sabrecmc:

Weeeeellll…this is the beginnings of an idea.  Maybe one day I’ll get to write it.  God, I do love me some romance trash.  Come roll around in it with me.

Tony isn’t thrilled with being trussed up and delivered naked to the barbarian warlord storming through their country, but if it saves his people, he supposes it’s worth it.  At least their leader isn’t dreadful to look upon.  Younger than Tony expected for someone with such a reputation.  He doesn’t expect the man to take his cloak off his shoulders and shield Tony from the watchful eyes of Obie and his men and the other soliders, but he doesn’t flinch when the man touches his cheek.  Later, when the tent is cleared, and they are alone, he’s scared.  Ends up talking too much.  Not that the man he’s been given to as a bribe can understand him.  He doesn’t talk much, anyway, and Tony has no idea what he’s saying when he does, other than he seems to think Tony should eat more of the food he keeps piling in front of him.  Tony’s stomach is way too nervous for that, though he drinks the wine. He’s pretty sure it is from his father’s cellar.  

He really, really hates Obie.  

When he’s rather unceromoniously dumped on a pile of furs, he half expects the man to just get it over with right then, but he doesn’t. He takes his time.  Goes slowly, seemingly in no hurry.  Tony almost wishes he would hurry.  Frowns when he sees the bruises on Tony’s arms and back and traces them with his thumb in little circles.  Tony keeps trying to hide his face and bite his lip, but the man won’t let him do that.  It’s not unpleasant, even when it hurts a bit at first, though Tony thinks it might be easier if it was.  He thinks the man seems frustrated with him, and worries he’s displeased him.  Maybe the warlord will change his mind, and all of this will be for nothing.  Obie will probably have him beaten.  He’s not worth much now, and whatever deals Obie had been hoping to broker involving him that spared his life when Obie took over in the wake of his parents’ murder were probably fruitless after this.  Who wanted some foreigner’s leavings?  

He tried to get up, but the man just pushed him down and…shushed him, placing a finger to Tony’s lips and pulling him to his chest.  Tony protested and grumbled, growing more frustrated when the man’s chest rumbled with laughter.  

He expected to be sent back to the keep in the morning.  But, when he finally skulked out of the tent, it was to find the man atop his horse, seeming to be waiting on him.  Tony tried to ask questions, but the man either didn’t understand or ignored him, and instead, just plucked him up and sat him on his lap, tucking him into the folds of his cloak when Tony yelped.  He kept repeating some word, the same one he’d said the night before, but Tony didn’t know it.  He asked, but again, got no response.  

“Anyone want to tell me what ‘Quera’ is supposed to mean?” Tony finally asked in frustration as they rode, tossing his hands up in the air. 

“It’s a type of long, small weasel-like animal, known for its beautiful pelt and quick bite where he comes from,” a man said, riding up next to them.  He was older, thin, and spoke with some kind of accent Tony couldn’t place. 

“Oh, great.  Thanks. That’s wonderful. I’m an angry rat.  You speak my tongue? Can you tell him something for me?” Tony asked beligerently. 

“I speak many languages,” the man said.  “I am called Yinsen, by the way.  His translator. And I do not think I will tell him what you have to say, for both our sakes.”

“Unhelpful.  You know, you’re not exactly perfect yourself, Captain,” Tony spat out, glaring up at the man, who just looked down at him in confusion.  “Quera?  Really?  Put me down, I’ll walk.”

“Quera,” the man smiled. 

“They kill the most deadly of serpents, ten times their size, and show no fear, just make this sort of chattering noise at it while it hisses,” Yinsen added. “I think he means it as a term of endearment, Stark.” 

“I do not chatter!” Tony protested. “Tell him I said I don’t chatter.  No, wait, tell him–hey, we’re stopping?  We’re stopping?  You promised.  You swore!”

It was his home.  The bastard was going back on his word, damn him. Of course, he was. Why wouldn’t he?  What was a promise to an Omega anyway? All of that, last night, everything, and for nothing. 

Except…they were just riding into the bailey, and Obie was there, surrounded by the warlord’s soldiers, on his knees in the dirt with a wound on the bald plate of his head slowly bleeding streaks of red down his face.  He looked scared.  It was a strange look on the man, like his skin was stretched too tightly.  Tony couldn’t recall ever seeing Obie scared. 

Tony looked up at the Captain, a question on his lips.  The man just took Tony’s arm out from under his cloak and pushed back the sleeve of Tony’s tunic where a bruise darkened his skin just above his elbow.  Tony opened his mouth to say something, tried to push his sleeve down or jerk his arm back. 

“What are you doing?” Tony demanded. 

“Quera,” the Captain said, then lifted him down and dismounted, drawing his sword while one of his men rushed forward and drove a blade into the ground in front of Obie.