanted to.
Tony squeezed his prickling eyes shut, then opened them, sucking in a deep breath. He turned and glanced out the window again. Their pace had thankfully slowed. Perhaps the road had worsened, or, more likely, with night falling, the horses were having a harder time avoiding the divots. One wrongly placed step, and a leg could be broken, or a wheel splintered, it could delay them by--
BOOM!
The wag rocked so hard to one side that Tony was thrown from his seat. His ears were ringing, and his vision blurred. Debris of some kind pelted the wagon, cracking the wooden roof and sending pieces of it falling on top of Tony where he lay on the floor. Through the window, he could see fire illuminate a soldier on horseback for a moment, then black smoke billowed, swallowing the soldier and horse and leaving Tony in darkness, Outside, the screams of horses and shouts of men rose in a clatter. Something pierced the side of the wagon, just to the right of the window, with thwang. He looked up and saw a pointed arrow tip just barely sticking out of the wood panel.
We’re under attack, he had time to realize, before the wagon’s door was jerked open, and a soldier shouted at Tony in a tinny, distant voice to run, run Your Highness.
Tony ran.
