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Tony can’t stop thinking about it.
Strange’s dismissive, Fool. The contemptuous snort.
It shouldn’t bother him. Sorcerers are corrupted, selfish, destructive, of course they think themselves above everyone else. At least, so Tony has always been taught. He’s never actually met one before. Howard made sure of that, unwilling to risk losing his son the way he’d lost his wife.
But hearing Strange liken sorcery to blacksmithing and horse training makes Tony wonder why he never questioned it the way he had those other things. Questioning those things had made him better at blacksmithing, and better at judging mounts. It was just as important to understand sorcery—so why hadn’t he poked at his instructors the same way, pulled apart their logic, gone looking for his own answers?
A book slams closed. Tony is yanked away from his desk. Howard’s face, pale with fear.
Tony turns the idea of beneficial magic over in his mind again and again. The second night after that first conversation, the question slips out while Strange is eating: “If magic can be used to do good, why isn't it?”
“It is,” Strange says. He looks up from his food. “What do you think I do in between attacks by ignorant knights?”
Tony bristles, but refuses to be deflected. “Plan your next attack. Exploit the people for your needs.”
“Do I eat babies, too?” Strange asks dryly. Tony doesn’t say anything, but Strange sees it on his face. “They do say we eat babies.”
“I never believed that one,” Tony admits. “People aren’t quiet about babies going missing.”
“So you have some critical thinking skills,” Strange says. “Tell me, if magic is so inherently corruptive, why wasn’t it illegal before the Queen was killed?”
Tony hesitates. “It didn’t need to be. People weren’t willing to take the risk. But once they saw what it could do—”
Strange just looks at him.
“—but that’s never stopped anyone before,” Tony sighs.
“The Queen was killed by magic, and in his grief the King brought his wrath down on every sorcerer in the kingdom,” Strange says evenly. “If the assassin had belonged to another country, we’d be at war, instead. No one handed Howard Stark a war to vent his pain in, so he had to make his own.”
Tony wants to argue. He’s studied magic, to understand, not to practice, but—
Howard’s hand, heavy on his shoulder. “It’s important that you know your enemy, Tony. The Council won’t call it what it is, but the truth is, we’re fighting a war within our own borders.”