Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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My soul is full of longing
for the secret of the sea,
and the heart of the great ocean
sends a thrilling pulse through me.
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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♚

Nicholas,

There is much for me to say but little time to say it so I will cut straight to the heart of the matter.

Since my son was kidnapped from his nursery two decades ago, I have never stopped searching. Maria never recovered from the shock and with no trace of who took him or why, everyone had thought him dead. I’ve never given up on him, because I’ve always felt that he was still out there somewhere, but hidden. This morning, my belief was finally rewarded, and I have been given adequate reason and proof that my son is still alive.

I’m an old man now and I fear that my time is drawing to a close. Death’s rattling breaths come closer each day. I do not fear the end, for I have lived a long and fulfilling life, but it is my final wish to see my son, my sole heir, the rightful Prince of this kingdom, once more before I die.

Please, Nicholas, find him. I do not care how or what you have to do, just bring him home.

Howard

♚

The Kingdom of Stark was a large fertile land, stretching much further than the eye could see and surrounded by the vast ocean. Its Capitol was a bustling trading point and the hub of creativity, with schools of higher learning, and churches that spiralled into the sky. It was the home of some of the most skilled craftsmen in all the land.

The people of the Kingdom were peaceful and happy for the most part, but they did field the largest Imperial Navy and had the most advanced weaponry, courtesy of their King, Howard, a gifted engineer as well as a talented statesman.

King Howard was a fair man, who ruled his Kingdom with a careful and steady hand. He wasn’t the most cheerful or well liked of men, but there was no one who didn’t respect his fierce intelligence and driving need to do what was right by the people.

Twenty five years ago, the King met a beautiful Princess called Maria from a neighbouring land and he fell in love. They were married shortly after, a true love match, a rarity in royal circles.

Twenty one years ago, King Howard and Queen Maria had a son, a Prince who they christened Anthony, in honour of the Queen’s late father, and the kingdom rejoiced that their King finally had his long desired heir.

Twenty years ago, Prince Anthony vanished, presumed kidnapped, from his nursery, in the heart of the palace. The King sent out countless men, turning the countryside upside down in an attempt to find his son, but it was all for naught.

The Queen withdrew, becoming more and more of a shadow with each day that passed with the Prince missing. She withered, faded, and finally passed away three years after her son vanished. And the Kingdom mourned, for while they respected and admired their King, they adored and loved their Queen.

King Howard was never the same after that.

♚

Lord Nicholas Joseph Fury, Peer of the Kingdom, Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, scowled heavily and clunked his tankard onto the scarred wooden table.

A second man emerged from behind the counter. He was tall and scruffy, vaguely unkempt facial hair covered the side of his face and jaw. Despite his slouching pose and stomping walk, his eyes were sharp and the hands around the two tankards he carried were steady, not one drop spilling as he weaved his way through the rowdy crowd.

“Trouble in the Capitol?” he asked as he set both the mugs on the table, sliding one in Fury’s direction.

Fury darted a glance around, making sure of the lack of eavesdroppers before he leaned in, deciding that the noise surrounding them was enough to drown out whatever they spoke of.

“The King is very ill, Logan,” he said, quietly, pulling his tankard close, staring down at the brown liquid.

Logan snorted and dropped into the chair opposite Fury. “Bub, tell me something I don’t know.”

Fury’s scowl grew and he sat back again, withdrawing a letter from within his inner vest pocket. He slid it over to the other end of the table. “He sent me a letter, a private message with a private request.”

Logan picked it up and glanced over at Fury as he withdrew the single sheet of parchment from the envelope, paper creasing under his large hands. “This could be counted as treason,” he said, raising his eyebrows but Fury noticed that he flipped the paper open and read it anyway.

He tipped the rough earthenware mug in his hand back and swallowed the last few mouthfuls as Logan finished reading and let out a slow whistle, “The Prin…”
Logan’s words cut off when Fury clamped a hand over his wrist and shook his head sharply. “No one else is to know. So far only the King and I know about this. The man who brought the information to the King is dead, poisoned. There’s something bigger, more sinister behind this.”

Fury leaned back once more, face serious and slid the letter back into the envelope once more, securing it on his person once more. “I’ve spoken to the King’s Spymaster and he’s said that there are rumours floating around the Kingdom about an usurper to the throne and plenty of unease amongst the people.”

“The King is without a direct heir,” Fury continued, snagging Logan’s mug and ignoring the other man’s protest, “When he dies, the right of succession passes to his closest relative, a distant cousin out on the edges of the Kingdom.”

Logan flagged down one of the barmaids and gestured for another drink. He turned back to Fury and asked, “But?”

Fury waved off an offer of a refill from the barmaid who set down Logan’s drink. He waited until he was certain she was out earshot before he spoke again. “The King has changed the law, quietly of course, but now his Council of Imperial Advisors have the right to elect the new king from within the Peerage of the Kingdom.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up at this and tapped his fingers against his chin, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Stane?”

“That’s who I fear is behind it all. He’s the King’s oldest friend, but he’s a snake.” Fury shook his head once, sharply. “The King listens to none of us, not even his Spymaster, Coulson. He refuses to believe that Stane has other ambitions beyond his hereditary Dukedom.”

“Why are you here, Fury?” Logan’s arms were crossed and his eyes were narrowed. “I doubt that the King is going to listen to me out of all people.” He spread his arms out, encompassing the rowdy bar. The wickedly sharp knives Fury knew were always strapped to Logan’s wrists glinted when he stretched and his sleeves pulled back for one moment.

“I’m nothing but a lowly tavern owner, a former outlaw to boot.” Logan’s grin wasn’t bitter, but it wasn’t happy either.

Fury raised and lowered his tankard back onto the table not so gently. “You’re the best source of information in the Kingdom and beyond. You know everything that goes on, on land or sea, better than even Coulson sometimes, I suspect.”

Logan snorted a laugh. “High praise, Fury,” he mocked but nevertheless nodded, settling back against his chair a little.

“In regards to the matter mentioned in the letter, I haven’t heard anything solid. But,” here Logan paused and scowled, “there might be someone who can find what you need.”

“Where can I find him?” Fury asked, his one eye narrowed.

Logan took the last swallow of his alcohol and waved for another. “Don’t know,” he shrugged.

Fury sighed, “Name?”

A tiny smirked curled over Logan’s lips as he repeated,” Don’t know.”

“How am I supposed to find this ‘mysterious person’ then?” Fury growled, patience drawn out to breaking point.

Logan’s smile dropped and he leaned in, folding his arms on the table. “You need to catch the Ironheart,” he said, “They say that there’s nothing that her Captain can’t find.”

He pushed away from the table and nodded at Fury, “And that’s all I can tell you, Admiral. The rest is up to you.”

♚

“Captain!”

Steven Rogers, Captain of the Imperial Fleet, turned to find one of his senior lieutenants jogging towards him, one arm raised in a hail.

He waited until the other man was close enough so they could talk without raising their voices. “Lieutenant Barton, is something wrong?”

Clint Barton drew up and didn’t bother taking a moment to catch his breath, just handing Steve a folded square of parchment. “Admiral Fury wants to see you.” He pulled a face, “Wants to see your entire senior crew actually.”

Steve took a moment to read the brief missive before tucking it in a belt pouch. “Come with me then. We’ll find Lieutenant Romanov on our way over. It looks like we have orders to receive.”

♚

Steven Grant Rogers was born as the sole child to his parents Sarah and Joseph. He had always held a fascination and deep love for the sea and so, as soon as he was old enough, his parents sent Steve to the Capitol to sit for the exam for entrance to the Imperial Military Academy with hopes that he would one day join the Imperial Navy.

Steve passed the tests with flying colours and entered the Academy at twelve years of age, one of the youngest students in its entire history.

During his time at the Academy, Steve discovered a talent for all things nautical and his instructors thought he had the makings of a fine naval captain one day with his calmness under pressure and instinctive head for naval tactics. He made several friends during his schooling years, including James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, a son of a minor baronet and James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes, whose father was on the Council of Imperial Advisors.

He graduated the Academy with honours at sixteen and once he served the required five years under an experienced Naval Captain, Steve was almost immediately given command of the newest and arguably the best ship in the Imperial Fleet, The Patriot, becoming the youngest Captain in the Fleet.

♚

“Tony?” Bruce Banner knocked on the door to the Captain’s quarters again. “Tony, we really need to do something about the…”

The door swung open to display a terrifying expanse of tanned golden brown skin because of course Tony was not wearing a shirt. Bruce sighed but took the chance to do his customary visual check just to make sure Tony wasn’t bleeding from anything again, especially after the last altercation with the other pirate captain.

Thankfully, it seemed like Tony had received nothing but a few bruises over his ribs and had the lovely beginnings of a black eye. Bruce cast a quick look at the glow of the circle of light set into Tony’s chest, reassured that it was steady and not flickering. The light from the device threw the room into a sort of weird bluish cast, causing the tattoo on Tony’s left pectoral to seem like it was almost glimmering in the sparse light.

Reassured of his friend’s health, somewhat, Bruce wrinkled his nose and pushed past, picking up a blanket from the rumpled bed and shoving it in Tony’s general direction. “Put on some clothes, otherwise you’re going to catch a cold and die.”

Tony smirked and threw the blanket back at Bruce, pulling on a shirt he picked up off the floor instead, dropping a wink, sliding his arms through the sleeves and started buttoning the multitude of tiny pearl buttons along the front. “You do care, I feel loved.”

“Tony, we need to discuss your reckless behaviour. Again.” Bruce took a seat at Tony’s desk. They had been friends for long enough that neither Tony nor Bruce were going to even bother to pretend that there was any sort of difference of status between them. “Also, we might need to talk about how the Ironheart can’t possibly take another half-tonne cannon on the starboard side; we’re going to start listing soon enough as it is.”

The Ironheart might be Tony’s prized ship, and he her Captain, but it was Bruce who kept her running more days than not, when Tony couldn’t be bothered with the little repairs, instead spending his time inventing deadlier and more accurate rifles, or even bigger cannons that made a louder boom.

“Minor details,” Tony waved it off, “I’m sure we can remove something. There are a lot of unused components on the prow.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, we’re not removing the masts. How is a ship supposed to sail without masts?”

Tony strode to a chest near the foot of his too-large bed and opened it to withdraw a new jacket; the one he had been wearing was on the floor with several holes through the sleeve, courtesy of the Captain of the other vessel he had a run-in with. “You know I’ve been experimenting with extra mechanical components. The Ironheart already basically runs itself, I’m sure we can do away with the masts soon enough.”

Bruce held up a hand, stopping Tony’s explanation halfway through. “Let’s not start on how impossible the mechanics would be. No, I do not doubt that you can do it, because you’re a genius, yes, I know,” he added when he saw Tony’s mouth open accompanied by an indignant expression, “But you do know that no one else will ever take us seriously again, right? A pirate ship with no sails? It’s like having a guard dog with no teeth.”

Tony subsided, flopping onto his bed with a sulky expression. “Well, I could if I want to. And they’d learn to take us seriously when we blow them to kingdom come.”

“Forget about that for the moment, we need to talk about your reckless tendencies first.” Bruce pushed his eyeglasses higher up on his nose and frowned in Tony’s expression. “Explain to me just why you had to board the other ship today? We were definitely out-manned, even if we weren’t outgunned.”

Tony lost his sullen expression immediately and he bounced up, reaching down to rummage in his abandoned jacket, pulling out a battered piece of parchment. “The Tesseract, Bruce! I had heard rumours that Justin Hammer had somehow gotten his greedy little paws on a map to the Tesseract, I was just confirming the information.”

Bruce took the smudged and slightly torn offering from Tony, sweeping a practiced eye over it. It wasn’t to scale, so he had to do some quick comparisons to confirm the probable coordinates according to landmarks and the black dotted line that led all the way to the edge of the page and then just stopped, cut off. “Tony, this is…”

“Half!” Tony looked excited, “Half of the map. Someone out there has the other half, or at least I hope it’s half and not say, a third or a fifth, because can you imagine how much trouble it will be to try tracking down another four pieces of this thing? We’ve already spent half a decade looking for this and…”

“Tony! Focus.” Bruce’s voice cut into his thoughts again.

“What? Right. I thought we might just head over to where the edge of the map. There has to be a reason that they were split down the middle like this.” Tony told Bruce, sliding a finger over the cut edge. “It’s not torn, so it’s most likely not an accidental separation into halves. So maybe there’s a clue or something waiting there,” he jabbed a finger at the very edge, where the map suddenly ended.

Bruce squinted a little at the tiny letters that don’t resemble any language he’d ever seen. “And where is ‘there’ exactly?”

Tony eyes grew a little distant and he tapped his fingers against the wooden table, obviously doing some sort of navigational calculation internally. He snapped his fingers and looked back at Bruce. “About a month North-West, just beyond the far reaches of the Kingdom.”

There was a pinched look in Bruce’s pale face. “No one really goes that far. They say there’s nothing but barbarian tribes that far North.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Bruce?” Tony grinned and rolled the map back up, sliding it into a waterproof casing for protection.

Bruce sighed, “I think I lost it when you kidnapped me from my laboratory a decade or so ago.”

Tony smacked him on the shoulder as he scrambled up from his seat and in the direction of the door, “Good man. Now, let’s go and have a look at the damage Hammer managed to accidentally inflict on our beautiful lady.”

Bruce shook his head but nevertheless stood to follow Tony. “At least promise that we’ll stop by the Wolf Tavern to check our information with Logan’s?”

“Fine, fine. If that will make you feel better, dear.” Tony huffed but waved a hand in acquiescence. Then he brightened, “We can also stock up on the alcohol there. Logan’s homebrew is something special indeed.”

Bruce could do nothing but sigh again, “Whatever you want, Captain.”

♚

“Let me get this straight,” Clint started, standing at Steve’s shoulder on the pier, as they watched their sailors scramble up and down the plank of The Patriot, carrying all sorts of packages. “We’re going pirate hunting? Us? On the best ship in the entire Imperial Navy?”

Sir Phillip Coulson, the King’s Spymaster, who was overseeing the loading of supplies and weaponry, cast a raised eyebrow in Clint’s direction. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

Clint had that stubborn tilt to his chin. “We have the best ship and crew on these waters, sir, not to mention the best captain by far. I think our talent is wasted chasing pirates,” he said, words bold, but tone calm, polite. The Spymaster was one of the few people he had a deep abiding respect for.

Coulson watched Clint with mild interest as Steve wondered if he should interrupt or not.

“Can I trust you with something told in complete confidence, Captain Rogers, Lieutenant Barton?” Coulson asked finally, glancing from Steve to Clint.

Clint blinked but nodded as did Steve, “Yes, sir.”

Coulson took a few steps away from the organised chaos of the pier and beckoned Steve and Clint to follow.

“The King is very sick, you both know this,” Coulson waited for the acknowledging nods before continuing, “What you probably do not realise is that we’re on the brink of revolution.”

“What?” Steve couldn’t help the startled exclamation.

“There is no one in direct succession to the throne,” Coulson held up a hand to forestall the protest he could see coming from both Steve and Clint, “I know that technically the Council is supposed to rule as Regents, sharing the power until a suitable heir is located, but you cannot imagine the exalted members of the Imperial Council don’t suffer from greed and a need for personal power above all else.”

Steve frowned and shook his head, “I know Sir James Rhodes and Lady Virginia Potts personally. I can assure you, sir, that neither of them holds any aspirations to a higher seat of power.”

Coulson nodded at this, “Individual members, like Sir James and the Lady Virginia, are solid, dependable people with the best interests of the King and the Kingdom at heart. But there are twelve members who sit in on the Senior Council, not to mention the multitude of members of the General Council, and all decisions are made via a majority vote.” He raised his eyebrows, “How many do you think will still be thinking of the King and the good of the Kingdom when the Imperial Throne is empty and available?”

“But what does that have to do with us?” Clint couldn’t hold his question anymore. He crossed his arms. “It’s not like catching a pirate or two is going to magic up an Imperial Prince to succeed to the Kingdom. King Howard’s only heir died two decades ago.”

Coulson smiled, the barest upwards curve to his lips, “Well, about that…”

♚

Tony remembers nothing of his childhood, doesn’t remember where he’s from, doesn’t know his birth parents. He’s not quite sure if he wants to, since they seem to have abandoned him as a babe, left him to die in a little wooden boat floating on the sea.

Tony, instead, has Yinsen. Yinsen, a fisherman by trade, who lived on the edges of the sea and found Tony’s tiny little craft, not much more than a wooden crate, one morning when he casted his nets. It’s Yinsen who raised Tony, taught him about the world, about doing the right thing and being an honourable man.

It’s Yinsen who taught him the moods of the sea, taught him to appreciate the beauty in the endless stretch of blue reflected by the sky, of the breathtaking storms that crashed waves over the beach and rocks. It’s also Yinsen who introduced Tony to the flawless logic of science and Tony fell in love.

Yinsen used to be a great scholar in the Capitol, but due to an incident he never explained to Tony, he was disgraced and exiled to the outreaches of the Kingdom to live out the remainder of his life. But Yinsen, in his sparse free time, never stopped his studies.

Tony was a bright, capable child, a fiercely intelligent young man, who devoured books and knowledge, instantly picking up and understanding concepts and theory that took Yinsen decades of study to obtain.

The only thing that Yinsen didn’t do was give Tony his name. There were nights, back when Tony was nothing more than a child, when Tony would ask about himself, about how Yinsen found him.

Yinsen would smile, a soft fond expression, and brush Tony’s dark hair out of his eyes as they sat in front of the tiny little fire in Yinsen’s small hut.

“I found you floating in that tiny boat, wrapped in a fine blanket, stitched with ‘Anthony’,” Yinsen would tell him, the story never changing, no matter how many times he told it. Yinsen would show him the blanket, now nothing more than battered scraps of material, having being washed so many times over the years.

“Someone named you, Tony, someone who loved you,” Yinsen would tell him again and again.

“Then why didn’t they keep me? Why did they abandon me?” Tony would ask in reply, fingers running over the barely visible name on the ragged ends of the blanket.

Yinsen could never find a real answer for him.

♚

Steve pushed open the door to the Wolf Tavern cautiously. He stopped at the entrance as every single conversation in the rowdy tavern petered out as they caught sight of him.

Clint, who followed at his shoulder like always, took one look at the clientele and sighed. “Told you to change out of your uniform, Captain.”

Steve looked back with a little crease between his brows, “But we’re on official business for the Kingdom.”

“No, you’re painting a giant target on your back,” a rough looking man told them from behind the counter, cleaning his hands off on a somewhat clean cloth. His broad shoulder and arm muscles flexed impressively, clearly visible since he was only clad in a sleeveless undershirt. “What can I do to help you, officers?”

Steve made his way to the counter, aware of every eye fixed on his every move and doing his level best to ignore it all.

Clint followed on his heels and nodded at the man, “We’re here looking for Logan.”

“That’ll be me,” the man at the counter told him. Logan looked them both over once and seemed completely unimpressed. Clint bristled a little at the unspoken insult but subsided when Steve put a calming hand on his arm and turned to the man, Logan.

“Admiral Fury sent us, sir,” Steve told him, earnest, standing up straighter. “We’re here for any information you might have on the Captain of the Ironheart.”

A low murmur swept through the tavern at that and Logan growled, slamming down two mugs on the counter.

He pinned a glare on the occupants of the tavern, narrowed eyes sweeping up and down the room. “I hope all of you are enjoying your time drinking and carousing because obviously you aren’t eavesdropping on a private conversation now, are you?” The sound of metal unsheathing was startlingly loud.

The sudden burst of noise, as everyone turned back around to continue whatever they had been doing before Steve walked in, was even louder.

Clint tilted his head and looked impressed. “You are good.”

Logan growled again in response and shoved the two tankards, now full, to Steve and Clint. “Don’t ever come here in your uniform again,” he grunted at Steve.

Logan cast an eye over the crowd and glared until anyone who still looked over at them were scared suitably into submission. He turned the look onto Clint and Steve for one long moment and then grunted. Jerking his head in the direction of a door behind the counter, he motioned for them to rise and follow. “Come with me.”

♚

Tony slumped into his usual chair at his usual table in the Wolf Tavern. He waved one hand half-heartedly at the barmaid who came bustling over when she recognised him and greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Captain. Your usual?”

“Please, Lina, and that fancy herbal concoction that Bruce likes as well.” Tony offered a smile and Lina blushed before turning to fetch their orders.

A thickly rolled parchment smacked him over the head as Bruce passed by him and dropped into the chair across from Tony. “Don’t flirt with Logan’s staff. He’s never going to forgive you if a third barmaid runs off to stow away on the Ironheart.”

Tony gave him a lazy grin, “I can’t help being so attractive and suave that all the maidens swoon after me, Bruce.”

Bruce snorted, but nevertheless smiled at Lina when she returned to hand them their drinks. He did roll his eyes when she bent over a little more than necessary, giving Tony an excellent view down her top if he was so inclined to look.

Tony was never one to say no to a free show, and his fingers lingered over Lina’s hand when he passed her a couple of copper coins in payment and gave a wink, sending her away smiling and wearing another blush.

“Logan’s going to kill us,” Bruce groaned and took a long, fortifying swallow of still steaming water infused with a number of exotic herbs and tea leaves.

“Relax,” Tony paused to take a gulp of his malted beer, a drink that was somehow utterly unique to the Wolf Tavern. Tony had tasted a lot of other beers and none of them had matched the one that Logan brewed. “Logan loves us, I mean. We bring him all the best tidbits of information from the seas. You know that he sells that information on the side for extra income.”

“That’s not the point, Tony, we should…” Bruce’s voice trailed off when he noticed Tony’s fixed stare over his shoulder. He turned just in time to see two strangers walk in. The noise in the tavern dropped considerably for one long moment before it started back up again.

The two newcomers, one blonde, the other brunette, stood together, talking quietly to each other, both scanning the room carefully. The blonde was a good head taller than his companion and broader in the shoulder and chest as well, rather impressively if the way Tony was staring was any indication. His blue eyes fell on Bruce and Tony’s table and lingered for one long moment before moving on.

Bruce glanced from the two strangers, who had chosen a corner table right near the counter to settle at, to Tony, who was gazing speculatively at them, and knew exactly what was going to happen.

“Tony? Tony, no.” Bruce hissed and reached out a hand to grab Tony’s arm, but missed.

Tony tipped back the last swallow of his beer and stood. The drag of the wooden leg of his chair was mostly hidden beneath the raucous noise of the tavern. He grinned, eyes flashing mischievously, “I’m just going to introduce myself, Bruce. There’s no need to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bruce snapped back, “You don’t know who they are. They could be bounty hunters or even the King’s men. They’re too well dressed to be one of us.”

“But very pretty, don’t you think?” Tony sighed, eyes not leaving the blonde. “Just look at those arms and shoulders.”

Tony turned back to his friend and rolled his eyes when he caught Bruce’s expression. “Relax, Bruce. It’s not as if the King’s men would ever come to a disreputable establishment like this. And well, if they do turn out to be bounty hunters after our pirate hides, we have a very fast ship, and knowledge of where all the back exits are.”

Bruce sighed; he did it a lot when he was around Tony and resigned himself to getting them out of another tight situation within the next five minutes. “Fine, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

♚

Steve noticed the other man the moment he walked through the door. He had a shock of black hair, messy as if he had been running his fingers through it all night, sharp, aristocratic features and eyes so blue that Steve could see them from here.

Steve let his eyes linger over him, sprawled carelessly at a table close to the back, with a companion, another dark haired man, opposite. A neatly trimmed goatee and beard framed his sharp chin and his full lips were drawn up in an attractive smile. Steve found it hard to draw his eyes away.

Clint paused at his side and followed Steve’s gaze and frowned. “Is it just me, or does he remind you of someone?”

Steve nodded distractedly, trying to pretend he wasn’t looking at the dark haired stranger, as they made their way to a free table near the counter. They had been hoping to speak to Logan again after the man told them exactly what he had told Fury and told them to return tonight without the uniforms. “No, you’re right. He looks really familiar, but I can’t remember who exactly he looks like.”

Clint flagged down a barmaid and ordered two tankards of beer since it was surprisingly good here. “Well, we can ask him directly since he’s coming this way, right to us.”

Steve jerked his head around to look and sure enough, the dark haired man was making his way to their table, blue eyes fixed on Steve.

“Well, right to you,” Clint amended and raised his tankard in a salute just as the man reached them, sliding into a seat right next to Steve.

He smiled, leaning forward, almost into Steve’s personal space. “Haven’t seen you gentlemen around here before, I would have definitely remembered if you had.” He was even more handsome up close, and his eyes were the exact shade of the deepest depths of the sea. Steve swallowed sharply.

It wasn’t until Clint kicked him under the table that Steve remembered to return the smile and forced his movements to be as casual as possible, inclining his head in response. “We’re here on business, just stopping by.”

Steve offered his hand, “I’m Steve.”

The other man tilted his head a fraction lower, looking out from beneath his lashes. It should have looked ridiculous on a man of his size and age, but Steve found it ridiculously endearing. “Just Steve?” his voice was almost a purr, and Clint looked suitably alarmed when Steve promptly flushed and opened his mouth to offer the rest of his name.

Another kick under the table made Steve remember himself just in time, and he shook his head, firming his voice. “Just Steve.”

“Well then, ‘Just Steve’, my name is Tony,” Tony said as he reached over to take Steve’s hand in a callused grip, eyes crinkling as he smiled, “and I’m the Captain of the Ironheart.”

♚

Chapter Text

Admiral,

As per your instructions, our contact with Logan, owner of the Wolf Tavern, yielded us the location of the Captain of the Ironheart. Unfortunately, due to outstanding circumstances, we were not able to detain him, or gain any of the answers we needed.

When this missive reaches you, I, along with the rest of my crew, inclusive of Lieutenants Barton and Romanov, will be doing our utmost to capture both the Ironheart and her Captain.

We will be on schedule to rendezvous with either Sir Phillip or yourself at the Imperial Harbour in a month’s time. If we cannot make it, we will send word before the meeting.

Sincerely,

Capt. Steven Rogers

♚

Clinton Francis Barton was born the second son of a travelling Gypsy duo. He had a happy childhood, free to wander the hills and plains of wherever his parents took him, playing with a little bow his parents had bartered for him during a trade. Clint quickly found himself able to hit anything he aimed at; small birds, rabbits, anything he could see, he could shoot down. It was a skill his parents praised, it having brought them abundant food when they otherwise would’ve had none.

Clint was happy, helping out family, doing whatever he wanted, practicing his shooting. But that all changed during his eighth year, when both his parents passed away due to a sudden illness.

Clint followed his older brother into a small city brushing the edge of the Capitol and they settled, as much as two young boys could. Clint’s older brother, Barney, wasn’t the best of influences and Clint learned to pick pockets, break locks and scale rough rock walls by the time he was ten.

Once Barney deemed him good enough, he took Clint, now fifteen, and they moved into the Capitol, clawing their way into a corner of the slums, a vermin infested, ramshackle room with barely two standing walls. It was freezing during winter and smelled horrible during summer, but it was theirs at least, a home to call their own.

In contrast, Natasha Romanov was born and raised the youngest child of a wealthy merchant in one of the more expensive districts on the outskirts of the Capitol. Her mother passed away fairly early in her life, and she was left the only girl in a family of men.

On her sixteenth birthday, when other girls were preparing for their debutante balls and receiving admirers, Natasha was surrounded by her father and brothers, who doted on her and knew her far too well. They gifted her with short blades crafted from the finest of metal, and a beautiful, high spirited mare, and sent her on her way to the Imperial Military Academy, a lifelong dream of hers.

In an ironic stroke of luck, for Clint at least, he pick-pocketed, or attempted to pickpocket, Natasha, three weeks after she started her studies at the Academy. She caught him easily. He might have been a little older, but he was underfed and exhausted from constantly ducking and hiding through the streets. A sharp right hook laid him down on the floor, out cold.

Natasha eyed him critically and promptly decided that he wasn’t completely hopeless. She then dragged him back to the Academy with her and presented him to her mentor, Sir Phillip Coulson.

They’ve been best friends ever since.

♚

“Don’t say it.” Tony all but snarled as he stomped past Bruce.

Bruce raised both hands and shook his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Tony peered up from where he was sulking over his navigational board, a weird contraption rigged with multiple compasses and magnets and metal pointers that somehow all combined to give Tony a more accurate reading on any map.

“I can see you thinking about it,” Tony muttered but did turn back to semi-settle himself into the chair next to Bruce’s.

“Tony,” Bruce’s voice was fond, exasperated as he scribbled another equation onto the sheet of parchment on the table before him, “No matter what you think, you can’t actually read other people’s minds.”

“They say the Duke of Westchester can,” Tony shot back and stole Bruce’s parchment and a pen and proceeded to scrawl corrections on half the equations. “They say that despite his innocent blue eyes and boyish looks, he can look right into a man’s soul. Which is why he’s never in the Capitol. That and his terrifying Knight Captain doesn’t let him out of his sight.”

Tony lowered his voice, “I think the Knight Captain used to be the leader of the Brotherhood highwaymen. Rumour says anyway.” Tony shrugged.

Bruce made a noise of agreement and didn’t bother trying to steal his equations back, or to protest about Tony’s scribbles. Instead, he pulled out a fresh sheet and simply started over again. “Rumours are just that, you know. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Kicking back and flinging the sheet he was working on over his shoulder, Tony grinned and patted his chest, where both he and Bruce knew he kept the half map of the path to the Tesseract. “And where would we be if I didn’t believe, Bruce?”

“On land, safe and warm and not hunted by the King’s men,” Bruce responded, voice dry, unable to resist at least one jab.

Tony scowled. “That was a low blow and completely uncalled for since...”

Whatever else Tony was planning on saying was forgotten as the Ironheart did something it had never done before; it lurched and stopped. Bruce tilted his head and listened, but the two new rotor engines that Tony had just installed were suspiciously silent.

“Goddamn,” Tony swore and jumped to his feet, running for the door, Bruce at his heels.

They both emerged on the deck just in time for the Ironheart to lurch again, struggling valiantly against whatever was stopping her. They both flailed for one moment, but steadied against each other.

Bruce straightened, frowning and immediately strode towards the helm, doing a visual check of all the masts and sails as well as the dangling lines, making sure there wasn’t anything wrong with the ship itself. The engine check would come later, when everything up here was confirmed to be working.

Tony was more concerned with the way the Ironheart’s prow was rammed directly through the side of a much smaller but richly adorned vessel. He squinted at the lettering on the other ship’s side and he blinked, recognising the language and the name.

He and Bruce both turned at the same time, hearing the thump of a pair of heavy boots on the Ironheart’s deck, on the port side, just off their helm.

Bruce fixated on the giant axe, resting carelessly off one huge shoulder, and the steel hammer motif carved into its hilt.

Tony just grinned and strode forward, receiving a manly thump on his shoulder that made him stagger.

“Friend Tony!” The giant boomed and grinned in return, “It is an honour to run into you again.”

Tony patted him on the forearm, one of the only places he could reach on the giant without tiptoeing. “Prince Thor, it certainly has been a while.” He flicked his gaze out to where Thor’s ship was listing and slowly sinking. “Um, sorry about your ship though.”

Thor shrugged one massive shoulder and beamed, as if a sinking ship was no matter at all. Which it probably wasn’t, since he was a Prince and all. “It is of little consequence. In fact, I was lurking about these waters, hoping to find you.”

Tony blinked. “Me?”

Thor nodded, good humour dimming and he swung his axe around, causing Bruce to duck instinctively, but he did nothing but place it on the wooden boards and tipped his head forward in apology to Bruce for startling him.

Bruce nodded back, and found his attention caught by the peculiar way light refracted off the glimmering blade. He squinted, trying to see past the sunlight reflected.

“It has been many years since I saw you last, friend Tony, and things are not quite the same anymore,” Thor intoned, solemn, “Firstly, I am now officially heir to my kingdom.”

Tony opened his mouth for congratulations, but Thor didn’t pause, just continued, “Secondly, my brother, he has discovered he is adopted and has gone missing. I would ask for your help, friend Tony, to locate him and convince him to come home with me.”

Tony blinked and asked, “What, Loki’s adopted?”

At exactly the same time, Bruce grabbed Tony’s arm and pointed at Thor’s axe, the flat of the blade which was completely visible now that the sun had vanished behind a cloud.

“Tony, I think I’ve found the other half of the Tesseract map.”

♚

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to yell. “What do you mean, they’re chasing the Ironheart over the Bridging Sea, towards the Unknown Lands?”

Coulson kept his expression blank and ran an eye over the letter in his hand again. “Captain Rogers’ previous letter suggested that they were having some problems trying to corner the Ironheart and her Captain. Lieutenant Barton’s subsequent missive just confirms that.”

“I send the best ship in the Imperial Navy after one pirate ship and this is the result?” Fury growled, but did take the letter from Coulson when it was offered.

“Logan never mentioned that it was going to be easy, Admiral. Besides, you would think after all these years evading not only our naval forces but their fellow pirates successfully, the Ironheart would be one of the harder ships to catch.” Coulson pointed out with his usual bland pragmatism.

Before Fury could reply, there was a sharp rap on the door followed by two shorter and lighter taps. It was one of the rarer codes in the Capitol and Coulson stepped over to open the door personally.

“Sir James, Lady Virginia.” Coulson inclined his head to the two who slid inside as soon as the door had widened enough. It was, after all, dangerous to dally too long in corridors. There were watchful eyes everywhere, not all friendly.

“Sir Phillip, Admiral Fury.” Lady Virgina, better known as Pepper to her closer friends, curtsied shallowly to both older men.

Sir James, Rhodey to most, shook hands with Coulson and inclined his head politely to Fury.

“Sir James, what brings you here tonight?”

Pepper’s fair skin was paler than normal, visible even in the half lit room. “There’s trouble, my Lords.”

Rhodey took over when Pepper stopped and started shaking a little. “We’ve just come from the Council.” He held up a hand to forestall the protests he could see forming. “It was an ‘emergency’ secret session called by one of the senior council members, the existence of which wasn’t publicised at all.”

“Stane,” Pepper snapped, as all the men in the room realised at the same time that she had been shaking out of anger. “He’s proposed a motion to have the Council take control from the King, because he is of the view that the ‘stresses of the position was detrimental to the King’s health and well being’,” she quoted, green eyes blazing, slippered feet carrying her from one side of the room to the other in ceaseless motion.

Coulson raised his eyebrows and looked to Fury.

“We need the Ironheart,” Fury said, fingers steepled on the table in front of him. “Stane is becoming a real threat to the Kingdom.”

He stared at Pepper and Rhodey. “How do you think the Council will vote in regards to Stane’s motion?”

Pepper and Rhodey looked at each other, communicating in a series of head tilts and twitches of the eyebrow.

Rhodey was the one who nodded and turned back to Fury and Coulson, who hovered behind Fury’s chair.

“Pepper’s of the opinion that at least three members of the senior Council, whose votes count twice in a formal motion, are in cohorts with Stane,” Rhodey said, voice grim, “I believe a good three quarters of the general Council will follow their lead, especially with the lack of a direct heir.”

Pepper tugged at a strand of her long, red hair that had escaped from her neatly pinned coif. “It would be so different if we knew where the Prince is, without having to chase after some pirate,” she said, green eyes shadowed. “The vote is happening within the next few weeks, the King is much too sick now to even exit his chambers and Stane is the only one allowed to see him.”

Coulson hesitated for a brief moment. Fury turned and his one good eye narrowed, “Sir Phillip, do you have something to add?”

Coulson inclined his head and withdrew a second sheet of paper from his sleeve. “In regards to the matter Lady Virginia raised, Lieutenant Romanov is of the opinion that the Prince might be closer than we think.”

Three pairs of eyes fixed on him and Coulson unfolded the single sheet of parchment and slid it across the table to Fury who scanned the four sparse lines quickly.

When Fury looked up, meeting Pepper and Rhodey’s expectant looks, there was something resigned in his eyes. “Well. This certainly changes things.”

“Gentlemen and Lady, it has now become a matter of this Kingdom’s future well being to have the Ironheart’s captain in our custody.” Fury scrawled a couple of lines on a new sheet of parchment and folded it, handing it to Coulson. “Make sure this gets to the Patriot, new orders.”

“Sir James, Lady Virginia,” Coulson bowed over Pepper’s hand and nodded at Rhodey, who returned the gesture.

He bowed again, this time shallowly in Fury’s direction as he slid the parchment up into his sleeve, “Admiral.”

And then he was gone, out of the door and down the corridor between one blink and the next.

♚

Coulson didn’t grow up wanting to be the King’s Spymaster. It’s more something he fell into, accidentally.

Phillip Coulson, born the middle of five sons to an impoverished Baron, was quiet and unassuming throughout his early life. He left home at age sixteen, and got himself a job working under an elderly scribe in the Capitol who often took and delivered messages on behalf of the Imperial military.

Highly intelligent and efficient, Coulson got himself noticed by a young naval captain by the name of Nicholas Fury, and it was Fury who sponsored Coulson into the Imperial Military Academy. Although older than most of the students there, Coulson passed all his courses with high commendations from all of his instructors.

He took a post within the Imperial Palace itself, rising to become head of the palace guard in a few short years. It was during his time at his post when he prevented multiple attempts on the King’s life and received his Knighthood, for services rendered to the Crown.

Coulson became a trusted advisor to the King, a trust that was second only to Fury, now Admiral, and the highest ranked military officer in the Kingdom. He was offered the position of the King’s Spymaster when the previous one became too sick to continue his duties.

Under Coulson’s watchful gaze, the King’s Spy network built itself up from a moderately useful tool, to be one of the most efficient and thorough sources of information in the Kingdom.

From then on, Sir Phillip Coulson became a shadow within the palace walls, a permanent presence that everyone acknowledged, but no one quite knowing what it was exactly he did.

It wasn’t something that Coulson ever expected when he left home all those decades ago, but he knew that there was no other job better suited for him in all the Kingdom.

♚

“Fancy meeting you here.” Tony swung a leg over the rough stonework that was probably a balcony several decades ago.

Loki closed the book in his hand with a soft snap and shelved it. “Indeed, Captain. I must say, it is a surprise, although I’m not too sure if it’s a good one or bad.”

“It’s always a good thing when you get to see my handsome face.” Tony grinned and jumped down onto the floor, brushing off his jacket with a hand, and taking a candelabra from a wall scone with the other. He raised it aloft, and whistled softly at the sight of books stretching far into the distance, swallowed by darkness.

“You do know how to pick places to hole up, don’t you?” Tony asked, leaning closer and peering at a few of the titles closest to him.

Loki made a non-committal sound and reclined into his seat, a hard wooden chair that looked horrendously uncomfortable. Tony’s back twinged in sympathy just looking at the way Loki lounged on it.

“Why are you here, Captain?” Loki asked, voice light, curious. “If I remember correctly, our games ended up in a tie. Don’t tell me you’re here to start them again? I’m rather tired of ship chases and cannon fire and getting banned at half the ports in the Chartered Lands.”

Tony turned slightly away to hide his smirk and raised a hand in a casual wave, as if brushing away the words. “Nothing so dramatic. I completely forgot about you until I had an unfortunate run-in with a ship at the edges of the Bridging Sea.” Tony pulled a face, as if remembering, “As repayment for the damage I caused, I promised to do the other ship’s captain a favour.”

“We chased your lead up and down the entire length of the Bridging Sea and well into the Uncharted Waters. Thankfully, I had a lucky break in a tavern,” Tony told him, ignoring the delicate snort from Loki at the word ‘tavern’, “and one of the patrons directed us here.”

Something seemed to have occurred to Loki, his pale face growing paler. “The other ship, it couldn’t have been...”

A heavy thud of boots hitting the ground announced the entrance of another person.

“Brother!” Thor boomed and strode over to envelope Loki in a hug. “I have found you at last!”

Loki pinned a hard green glare on Tony that promised retribution, and tried in vain to struggle out of Thor’s powerful grasp.

“There was a reason I ran away from home, you know, Tony,” he hissed, uncaring that Thor was hearing every word. “And you just brought him right to my doorstep.”

Tony widened his eyes and swept his hat off his head, clutching it to his chest in a parody of asking forgiveness. “My apologies, I didn’t know.”

“You’re a dead man when I get my hands on you,” Loki snarled, as he was basically manhandled out of the window by Thor and marched down the beach, onto one of the small boats that Bruce stood by. Bruce’s brown eyes were bemused as he watched the unfolding spectacle.

“Dead,” Loki promised, as Thor grabbed the oars of his tiny boat and started rowing back to the Ironheart, whistling cheerfully.

Tony’s laughter was bright and loud as he and Bruce boarded the other tiny boat and followed.

♚

“Captain, we’ve found them.” Breathless and wide eyed, one of the newer sailors, a midshipman, scrambled up to the helm where Steve was conferring with Natasha.

Steve turned to face the younger man and tilted his head in a question.

“The Ironheart, Captain,” the sailor hurried to explain just as Clint, up in his usual spot in the crows nest, whistled sharply.

“Ship ahead to starboard, Captain,” Clint called down as he folded his spyglass and tucked it back into one of his hip pouches. He picked up his bow and drew out an arrow, resting it on the taut gut string, but left it undrawn, “On your orders.”

“Ready the cannons on starboard, full speed ahead.” Steve ordered, on automatic, following the correct procedure for coming into potential contact with a neutral or enemy vessel.

Steve took a couple of steps to the right as his sailors scrambled to obey his order, checking the cannon barrels, cutting fuses and loading up the cannons. He pulled out his own spyglass, raising it to his eye and squinting down the length of it.

“They appear to be docked at a tiny island port, Captain,” the sailor, who still hovered at Steve’s side, offered. “It’s an undocumented port, but that might be because it’s on the very edge of the Charted and Uncharted Seas. However, there are records of a monastery being located there.”

“What on earth would Tony want with a monastery?” Steve murmured, more or less to himself, as he focused on the proud red and gold flag hoisted up on the main mast and caught sight of a few tiny figures on the ship’s bow. “There’s nothing here that would interest a pirate.”

Natasha cleared her throat, “If I may speak, Captain, I suspect the Ironheart and her captain might have some other business other than looting and pillaging.”

Steve flushed a little, “Of course.” But before he could say anything else, there was a sudden flurry of movement in the now not-so-far distance and the sails of the Ironheart flared.

“They’ve spotted us,” Clint called down, “It’s now or nothing, Captain, we’re just within range, accuracy will be down to about thirty percent, but we’re guaranteed a hit if we keep our speed and the wind stays north-westerly.”

Steve hesitated for the briefest of moments because it was Tony he would be firing at, a man who he barely knew at all, but somehow, at the same time, knew very well and he wanted to...

But he was an officer of the King’s navy. He remembered his mission, orders, signed by the King’s closest confidant, and his immediate superior, Admiral Fury himself, tucked in his tunic against his heart. “Load the cannons,” he said, voice steady, lowering his glass and handing it off to Natasha as he stepped back to the helm.

Steve’s eyes were blank and hard as he listened to the heavy clang as metal balls were rolled into thick, casted barrels. When the last sounds faded away, he straightened and gripped the wheel tightly.

“When ready, aim for their lower port side and fire,” he said, voice raised to carry, “we want them injured but alive, men.”

There was a chorus of agreement and then the world exploded.

♚

“This,” Tony said, about half an hour of slightly strained silence after their capture, “is not my fault.”

After the Ironheart had been hit on her port side by seven cannon balls, men from the King’s navy had managed to board her and captured everyone on board. They had been bound and placed in an empty cellar, deep in the bowels of the naval ship.

Tony admitted to himself that it was indeed a fine ship, possibly close to his beloved Ironheart, but it was in service to the King and the cause of all that damage to his ship, so he was inclined to hate it.

He also hated the man who had stood at the helm and calmly watched them being wrangled down steep stairs, as prisoners.

Bruce made a non-committal noise, taking deep, calming breaths in and out, deliberately ignoring the way he was bound back to back with Tony.

But Thor nodded encouragingly at Tony’s words. “Of course not, Tony, this is no fault except for the ones who masterminded our capture.” He tested the ties around his hands and feet again and frowned, “These chains are tougher than any I have ever been chained with.”

Loki, the only one apparently completely unconcerned with their current predicament, snickered. “There is nothing that isn’t your fault, Captain,” he drawled and rubbed at his wrists.

Bruce stared at Loki’s freed hands. “How did you manage that?”

Loki smiled and winked. “Magic.”

Tony snorted and Bruce felt something cold against his wrist before Tony’s warmth at his back drew away. “Try again, Loki.” He hovered at Bruce’s back for a moment, doing something to the thick rope that bound all their wrists except for Thor’s.

Bruce felt the rope falling away and turned to find Tony holding up one of his rings, which had an edge that slid up into a tiny blade. “Something I made, just in case,” Tony grinned and offered Bruce a hand up.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Loki sighed and tucked the short knife he had somehow managed to unsheathe from his boot and use to cut the bindings on his hands away. He turned to his left and looked over the chains binding Thor critically before shaking his head. “I’m afraid there’s nothing any of us can do for you, brother. Not until we get a key for the locks at least.”

Tony tried not to notice the way that Thor lit up when Loki called him ‘brother’ and from the way Loki was resolutely not looking in Thor’s direction, he was too.
“So, what’s next?” Bruce asked, leaning up to examine the door.

It swung open at his touch and Steve, the man Tony flirted with at the Wolf’s Tavern, and apparently a Captain of the King’s navy, strode in.

Tony stiffened and turned away, deliberately presenting his back.

Steve’s gaze lingered on Tony for a moment before he smiled, briefly, at everyone else in the room. “My name is Steve Rogers and I’m the Captain of HRM’s Patriot.”

“I’m sorry for your current circumstances,” he said as he looked over at Tony again, voice sincere, and gestured at the man who stood half a step behind.

It was the brunette from the Tavern and he nodded at Bruce before dropping down to the ground and undoing the giant padlocks on the chains around Thor’s wrists and ankles.

Thor eyed both the King’s men with suspicion but nodded his thanks.

“What do you want with us?” It was Bruce who decided to ask, finally, after they spent a few minutes staring at each other, not quite certain about what to do.

Steve looked tired and he swept a hand through his hair. “I’m under orders to bring the captain of the Ironheart back with me to the Capitol.”

Everyone turned to look at Tony who stubbornly kept his back turned and didn’t look at anyone else.

“What is your purpose with Tony? He is a friend of both me and my Kingdom.” Thor stepped forward and placed himself between Tony and Steve.

Steve looked startled. “My apologies, but who are you?”

“I am Thor, heir apparent and firstborn Prince of Odin, King of Asgard.” Thor grinned, all teeth and very little humor. “I believe that our Kingdoms were in negotiations for various treaties before your King took ill.”

Thor reached a hand back and unerringly caught Loki’s arm. He pulled him forward and basically thrust him out to Steve, ignoring his struggles. “This is my brother, Loki, Prince of Asgard.”

Immediately, Steve bowed to both of them, textbook perfect. “I am most regretful about your treatment, your Highness'. I, nor my men, were aware of your identities. I convey my most sincere apologies and hope our errant actions will not reflect badly on our Kingdom.”

Even Loki looked reluctantly impressed with the diplomatic sensitivity and perfect mannerisms that Steve displayed. Tony was carefully standing to one side, Bruce noticed, possibly watching the unfolding drama from the corner of his eye.

Thor laughed and smacked Steve over the shoulder and slung an arm around Loki who tried to shake him off to no avail. To Steve’s credit, he didn’t even flinch at the contact, feet planted firmly on the rolling wooden boards.

“I like you, Captain!” Thor exclaimed and pushed his way past the man hovering at Steve’s shoulder, making his way up and out of the little room, hand firmly around Loki’s wrist. “Come, we must drink to our new friendship!”

Loki rolled his eyes, but stopped his struggles to get out of Thor’s grip, giving it up as a futile exercise.

Steve glanced over at Tony once more, and seeing that he still hadn’t turned or acknowledged his presence, smiled a little sadly and turned to follow Thor and Loki. This left Bruce and Tony alone in a room that had been their prison less than five minutes ago, with no one but a guard who looked as surprised as either of them.

Bruce blinked and exchanged a look with Tony and looked to the brunette who remained at the door, looking a little lost, Bruce commiserated, because he felt exactly the same when dealing with Thor.

“I... actually have no idea how to deal with this,” he muttered and held out a hand. “We haven’t been introduced formally, I’m Clint Barton, senior lieutenant serving on the HRM Patriot.”

Bruce took the hand and shook it briefly. “Doctor Bruce Banner.”

He cast a wry look at Clint, “I was everything but Captain on board the Ironheart until it was sunk.”

Clint winced and looked away. “Ah, well. I promise the Captain hadn’t meant for that to happen. We had heard you had some new mechanical installations that made your ship a lot faster and just wanted to slow you down a little before we lost you again.”

Tony spun around at this and scowled. “We did have new rotors, until they were damaged in the literal run-in we had with Thor’s ship.”

“We didn’t know.” Clint said and wisely didn’t offer Tony his hand.

Tony grunted and shrugged, heading to the door. “Well, whatever. I’ll just build a bigger, newer ship with bigger cannons and then I’ll sink your ship.”

Bruce smiled at the confusion warring with disbelief on Clint’s face.

“He means it, you know. So, just watch out, alright?” Bruce called, considerately, as he wandered out, following Tony.

♚

Robert Bruce Banner was born the youngest son of a minor Peer. He was a quiet and intelligent child in a family of boisterous boys, and quickly caught the eye of his tutor, who recommended and sponsored him for further study in the Capitol.

It was during his studies specialising in medicine, there that he started referring to himself using his second name, Bruce, and met a lovely young lady, daughter of a Baron, called Elizabeth Ross, Betty for short.

Bruce wooed her with a gentle patience that was rewarded when she offered him her hand. Unfortunately, her family didn’t agree with their match and quickly arranged her marriage to a Viscount two decades her senior.

Heartbroken, Bruce threw himself wholeheartedly into his medical studies, expanding into other fields such as mechanics and chemistry as well, and eventually became one of the most well versed men in human biology in the Kingdom.

It was because of that specialisation that he found himself kidnapped from his laboratory one evening whilst running experiments, by the notorious Captain of the Ironheart, who was both younger and shorter in stature than Bruce had expected, and frighteningly pale, listing dangerously from side to side when he walked.

Bruce had to half-help, half-carry him back to his ship and into his quarters, unable to just leave an obviously sick man to his fate. Bruce had set the man down on the closest chair and hovered at the door for one moment, “Captain, I…”

The other man had clenched his hand around the armrest and looked at Bruce, eyes a startling shade of blue, “Tony. My name is Tony, Dr. Banner.”

“Just Bruce, please,” Bruce had murmured in reply and blinked when the Captain, Tony, raised shaking hands and unbuttoned his shirt, baring his chest and a flickering circle of light set within the middle.

“Bruce,” Tony’s breathing had been getting steadily shallower and his face even paler, “Please, I need your help.”

And Bruce, because he couldn’t turn his back on someone who needed his help, stayed and never left again.

♚

The planned stop at Wakanda went smoothly. Steve was on good terms with the young King, who greeted him personally at the docks.

“My apologies, your Majesty, that this visit will not be as long as we originally discussed.” Steve said, as they walked to the town center. Wakanda was a recognised ally and thus, they had a relay station in place so that messages could be sent via the fastest mounted couriers over land. It also meant that Steve could send off a quick message to Sir Philip and Admiral Fury informing them that he had completed his mission and was heading back to the Imperial Port.

Steve had managed to keep all his ‘guests’ contained on board the Patriot for the time being, letting them have free movement on the ship if they agreed to go with him back to the Kingdom without attempting to flee.

Since then, Tony still refused to talk directly to him, but had warmed to Clint whom he often talked to if he wandered onto deck. He was wisely wary around Natasha, after she smacked him in the face after one too many an innuendo.

Bruce sometimes exchanged a few brief words with Steve but mostly remained around Tony, watchful. There was always a small jab of unhappiness when Steve watched Tony interact with everyone else but him.

Steve was shaken out of his thoughts when His Royal Majesty, T’Challa, the youngest king in Wakandan history, smiled serenely and tilted a head back towards where the Patriot was docked. “I hear that you have guests on board, whose presence is required back in your Capitol immediately.”

Steve returned the smile, if a little bashfully, “I’m not surprised that you’ve heard already.”

“The Ironheart is a famous vessel and her captain well known around these waters.” T’Challa said, keeping pace with Steve easily. He glanced over at Steve and his smile turned a little sly, “Although I have never seen him, I hear the captain is a fine man and exceedingly proud of his ship.”

Steve fidgeted a little and fought down the dull blush he could feel lurking beneath his skin. “Tony is an honourable man,” was all he said in response, and he felt exceedingly grateful that they had reached the town center and the relay station.

T’Challa tilted his head in acknowledgement of the words and waited patiently outside as Steve wrote out a message and sealed it with his ship’s crest before handing it to one of the messengers.

Business concluded, Steve returned and T’Challa immediately guided him towards the north, nearer to his palace. “If you have time, I would like to show you something, Captain.”

Steve blinked but acquiesced after a quick glance at the sky. He wasn’t too concerned about delaying his sailing plans since it was plenty light and the tides and winds weren’t expected to turn until much later that night.

“I would be happy to accompany your majesty,” he murmured and followed T’Challa’s lead.

The walk was short, Wakanda was a country rich from the mining of valuable minerals, but it was small.

T’Challa smiled as he stopped outside a building that looked somewhat familiar to Steve. He looked it over and heard a shriek, and the flapping of wings.

“Are these the royal mews?” Steve asked, confusion evident.

T’Challa gestured to an attendant who immediately bowed and entered the building.

“It is. I had been planning on giving this to you at a later date, but thought you might require it more now,” T’Challa said as the attendant reappeared, a hooded bird perched restlessly on his glove.

The attendant handed both his King and Steve each a tough leather glove reaching to their elbow and gently transferred the hooded bird to T’Challa’s arm before bowing and making his way a discrete distance away.

The bird shifted uneasily but settled when T’Challa ran a soothing finger down the feathers on his back. Curious, Steve moved closer.

He wasn’t been particularly fond of avians but Clint had a beloved pet, an golden eagle he had received on the day he received his naval commission, which he brought with him everywhere, including on board the Patriot. It was wild, unruly and responded only to Clint, but it was a fierce hunter. Over time, Steve had grown to admire the wild beauty of the eagle in flight.

“He is for you,” T’Challa said, removing the bird’s hood and moving his arm next to Steve’s, encouraging the bird to take the little hop from his arm to Steve’s with a few gentle touches and handed Steve the jesses.

Steve stroked a finger over downy soft feathers and glanced over. “Are you sure, your Majesty? Even I can tell he is a fine bird.”

“The finest. He is a direct fledgling of my own,” T’Challa told him. “But I think you need him. However else would you win the Captain of the Ironheart, Tony you call him, to your cause?”

Steve flushed, feeling the heat suffuse the back of his neck and creep up to the tip of his ears.

Despite his youth, T’Challa was a wise and beloved ruler who saw everything and missed nothing. Not even Steve’s quiet admiration of Tony that might be something more.

“It was an accident,” Steve protested but accepted the gift with a bow. He remembered the way Tony had watched when Clint flew his eagle and the way he looked like he wanted to touch, but never quite did reach out to do so.

“He is a falcon, native to these parts,” T’Challa said, “His breed is known for the dark smudges on the edges of its wings and tail. He’s been given basic hacking, but the rest is up to his new owner.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Steve murmured, bowing as much as he could, balancing the bird on one arm, honoured at such a gift.

T’Challa only smiled.

And maybe, Steve mused, walking back slowly to the Patriot, if he brought Tony this, Tony would finally look at him again.

♚

Chapter Text

Phil,

We’re currently three days out from Wakanda and on our way home. The Admiral’s orders reached us just before we located the Ironheart.

Speaking of the Ironheart, we unfortunately can’t bring back the ship with us because the Captain blew it up. It was an accident, but Tony didn’t speak to him for almost an entire two weeks after we brought the Ironheart’s entire crew on board.

Tony is a strange guy and not your typical pirate. He’s terrifyingly smart, but sulks like a two year old and only likes eating green vegetables. He drinks like a true pirate though; he drank both our junior lieutenants, Parker and Wilson, under the table.

While we’re on the topic, I think the Captain might have a thing for Tony. He stares at him a lot and keeps wanting to talk to him even when Tony wouldn’t give him the light of day. Then, when he returned from his trip to Wakanda, he brought back a falcon for Tony, as a present.

I really hope that Tony can give us the information we need to locate the long lost Prince, so that the King and Admiral don’t just off him for being a waste of time. I think the Captain would be really sad if that happened.

The Patriot will dock back home in less than five days, if the sky remains clear and the seas remain smooth.

I miss you.

Clint

♚

It was never love at first sight for Clint and Coulson.

In fact, the first time they met, Clint ripped the sleeve of Coulson’s jacket and gave him a black eye. In return Coulson knocked Clint back out with a precise strike to the back of the neck.

It took two months and five meetings for Clint to even look at Coulson when they talked.

It was another six months before Clint first smiled at Coulson, and allowed the hand that rested on his shoulder to stay.

In the end, it took a year and a mission gone horribly wrong before Clint ever called Coulson anything more than ‘sir’.

“Stay with me, Phil.” Clint growled, hands slick with Phil’s blood. The knife that inflicted the wound was on the floor and Clint prayed to all and any gods he could remember that it wasn’t poisoned.

“Just a flesh wound.” Coulson replied, dismissing the injury even as he felt the world and Clint growing fainter and fuzzier with each minute gone past.

Clint glanced at the open door and cursed when another two enemy guards ran in, swords drawn. “Put pressure on your wound.” He snapped and picked up his bow and drew two arrows on the one string.

Coulson watched as both arrows flew straight and true, hitting both the other men in the throat, pinning one against the door way.

Natasha ran in, ducking at the doorway as Clint pointed his bow in her direction for a split second before recognition set in.

“All targets are down.” Natasha reported and Coulson nodded in acknowledgement.

“Good work, now let’s withdraw before anyone else can find us,” he said, wincing as he forced himself upright.

“Phil’s injured.” Clint told her even as he slung his bow over his shoulder and dropped to his knees next to Coulson, helping him stand.

Natasha, now on Coulson’s other side, helping distribute his weight to one side so as to not jar the wound any more, raised an eyebrow. “I can see that, Clint.”

Clint flushed but his grip tightened around Coulson’s waist and his eyes were dark with worry. “Come on, work with me, sir. We need to move, get you to a doctor.”

Coulson choked back a huff of laughter, knowing that the pain wouldn’t be worth it. “I’ll be fine, Barton.” He said and leaned his weight just a tiny fraction against the solid warmth at his side a little more.

Halfway down the hall, when Natasha was a couple of steps ahead, acting as their scout, Clint paused for a half a step. “Clint,” he blurted out.

Coulson raised an eyebrow wearily.

Clint glanced at Natasha once before looking over at Coulson. “Call me Clint.” He said. “I think, after all this, you should.”

Coulson stared back for one moment before nodding. “Thank you, Clint.”

And that’s when everything started to change.

♚

“You’re spending a lot of time on deck these nights, Captain.” Natasha commented as she slipped into the space to his left, a convenient alcove slightly to the left of the helm. It kept most of the wind out from his hair and face and let him watch the side decks without being noticed.

Steve flushed, glad for the dark of the night which hid the color high on his cheeks. “I’m just watching to make sure they don’t do anything to compromise the Patriot.”

He could feel the force of Natasha’s gaze on the side of his face. “Of course,” she agreed politely a moment later.

They watched in silence for a moment as Bruce and Tony talked quietly about something, Tony absently petting the falcon Steve had brought on board for him.
There was a part of Steve that was quietly thrilled that Tony was inseparable from the bird. They had bonded from the get-go; as soon as Tony had held him, the falcon refused to let anyone else get near, except for Bruce, who now leaned over to feed it a piece of meat.

Tony had named the bird Jarvis, after the master craftsman who built his beloved Ironheart, and he had come to Steve, the first time during the long trip back, and thanked him. It was polite, formal and stilted, but Steve hadn’t been able to stop smiling the entire time, all because Tony had sought him out and spoken to him.
It was no wonder that Natasha was so concerned.

“If I may suggest, Captain, your... obsession with the Ironheart’s captain might not be in your best interest at the moment.” She ventured a couple of minutes later, when Bruce and Tony had left for below deck.

There was the soft thump of boots hitting wood and Clint appeared to Steve’s other side.

There was always a downside to having senior lieutenants trained by the King’s Spymaster personally, Steve reflected. Both Natasha and Clint were masters at stealth and subterfuge and revealed their presence only if they wanted to. The sound of Clint’s footsteps was his way of announcing himself.

“I think the Captain’s doing fine,” Clint drawled and slouched against a handy mast pole.

Steve couldn’t see it clearly, but he got the distinct impression that Natasha’s glare at Clint was deadly.

“Clint, you don’t understand,” Natasha begun and Clint waved her off.

“So?” He said. “Explain then.”

Steve tilted his head towards her and she hesitated, looking right back at him, obviously unsure of how to proceed and that was enough of a warning sign that Steve straightened.

“Lieutenant Romanov?” He asked, polite but requiring an explanation, using his so called ‘Captain’ voice.

Natasha looked away. “I’m sorry, Captain. I am not at liberty to discuss this any further. Under Admiral Fury’s orders and by proxy, the King’s.”

A shaft of moonlight spilled over the deck, illuminating their corner for one moment and Steve saw the disapproving slant to Clint’s mouth and his narrowed eyes.

“Are you still doing extra work for the Admiral on the side?” He asked and didn’t even wait for an answer. “You said you weren’t going to go down that path again.” Clint’s voice was stiff, unhappy.

Natasha didn’t try confirming or denying the accusation, nor did she try to justify her choice. Instead, she turned to Steve and with the aid of the moonlight, he could see the way her jaw was set, expression resolute.

Clint recognised the expression from the old days, when he and Natasha used to run quiet, covert missions for Fury that no one knew about, except Coulson and Fury himself. It’s the look that she would get when something went wrong and she had to make a tough call.

“Please keep my words in mind, Captain,” was all she said before she turned and walked away.

Steve didn’t turn to watch her leave, instead choosing to continue looking out to where Tony had stood just minutes ago.

Clint shifted on his feet. “Nat’s probably got her reasons, Captain,” he said, finally, after a moment.

Steve glanced over at him and Clint shrugged.

“She’s sometimes a little removed from everything, but she wouldn’t say something like that without a reason, a good one at that.” The moon had vanished behind a heavy cloud once more and Steve could only go by Clint’s tone, which was thoughtful. “But she does report directly to the Admiral in matters such as this, so.”

Steve sighed and reached over to pat Clint on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I know that both Lieutenant Romanov and Admiral Fury have their reasons for keeping this from us.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it, Captain.” Clint said.

Steve thought about Tony and the way he looked, the one time Steve had seen him on deck during the day, hands braced on the railing, staring out to sea; wanting, yearning, and Steve wanted that look turned on him and...

“No, Clint,” he says with a smile that was more self-deprecating than filled with humour, “it really doesn’t.”

♚

Tony found himself passing days on the naval ship, the Patriot - he couldn’t help but think of the name with the hint of a sneer on his lips because it was a very fitting name for a ship captained by someone like Steve, Captain Rogers, whatever he wanted to call himself - hiding beneath in the hold during the day and wandering out to the deck at night.

Jarvis made a soft noise, almost like a chirp, and tilted his head down, watching Tony.

Tony poked at a wing. “None of that, featherhead,” he said, voice affectionate. “Having an existential crisis here.” He paused and thought that over, “Ok, maybe not quite that. But I am having deep, deep thoughts that I shouldn’t even be bothering with.”

“Is this about Steve?” Bruce’s voice drifted from the shadows. Tony froze before he rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at his friend.

“What do you think?” Tony spread his hands, “We’re basically prisoners on a ship bound for the Kingdom with no method of escape. And the Ironheart’s probably on the bottom of the ocean by now. Now, tell me, why would I be thinking of Steve at a time like this?”

Bruce leaned against the railing, a feet or so away from Tony, a safe distance, enough so that he didn’t feel crowded and threatened enough to walk away without having this conversation.

“Because you can’t not.” Bruce said simply.

Tony didn’t answer, just pretended to look out into the night, look out at nothing because it was a good excuse not to actually have to face Bruce or face the issue that Bruce just hit right on.

Bruce was right. Like always.

“You need to decide what you want to do.” Bruce said as he fed Jarvis a morsel of meat, not looking at Tony.

Tony frowned and looked down, spending a moment just staring at the almost inky black water of the sea at midnight crash against the ship’s sides.

“I don’t know.” He responded with, finally, after a long period of silence. There was no point in denying anything after all. They knew each other too well for any half-hearted attempts at a cover up.

Bruce ran his finger over the top of Jarvis’ head one last time before turning his back to the sea, shoulder almost pressed against Tony’s own. Tony and Bruce had known and subsequently been friends for so long that Bruce knew Tony would prefer to have this conversation somewhere with an illusion of escape, out in the open, and definitely not face to face.

“It’s simple, Tony. You either like him or you don’t. There’s no not knowing about it.” Bruce said, voice barely loud enough for Tony to hear over the sound of crashing waves.

Tony huffed out a breath. “It really isn’t. He’s an officer, Bruce. Someone in service to the King. I’m a pirate. We just don’t... we wouldn’t work.”

Bruce placed a hand on Tony’s arm, stopping his monologue before it could really start. “Forget about that. Forget about your positions, forget about everything except for Tony and Steve,” Bruce told him. “If you were just Tony and he was just Steve, would it work? Would you want it to work?”

And Tony didn’t even have to think because he remembered that jolt in his chest, in his heart, whenever Steve touched him or Steve smiled. Tony remembered and he wanted...

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, I would.”

♚

“You failed.” Obadiah Stane, Duke of Mongeriron, slammed his cup down on the table.

Justin Hammer, Captain of the Backlash, a ship he boasted was the fastest and most powerful pirate vessel on the seas, sprawled more in his chair and swirled his wine around his jewel encrusted goblet.

“My dear Duke, it wasn’t a failure. Think of it more as a tactical withdrawal in the face of overwhelming odds,” he drawled.

Stane didn’t look very impressed by this slick turn of phrase. “All that means is that you ran and failed in retrieving the Ironheart or capturing her captain because you were scared.”

Hammer’s eyes narrowed and he placed his goblet down with a gentle click onto the polished table. “I fear nothing, Stane. The odds were against me. What did you expect me to do? Throw myself into a death battle with the finest ship in the Imperial Navy?”

Stane leaned back in his seat. “Yes. Or, with the amount of gold I’m paying you with, I would’ve expected at least an attempt.”

He waved off Hammer’s spluttered protest. “Doesn’t matter now. The Patriot is on its way back and will reach Imperial waters within the week. I don’t care how, delay that ship. I need the Council vote to run, I need control before that ship returns.”

Hammer raised his eyebrows. “Looks like that’s an important vote, my Lord, and I’m afraid that delaying a vessel of that size and repute will prove... difficult.” He leaned forward with a sly smile, “Would you be kind enough to allow me to renegotiate our terms? I’m afraid that my crew is starting to feel vastly under appreciated and underpaid. We’ve been running all these errands for you with no loot to show.”

Stane’s upper lip curled in a sneer but he didn’t dismiss Hammer’s words, which just confirmed how much hung in the balance and relied on the Patriot missing its due back date.

“As you wish, Captain.”

He would let Hammer’s incompetence slide this time, Stane thought. When Hammer actually completed his assigned task, soon enough whatever Hammer demanded would be nothing but a drop in the ocean to the wealth and power he would wield.

Hammer could have all the gold he wanted. What Stane would have was the Kingdom itself and all the military power behind it.

With it, he would have the world.

♚

They attacked in the dead of night.

“Ships to port and starboard!” Clint said, yelled, from his perch up in his nest.

“I’m counting six, no at least eight, in total, Captain.” That was Natasha, at the very front of the prow.

Steve looked out into the night and indeed, spotted the brief lantern flickers of at least seven vessels, heading straight at the Patriot.

There was a stumble of footsteps behind and Steve spun around and found himself face to face with not only Tony, but Bruce, Thor and even Loki, who while looking reluctant to be there, had a confident grip on the thin, long rapier in his left hand.

The rest also carried weapons, Thor with both a normal sword which looked laughably small in his massive hands and his axe slung over his back.

Bruce had a wicked looking double handed blade, edge gleaming darkly in the available light. Tony spun a pistol in one hand and Steve spotted another one tucked in a holster at his waist. On his left, there was a sheathed rapier, similar in length to the one Loki held.

“Tony, pistols only contain one shot.” Steve said, worried frown creasing his forehead.

Tony grinned and did something that caused the pistol to basically break in half.

“Six shots in one,” Tony explained, pointing at the six strange looking cartridges slotted snugly into the six available holes. “Cast iron, so it’s a perfect fit.”

He flicked the barrel back up and it closed with a solid click. “Takes only a couple of seconds to reload and aim is phenomenal.” He winked at Steve’s raised eyebrows, “Genius, remember?”

“Don’t worry about us, Captain.” Bruce said, calm and in control as always, drawing his attention away from Tony. “This won’t be the first time we’ve had to defend a ship against multiple enemy vessels.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Steve said, offering them a way out. “You can stay below deck until this blows over.”

Tony shoved himself to the front again and crossed his arms. “I’m pretty sure those losers out there are here for the Tesseract map. It’s the only thing that’s valuable enough for them to risk boarding an Imperial ship for.”

“It’s my map they’re after.” Tony touched the lapels of his jacket, where he kept the map tucked away, and stared down Steve. “By that logic, this is actually our fight, not yours. So maybe you should think about sending all of your men and yourself down below decks while we deal with this?”

“And leave you alone, against all of them? Absolutely not.” Steve snapped, taking one step forward, close enough that Tony had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes.

Tony smiled and patted him on the chest. “Relax Captain, we’re not helping out of obligation. You’ve been more than kind to us, even if we’re being offered no choice in our destination. We’re not complete scoundrels.”

“Indeed!” Thor boomed and grinned, wide. He took a couple of steps forward, enough so that he wedged himself into a position where he could slap a hand over both Steve and Tony’s shoulders. “You have treated us like friends! Let us help you, good Captain!”

Steve looked at Loki, the only one who hadn’t spoken. Loki offered him a half shrug, tapping long fingers against the silvered grip of his rapier. “Some exercise would certainly allay the monotony of sea travel,” was all he said.

“We’re perfectly able to defend ourselves, Captain. Just put us where we won’t be in the way, and do what you would usually do.” Bruce added.

Steve slid his gaze over the group once more, searchingly before he finally nodded, if reluctantly. “If you could take the back starboard side? Then I can gather my men to the front and port side to repel any boarders.”

“It shall be done, Captain. We shall protect your ship with our lives!” Thor said.

Loki grimaced at the words. “Maybe ‘with our lives’ is not quite the correct term to use here, brother,” he said to Thor as they made their way over to the area Steve had indicated.

Bruce nodded as he passed Steve and followed the Asgardian brothers towards the back. Tony was the only one still there, in his spot, obviously wanting to talk to Steve alone.

“Listen, I know I’ve been kind of a bastard,” Tony said once he was sure Bruce was out of earshot, words almost tripping over themselves. “But you blew up my ship and I loved that ship. But you’re genuinely nice and handsome and I don’t know what to do with all that nice and handsome. I mean, you gave me Jarvis, whom I assume is meant to be like an apology gift. He can’t replace the Ironheart of course, but you at least tried and I...”

“Tony.” Steve said, voice fond, and Tony stuttered to a halt, cutting himself off.

“Right. What I meant to say was that I forgive you for the Ironheart. Probably. Maybe. Accidents happen, you know. And well,” Tony wouldn’t quite look directly at Steve. “Just. Thanks. For everything.”

Steve smiled and reached over to place a hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing a little when the other man didn’t jump away at the contact. “You’re welcome.”

“Well that’s done then. I’ll be over there if you need me.” Tony gestured vaguely and turned, ready to join the rest of his little crew.

“Tony,” Steve called out, just before he was out of earshot, “Be careful. Please.”

Tony looked back, eyes wide and surprised for one brief moment before he grinned, doffing his ridiculous plumed hat with a small bow. “Same to you, Captain.”
Steve turned away, resolutely pushing his attention away from Tony and to the battle heading straight to him.

“Ready the cannons.” Steve said, voice raised, “Aim to kill, we’ve got multiple vessels, men. We need as many sunk or as damaged as possible before we get into their firing range.”

He looked up to Clint. “Barton, can you get some light up into the sky so we can aim?”

“On it, Captain.” Clint said and notched a rather large, strangely shaped arrow onto his bow.

He fired, pointing out and up. As soon as the arrow flew into the air, he grabbed another arrow, passed the tip, doused in oil, through a flame and it flared, bright and hot. He aimed and fired, hitting the first arrow, which was just starting to dip down and it exploded in a huge burst of light, illuminating at least four ships.

“Fire when ready!” Steve called and all cannons to both starboard and port fired.

The battle was on.

♚

Tony’s arc reactor, the circle of light set in his chest, was powered by mechanics well beyond the understanding of anyone but Yinsen, who designed it, Bruce, who refined it and Tony himself, who rebuilt it, was a result of something Tony did when he was nineteen.

It’s Yinsen who found Tony in the aftermath, who, with steady hands and fear and worry and pain in his eyes, drew out the very experimental device he had been building on and off for most of his life.

And it’s because of Yinsen and that device that Tony lived, waking with the faint impression of pain, burning, searing pain, in his chest, which became real as soon as he inhaled.

“Steady,” Yinsen cautioned, clambering up from where he had been keeping vigil at Tony’s bedside. He dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and dripped some water onto Tony’s lips, wetting them and getting some liquid down his throat.

Tony’s fingers went to his chest, swathed with cloth, old clothes and sheets and anything that Yinsen found on hand that was clean and dry and usable. There was a pile of bloodied rags to the side of the bed, that Yinsen hadn’t taken the time to dispose of.

“Don’t touch that yet,” Yinsen said, taking hold of Tony’s hand and moving it away, gently.

“What happened?” Tony managed to croak out, throat obviously sore, voice wrecked, and Yinsen couldn’t help but remember the screaming, terrible, loud screaming that came from that same throat, only silencing when Tony had mercifully passed out.

“Barbarians from beyond the forest,” Yinsen answered, peering down into Tony’s eyes, checking his pupil’s reaction to the candle light he moved forwards and back. “You’re very lucky, Tony.”

Tony’s hand crept back to his bandaged chest, hissing in pain when his fingers brushed the edges of the wound but he managed to tap on the metal circle sitting in the middle, just to the right of his heart, below his collarbone. He froze and then traced the outline once, twice.

“What did you do?” He asked, half terrified, half exhausted, in pain, but here, alive.

“What I had to do to save your life, Tony.” Yinsen answered and there was no regret, nothing, except thankfulness that Tony was still here, still alive.

Tony huffed a laugh and it sounded like a sob, but his hand tightened around Yinsen’s. “I’m still here.”

Yinsen allowed himself a smile, for the first time in two days, and let his fingers tighten just the slightest bit around Tony’s own, “And that’s all that matters.”

♚

Tony woke.

That was surprise number one. He distinctively remembered searing pain in his shoulder and a sword thrust straight to his chest and...

He raised his hands and clawed at the stark white bandages over his torso, disregarding the pain that shot through his left shoulder and his stomach. He pulled at the confining layers until he could feel the outline of the arc reactor and see a glimmer of its light spilling through the material. The light was steady, bright and Tony exhaled, slumping back onto the bed, immediate panic receding.

Surprise number two was sitting on a chair, snoring softly. Steve.

Steve looked exhausted, almost as if he hadn’t slept properly for days. He was clean and bandaged, which implied that a certain amount of time had passed since Tony passed out from his injuries.

Tony, from his prone position on the bed, could see the white of bandages peeking out from under Steve’s sleeve, and the nasty looking scrape over his left cheekbone was cleaned and looked to be healing well.

Tony didn’t know if he wanted to wake Steve or not. He obviously needed the rest, but at the same time, Tony really needed to know what happened and where exactly he was.

The decision was taken out of his hands when Steve stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He blinked when he noticed Tony was awake and then jerked up, jumping to his feet and over to hover at his bedside almost immediately.

Tony tried for a smile, and thought he managed one successfully, because Steve smiled back, reaching a hand over to brush his cheek.

“You’re awake.” Steve said, voice soft, eyes scanning Tony, as if categorising all and any injuries.

“Yeah.” Tony leaned into the touch, lashes dipping down as his eyes almost closed. For the first time in his life, Tony felt almost content, just from that simple touch. “Where are we?”

His eyes flew open as he finally registered that he was alive, and the last thing he remembered was the battle. He grabbed Steve’s hand. “Bruce? Thor? Loki? Are they okay? What happened?” Tony demanded.

Steve pushed him back onto the pillows gently. “They’re all fine. You were the only one who received such severe injuries.” A frown creased his forehead. “Tony, you promised to be careful. Two musket rounds through your shoulder and a sword almost through your heart isn’t what I would call careful.”

Tony’s shoulders slumped and he winced as the movement jarred his sore shoulder. “They were aiming at you. I just couldn’t...”

Steve squeezed Tony’s hand as he fell silent. They sat like that for a moment.

“We’re in the Capitol, inside the Imperial Palace.” Steve told him after a while, answering the other question Tony had raised earlier.

Tony stared at him. “Imperial Palace.”

“Yes, they brought you here after Doctor Foster and Bruce did some emergency surgery on the Patriot. We almost lost you, Tony.” Steve’s voice was rough. “I almost lost you.”

Before Tony could answer, there was the sound of voices just beyond the door. Both Tony and Steve turned as the door swung open. Tony was expecting Bruce or Thor or maybe even Clint but the man who walked in was a complete stranger.

Or not. Tony stared at the man’s face, seeing something strangely familiar about it. The man walked in, slowly, back stooped. He was an older man, frown lines prominent on his forehead and hair gone mostly silver. There was a gaunt cast to his face, and he was obviously unwell, pale and shaking. But he looked so familiar, Tony couldn’t stop staring.

Steve immediately jumped to his feet, flushing and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

The King, because of course this was, waved Steve off and made his way to Tony’s side, stopping at the exact place Steve had been before.

At this distance, Tony could see the fine lines crinkling over the corners of his eyes and lips and the sea blue color of his eyes, still sharp, still not missing a thing despite his age and sickness.

“You call yourself Tony,” The King said.

Tony nodded. “I’ve known no other name. The man who raised me told me that he found me, abandoned at sea. Your Majesty,” he added, somewhat belatedly.

The King reached out and touched Tony’s chest, where the bandages were loose and slipping off from Tony’s earlier actions. “May I?”

Tony nodded again, unsure where this was going.

The bandages came unwound easily, baring Tony’s chest to the slightly cool temperature in the room and he couldn't suppress a shiver.

Steve’s sharp inhalation was almost loud in the silence.

“Do you know what this is?” The King’s voice was shaking, as was his hand when it hovered just above Tony’s chest, just above the tattoo he had had for as long as he remembered. It never matched anything, no crest or sign, that Tony or Yinsen had seen.

“No.” Tony’s own voice wasn’t that steady anymore, something slowly dawning on him, a realisation that made him reel with shock and disbelief.

The King’s fingers touched the marking, black ink in vivid relief against pale skin. “This is the Stark crest, our family’s personal crest that the heir to the throne always has imprinted on their chest, over their heart.

“It’s a promise to our ancestors, to ourselves, to always be honourable, righteous and to always be true to the people we serve,” he said to Tony, voice rough, unsteady.

Tony shook his head, in disbelief, in denial, he didn’t even know himself anymore.

The King’s palm was flat against the crest now and his eyes were wet with tears as he stared at Tony.

“Your name is Anthony Edward Stark,” he said, voice much too quiet and too loud at the same time. “You are my only son and the heir to this Kingdom.”

♚

Chapter Text

Tony flopped onto the throne, crown askew and Imperial robes in a tangled mess. “Being King is so much work, I don’t know how you managed it for so long, father.”

The word ‘father’ still felt a little strange in his mouth but it was worth it to see the small quirk of a smile Howard gave him when he used it.

Howard had abdicated his throne as soon as Tony had recovered and spent his days tutoring Tony in the delicate art of statecraft, something Tony was picking up slowly but steadily. It helped that Steve came in to help with history from time to time. That was definitely always a lesson that Tony looked forward to.

Howard was officially recognised as the Duke of Stark, the title that the heir usually took until they ascended the throne but the title had remained empty since Tony had no Queen and no children.

“That sprawl is definitely not King-like,” he told Tony, reaching out a hand to remove the crown from Tony’s ruffled hair.

Howard was looking a lot better lately, the burden of Kingship having been passed on and now with abundant time to look after himself better. It also helped that Obadiah Stane had had all of his titles and lands stripped from him, and had been sentenced to exile after his nefarious plan to take control of the Kingdom had come to light.

“There’s no one here to see it anyway.” Tony slumped a little further down, cradling his chin in a hand.

“Captain Steven Rogers,” announced one of the heralds at the door and Tony was suddenly sitting as straight as a ruler. Howard covered his smile with a hand.

“Your Majesty, my Lord Duke,” Steve said as he walked into the room, dropping to one knee on the steps below the dais.

Tony jumped up and scrambled down the stairs, waving Steve up absently. “Steve! Are we going out? I need to get out. And what did I say about doing the kneeling thing and the respectful address thing again?”

“But you’re the King.” Steve told him, sounding a little scandalised. But he rose and let Tony basically plaster himself against his side.

“But you’re sleeping in my...” Steve clapped a hand over Tony’s mouth to stop him from continuing, horrified and flushed, glancing over to Howard.

Howard raised an eyebrow at them, bemused and fond.

Tony glanced from Steve to Howard and rolled his eyes, pulling Steve’s hand away. “Seriously? Are you worried about my father? He knows ok? He totally knows. He plays cards with Coulson sometimes and don’t forget, Coulson knows everything.”

Steve’s flush darkened and he looked almost like he was about to scuff his boots against the plush carpet like an errant boy caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Howard took pity on him and waved him off. “Go on, Captain. Tony needs a break. If I kept him here any longer, he’d have run off to find you anyway.”

“My Lord, I...” Steve began but thought better of it, acquiescing to the request with a polite bow. “As you wish, my Lord.”

Howard watched them go, discreetly holding hands, and smiled.

♚

“So, why did you bring me all the way here?” Tony asked as he and Steve made their way down to the Imperial Port.

Steve smiled, much more relaxed now that they were in private. “You’ll see.”

They passed Clint and Coulson, walking in the opposite direction. Neither pair stopped, just waved at each other from a distance, Coulson inclining his head at Tony respectfully.

Steve turned the final corner and stopped. He turned to look at Tony, who had been a couple of steps behind.

Tony’s eyes widened as he rounded the corner, almost comically, and his last few steps faltered before just stopping altogether.

“Steve, this is...” Tony breathed out, looking up at the looming ship before him. “I thought she sunk off the port of the monastery we found Loki in.”

Steve shook his head. “Almost. We went to pick her up after everything was settled in the Capitol and did a quick patch job before bringing her here.”

He paused. “I couldn’t forget how much you loved your ship, so I brought her home for you.” Steve told him, moving to join Tony, reaching out almost automatically to thread their fingers together. “I spoke to the Duke about it and he found the man who built the Ironheart originally and had him oversee her rebuilding.”

Tony couldn’t look away from the Ironheart, as beautiful and imposing as ever. He turned to Steve and his fingers were tight around Steve’s own. “Thank you. For this, for everything.”

Steve slid his free hand around Tony’s nape and pulled him in, kissing him gently. “There’s no need for that, Tony. I love you, you don’t know how much. I’d do anything to keep you happy.”

“I love you too.” Tony smiled, almost shy as he said those words for the first time, “And there’s nothing you really need to do, just, stay with me.”

Steve kissed him again, a little harder, a little more possessive and he could feel the way Tony’s lips curved up under his.

“Always,” Steve promised him when they drew back for air.

“Forever,” Tony agreed and pulled Steve back down to him again.

♚

Finis