Chapter Text
The comforting scent of the hayloft helped alleviate some of the cold pain rooted deep in Tony’s chest. Curled up amidst the neatly stacked bales, furthest away from both the ladder and the hay chutes that lead down to the stables below, the young man let himself cry quietly. There was no other sound close by, aside from the shuffling of the horses underneath the loft and the soft sounds of gentle mastication as they occupied themselves with their food, meaning that if he wanted, Tony could sob as loudly as he wished.
No-one else came in here at this time of day, anyway.
Outside, night had fallen, a cold snap brushing the fields with frost and rendering the pasture unpalatable for the war-horses cooped up cosily in their boxes. Tony had brought them all in himself, still aching both emotionally and physically, and he had known they had sensed his distress. One of their fieriest geldings, Minnow, who was renowned for refusing to be caught and taking you on a wild jolly around the rolling fields, had walked straight up to him without any fuss or complaint, snuffled at his neck gently, and let himself be led inside, meaning he didn’t have to trek half a mile around the pasture and catch a chill. The quiet, reassuring companionship he’d received in the wake of a truly awful evening had soothed his soul somewhat.
Tony looked down at his arm, purpling awfully in the shape of his step-father's hand. He gently traced the blurred edges with his free fingers, noting the areas that were excruciatingly sore to the touch thanks to the deep grooves marked out by solid silver rings. Another was blossoming on his face, just around his eye socket and cheekbone, and several more painted themselves over his back and chest. Thanks, Obie, Tony thought.
He was just thankful that his stomach was safe - free from the wailings of a man who enjoyed toying with Tony’s reality like a child enjoys teasing a dog with a hunk of meat - usually it was just a slap around the face for being insolent (because Tony loved nothing more than getting a rise out of his step-father), but Obadiah had been both heavy on the drink tonight and heavy on losing in the card games he'd inevitably found himself playing. Whilst the physical wounds hurt, they were nothing compared to the emotional ones he was nursing.
Being unceremoniously dumped from what had seemed like a loving relationship like a sack of rotten potatoes would do that to a person.
Obadiah had warned him though, Tony thought sadly as he reached into his pocket to produce the only remnant of his tangible past. He had told Tony that it would end in tears for no-one but himself when the time came, but Tony had continued with it anyway, foolish enough to think that he was more than a stupid omega bedwarmer for the two lords, more than a hole to fuck to preserve their marital purity.
And now look at where it had landed him: curled up alone in the hayloft of the stables, beaten and bruised by his step-father and pregnant with a bastard child of either one of the men he’d given his heart to. Sniffing sadly, Tony traced his thumb over the small wolf dangling from the fine silver chain. It was tarnished slightly, from years of fingers rubbing over it in times of worry or delight, but it was a constant reminder than he’d had something before this life here - whether it be a group of friends with whom he’d gone out pick-pocketing with, or even a family who’d been bestowed with this exquisite gift of craftsmanship.
He liked to think it was the latter.
The sound of rustling caught his ears, but he didn’t move, knowing the familiar gait of Toot the stable-cat. She padded up to him, eyes half-mast, tail relaxed, and settled in the curve of his body, tucked up against the barely noticeable swell of his stomach. Tony gazed down at her, hot tears dribbling down his cheeks as he tangled his fingers in her tabby fur.
Tomorrow was the wedding between Lord Steve and Lord Bucky, a joyous affair for both the lord’s home counties as they came together as one to build a stronger future. There was rumour even that the King and Queen themselves would make their way up to formally give their blessing to the pair, even despite the fact they were an unlikely marital couple to begin with, as an alpha-alpha set. Tony wondered if they’d fall in love with a female omega, ask her to bear their pups for them and cherish her the way they’d seemingly cherished Tony before he’d been discarded like a broken marionette. He stroked his stomach gently, tired out from the emotional day.
Tomorrow would be the wedding.
The day after, Tony would be gone.
—
Under different circumstances, Tony probably would have appreciated the day in a much more positive light. As it was, he spent most of it helping out with the servants after he’d brushed all the horses and waxed the tack for the parade that was held after the church ceremony as the newly married couple made their way from the altar to the castle for the feast. He’d dressed in his finest wear, for there couldn’t be any other means by which he could dress to wait on the upper echelons, but allowed his stays out slightly, so as not to draw attention to his swelling stomach. Normally, he’d be on Steve’s right hand side, as Keeper of the horses, but Tony reasoned he’d be more useful as a servant. Blending in seemed better now, considering he’d learnt his place as a peasant.
He helped Pepper with pressing the tablecloths with the heavy irons and lighting the candles in the chandeliers, a new gift sent from the Northern Kingdom of Asgard, that send shards of dazzling light drifting around the expansive room, and allowed himself to be bossed around by Natasha as she whipped up everything needed for the banquet with calm precision. Both women stopped to ask what had happened to his face, concern shafted over their features, but didn’t pry when Tony shook his head - they had their suspicions and they were usually correct. Natasha did produce a salve that helped ease the throbbing pain in his swollen eye, though, and he graced her with a gentle buss to the cheek before going to help Bruce mix up tonics for the inevitable hangovers in the morning. The physician also looked worried when Tony entered his quarters.
“What happened?” he asked, getting up from where he was grinding leaves with his mortar and pestle. He reached out, thumb sliding in the tacky residue from Natasha’s salve, eyes warring between horror and tears. Tony reached out to place his hands on the physicians broad shoulders, shaking his head.
“It’s nothing to worry about, honestly,” he said soothingly, hoping the omega pheremones his gender were renowned for would calm the betas fears. “Syva knocked me for six last night when I was picking out her hooves. How many times has this happened, before?”
“A few,” Bruce acquiesced, remembering the fright he’d had the first time Tony had stumbled through his door with an eye as black as coke. “Does it hurt?”
“A bit,” Tony admitted as he began to put the tinctures in his basket to distribute to the one hundred and thirty three rooms in the castle. “Natasha’s salve has reduced the throbbing skin and everything, but I have a bit of a headache.”
Bruce turned away, bustling into his backroom for a moment before coming out with another bottle of liquid that was a milky white in colour. “Drink this. It’s willow bark, tumeric and cloves - nothing opiate related so you won’t spend tonight high. Make sure you shake it.”
Tony took it with a smile. “Thanks.”
“How are you fairing?” Bruce asked quietly after Tony had downed the concoction, grimacing at the aftertaste. He was, aside from Pepper and Natasha, the only one who knew about his tryst with the two to-be-wed lords. Tony gave him a sharp smile. Bruce had already figured out by now that things had dissolved into a mess.
"This wasn't ... Steve and Bucky, was it?" Bruce asked cautiously. Despite the hurt he felt at hearing their names, a protective flame jumped alight at the insinuation and he shook his head in denial.
"Oh god, no - no. No, it wasn't them. They couldn't hurt anyone if they tried."
Bruce shot him an arch look. "Well they managed to do it, didn't they?" he asked, a hint of venom creeping into his tone. Tony shrugged his shoulders, eyes lined with weary shadows, brows drawn low. Bruce wanted to wrap him up.
“It was always going to end in heartbreak, Bruce,” Tony said, “Obie warned me and I didn’t listen. I got myself into this mess, so don’t worry. I only have myself to blame.”
He picked up the delivering basket and strode out of the room before Bruce had the chance to respond.
—
He delivered all of his tonics by mid-morning, the time when the priest was probably just about saying ‘you may now kiss your wedded’. Swallowing back his self-pity, Tony stopped outside the last door on the list, staring at the familiar grooves of the door etched over many years as Steve and Bucky grew up. No guards were around at this moment, and those that were knew Tony was delivering tomorrow morning’s pain-relief so, had there been any in the first place, he would have been allowed in here anyway.
Fighting back more tears and taking a steady breath of the lesser scented air in the draughty corridor, Tony pushed it open and nearly fell to his knees as the smell of them hit him like a wave of water. The room was still the same, from the bathtub against the wide bay windows where he’d enjoyed many an evening curled up against Steve or Bucky as the other relaxed by the fireplace opposite, to the expanse of bookshelves weighed down with novels and tomes like branches with heavy snow. The midmorning light poured in through the clear glass to illuminate the bed strewn with sable furs and warm, rich blankets, a space he’d thought he’d never have to leave - a space he’d never in his life thought he’d be humiliated in, despite their differences in class.
Tony scooped up the hangover tonics, as well as a bottle of unscented oil for whichever high-ranking omega they eventually brought into their wedding bed that evening. Unbidden, his eyes spilled over, noting the familiar way their riding boots were stacked against the far wall, a couple of sheathed swords looped over the end of the bed by their belts, left behind in favour of the more decorative ceremonial ones that tended to be used in marriage. He let his fingers trace over the worn leather, now cold compared to the countless times he’d unbuckled them from the warm, living bodies of the alpha couple.
Snatching his hand back suddenly and placing it to his stomach instead, Tony made his way over to the window, flinging it open to allow a fresh breeze to filter through. He left it like that, knowing that by the time the alphas - or whichever servant came in to light a fire - returned, they’d never know he’d been there, his scent carried away by the fingers of the wind.
—
He headed back to the stables briefly to muck out the stalls of the war-horses and fill their buckets with fresh water. He had stable-boys, but they worked on the lower yard where the less valuable horses were (although Tony saw them all as valuable as one another, as he was wont to do as the Keeper of them all). It took him a little longer than usual, a sharp pain in his lower back labouring his progress. It took him an hour to muck out six stalls, as opposed to the usual twenty minutes, something he attributed to the cub growing inside of him.
The parade returned, and the horses came back in. Tony could smell Steve and Bucky on Zamira and Ilvia respectively, their scents happy and excited, and he had to bite back the growl of anger that they didn’t miss him.
Because why would they? They were lords and he was scum to them. Why they’d even touched him in the first place was a mystery. He untacked them as quickly as he could, knowing he would be needed to serve food within the next hour. Thankfully none of the horses needed a full washing down, only a scrub to get rid of the marks left where they’d sweated slightly under their tack. He treated them all to a carrot before sending a message down to the lower yard to make sure all of the others got one too. Harley would probably end up giving them four, but they’d all been on their best behaviour today and rarely got them, so it wasn’t too much of an issue, he reasoned.
Pausing to catch his breath in the stairwell down to the kitchens once he got up there, he tried to count how many days he had before the pup would be born. Omega men started showing at only two months: they carried quicker than a female would for a standard seven, thanks to the way their bodies were made in terms of hip width and womb size. It meant that the pup was usually smaller, considered premature by female omega and female beta standards, but with the right love and attention, they could grow very rapidly. Given he must be two months in already, Tony knew he only had three to go before he’d be a mum - the energy was draining from his body already and the nausea that had struck up at the beginning was not abating.
Taking in a steady, slow breath, Tony finished his descent and let himself be ordered around, falling into the familiar daze of prepping plates and dishes for Natasha. He’d been a second-hand in the kitchen before he’d gotten the role of Keeper in the stables, so Natasha knew she could rely on him to prep the food and lay it out in such a manner when it was ready that would be appealing for the upper class. She also didn’t smack him on the hand when he stole food, giving him nothing more than a gentle, if slightly appraising look.
Smiling, Tony hefted the silver platters up on his arms, just in time for when the bell pulley jingled in the cacophony of the kitchens. Tony set off, ascending the floors until he got to what was considered the third from the basement, where the kitchens were, but was the first floor from the courtyard where guests and dignitaries arrived. He stopped again to catch his breath before setting off after Maisie and Christopher through the dim servants corridor, pushing out into the great hall. The guests were already seated, talking uproariously amongst themselves as they swilled delicate crystal glasses of gold wine or red liquor. A large, decorative hog sat in the centre of the long table, an apple wedged in its mouth, sprigs of holly pricking its sides. Someone, Tony suspected Pepper, had even gone to the length of gilding the edges of the holly to make it look like it had been dipped in gold.
Feeling an odd movement in his stomach, nothing to do with the pup and more to do with his turbulent emotions, Tony settled his platters down in their intended spots, carefully avoiding interrupting two visiting ladies’ conversation. Oddly enough, they smiled up at him before their faces creased in worry as they no doubt caught sight of his swelling bruise. Tony smiled by way of reply before bobbing his head courteously and walking out.
He ignored the head of the table.
—
Five hours had passed and he was on his second break, curled up in Natasha’s private quarters taking a snooze, hand curled protectively around his stomach. Pepper and Natasha had promised to come and wake him when it was time to get back to work, so he sunk into a deeper sleep, reliant on the ladies to give him a shake.
When he woke up, it was quiet. Blinking in the darkness, Tony listened intently, picking up nothing but the faint snores of other servants as they slumbered. By smell alone, Tony could tell that Natasha wasn’t even in here, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Judging by the moonlight flooding in through the small window, it was just shy of two am, meaning he had about two hours before Harley would be up and getting the horses ready for the morning routines, followed by the post nuptials hunt.
Swallowing hard, Tony lit a beeswax candle and pilfered a piece of parchment and Natasha’s quill that sat next to her ink pot.
Natasha and Pepper,
I am sorry to desert you like this, but I fear it is necessary. You have been invaluable to me as both friend and family, and I hope that my disappearance causes you no ill happenings in the future. I leave my trust in you that you make sure Steven and James stay safe; what I thought I’d had with them was nothing more than a tumble, but they are prone to loving the wrong people - I as an example - and I do not wish for them to be hurt. They are good alphas and deserve the right omega.
My love stays, as my body must leave.
Anthony
He wiped the nib of the quill with the cloth nearby and watched the ink dry on the parchment, smudged slightly with his quick scribblings. He wished he could finish it with more finality, but he had no second name. He came here with three things: a penchant for horses, the charm in his pocket and his forename. He’ll leave with four.
Folding the letter and placing it on the pillow after he quietly made the bed, Tony left the castle and headed to his old home. Obadiah was snoring in his own room like a bellows, allowing Tony to skulk in and out unnoticed. He took the mink lined cloak he was gifted one year, as well as the tiny box of coins saved underneath the floorboards. Depositing them into a small sack, he tied it to his expanding belt and stole back out from the decrepit home as quietly as he’d come, not even casting more than a glance in Obadiah's direction, despite the hassle he'd grown up with. Sometimes Tony dreamed about pushing him off the top of the castle, but that would be a crime and Tony didn't particularly want to be in prison whilst carrying his pup. He had a pre-written letter to Harley already sat in the tack room, awaiting its final master when he arrives.
Demeter snuffled at his neck as he entered her stall. He rubbed at her ears, producing an apple for her to munch on as he tacked her up, careful to use an old riding pad and the deliberately muddy tack he’d not cleaned since the last hunt. The horses here had two sets in rotation, but Tony had made sure this one retained the mess of the day, to mask up any scents of the household he was stealing her from.
He led her out of the stables and onto the grass verge, using the fence to awkwardly mount up onto her patient back, rubbing his swollen stomach once settled. He looked up at the castle looming over them and saw that Steve and Bucky’s window was glowing with firelight. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, knowing that firelight at this time of the morning only meant that they’d be entertaining their future omega, and gently turned Demeter around, the sound of her retreating hooves muffled as they disappeared into the great forests backing Lyn Castle.
—
Back home in Lyn, time was measured in a day. It was easy to track, thanks to the work you did and the regular periods of sleep you got. Being on the run was a different matter. Tony counted time in both jobs and money. Being quite obviously pregnant now after he swept off his cloak meant he was reduced to work such as sewing with seamsters or cleaning vegetables in the inns he bunked in. Proving he was adept at horsemanship had gotten him far in places: he’d been a groomer for a couple of weeks after a bought of virulent sickness brought a party to a standstill and they’d had to set up camp, and again at a travelling circus when one of their own had been discovered to be stealing the silverware used in the performance. After the woman had been offed, Tony had been briefly drafted in to cover and make sure the horses coats shone and that they stayed healthy, especially for one of their star actors who had to gallop around on a grey mare called Ramiba and wield his swords. Sometimes he wondered how the common man and woman couldn't possibly how to take good care of a horse when, more often than not it was their means of life, but he’d been paid a good amount for it so he didn’t mention anything.
He’d stashed as much money as he could, but eventually the need for food and certain tinctures to fight the headaches and sickness became paramount enough to cough up basically all he had. He couldn’t hold off when his cub was so close to being born. Demeter had also begun to get a bit thin, and he couldn’t stand knowing she was living off the scant grass verges she grazed on. After buying a weeks worth of oats for her - even though he knew oats weren’t that good for a horse with her sort of build - he found himself destitute.
He was regularly finding himself fighting back tears as they walked along the roads, both from pregnancy hormones and the realisation that not only did the alphas he thought were his alphas really not want him, for a search party could have easily caught up by now, but that he was homeless, heavily pregnant, feverish, malnourished and basically a criminal. At the time, taking Demeter hadn’t seemed that much of an issue. Now, passing through towns and villages where there was a warrant out for ‘omega of short stature riding a stolen horse’, it struck genuine fear into his heart. He could only hope people would think Demeter was another plain brown horse and he just a random peasant on his way to the Isle Markets down South. His cloak covered his stomach and his hair was longer than it had been, so he hoped he wouldn’t be found.
He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to face trial back in Lyn. Everyone would cast him out and then he wouldn't even have Demeter for the sparse bit of company she offered him.
Sniffing away his misery, Tony turned Demeter onto the path towards the lower citadel of the Kings Step, wincing at the harsh wind that blew sideways. Here, in the capital of the country, he hoped to pawn off his silver necklace, as much as it hurt to do so. He’d considered it previously in other towns, knowing it would fetch a hefty sum, but he wanted to know he was getting a good deal, and he knew the King kicked out anyone who extorted the innocent trader or buyer - something about a disloyal business partner who took too much for him and had never been seen again. He decided to dismount before he entered the gates, knowing that standing in his cloak drew less attention than when he was sat down astride Demeter, and led her through, tying her up to a hitching post where, thankfully, there was fresh water available. She stuck her muzzle in eagerly, taking long drags of the cool liquid and Tony smiled as he walked away from her.
He made his way slowly up the street, impressed at how smart and clean it was. Instead of timber and straw buildings most of the towns he'd passed through were made from, the Kings Step was clearly a reflection of its wealth and the royal family who lived close by. Even the shops were made out of solid white stone, the same sort the towering castle and its upper citadel were constructed from. The buildings were constructed on two levels and sealed with slate roofs, faintly glimmering in the bright, cold light. The main street was dipped at the side, metal grates leading to the drains, and everyone looked happy as they bartered, traded and turned their craft. Tony smiled, passively wishing he could stay here in this bustling, exciting city, but he had a course set out and he had to stick to his plan for fear of being caught. He turned around and headed back up the street for a while before coming to a small shop that dealt and bought silverware. He entered, nose prickling at the scent of rubs, oils and the beta owner.
“Good afternoon, sir, how can I help?” a voice asked. Tony turned to where there was a large desk, strewn with all manner of silver pieces. Clocks, keys, toys, cups and other forms of tableware were adorning the table alone - more hung in the air on hooks and others were set back on the walls on large oak shelves. It was fascinating and, had he the time, Tony could have spent ages looking around and imagining ways to melt it down to re-create something new.
“I have something I’d like to sell for travels.” Tony said, drawing his attention back to the beta silver-smith and delving into the pocket of his cloak to draw out the necklace. He rubbed its tarnished body a couple of times as he held it sadly in the palm of his hand. “It’s only small, but I need the money.”
He held it out, giving it to the beta who took it between long fingers. Tony watched as the mans face went from intrigued to furious. He stood up, instantly towering over Tony on legs that hadn’t seemed as long when hunched under a table, suddenly giving off the stench of anger that sent Tony stumbling backwards into a cupboard. Silver came tumbling down around him like a weird rainstorm.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded furiously, reaching out to smash his finger on a small button on his desk repeatedly. Tony could hear a bell ringing furiously outside and felt like a trapped animal.
“I - I -” Tony stammered, taken aback, terrified and wholly confused. “I’ve had it my whole life, I swear.”
The silver-master looked furious, eyes glossed with the sheen of someone who was angry on behalf of someone else. “No. You’re a thief, my boy - a wretched thief. How dare y - this boy is a thief. He stole this and tried to come here and sell it.”
Tony looked around, heart cold and a sweat breaking out over his body at the sight of two large alpha guards bedecked in shining armour who seemed to fill the whole shop with their intimidating bulk and smell. Tony shook his head wildly, feeling trapped and helpless and so fucking terrified he could cry all over again, if he had any tears left.
“I’m not - I swear! I just - I needed the money. I’ll be gone, I promise!”
The silver-master leant over the desk, glaring down his nose at Tony. “The only way you’ll be leaving here is in shackles - and that's if you’re lucky.”
Tony swallowed, shaking his head in terror as he babbled out apologies and promises as the alphas took him by the arms and dragged him out into the street. “No, no you don’t understand!” Tony cried out, drawing a crowd as the guards shoved him into the back of the hitched wagon, locking the grate door behind him. He knelt up, clutching the solid metal bars. “I’ve had it my whole life! I swear!”
The silver-master remained silent, Tony's necklace clenched in a white knuckle grip and Tony watched through blurred vision as his chest heaved with tears as the gossiping crowd receded into the distance. He slid down until he lay sideways on the hard wooden boards, closing his eyes and drawing his cloak over his face. He sobbed silently into the straw beneath his cheek, shakily clutching his stomach as he wondered what could happen to the cub now that his time had drawn to an end.