[Fic] East of The Sun, West of The Moon

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

Title: East of the Sun, West of the Moon
Author: masterofmidgets
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: PG-13 (kissing and implied but barely there sex)
Word Count: 6,125
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just perv on therm
Summary: The magician whose castle is east is east of the sun and west of the moon has taken Steve's love, but no matter how far he must travel, he will find him again. For pandanoai 's Fairy Tale fic challenge. I, uh, kind of fail at comment-fic. Clearly. Based off of the more common version of this fairytale. Pure, unadulterated crack, with a generous scoop of improbably romance. Enjoy!

Once upon a time, there was a young man named Steve. Now Steve had no great wealth, land, or title, but he did possess things far more valuable: a kind and stout heart, a fearless nature, and a determination to help all those in need. And so Steve became a warrior, giving his life to the protection of all those innocent who would be attacked and preyed upon by the terrible evils of the world.

As a child, Steve had been pale and sickly, but one day he began to grow, and grow, and grow, until he was as tall as a young tree and as strong and broad-shouldered as an ox. He also grew fair and handsome of face, with hair golden as the sun and eyes blue as the sky. In gleaming armor, with his sword at his side, the sight of him struck fear into his enemies’ hearts.

And well they should have feared, for though Steve was kind and good-natured, he was a fierce and relentless warrior, tireless in his duty and fearsome in battle, and many wicked men and monsters fell beneath his blade. Until finally he came against an enemy he could not defeat; the Baron Zemo, who had long terrorized his land and all his subjects. Many times Steve fought him, and though he held him at bay and saved many from his devious plots, the man always escaped him to do more evil.

And then one day the baron laid a cunning trap for Steve, one he could neither foresee nor escape; he struggled valiantly, but he was grievously injured, and the baron, taunting in his victory, left him to die where he fell.

How long he lay there, he did not know; it felt like an eternity had passed before he opened his eyes again. And when he did, he saw a strange and monstrous sight before him: it had the form of a man, but massive, the limbs carved out of gleaming metal, the face flat and expressionless, the eyes alight with an inhuman glow.

"Who are you?" Steve demanded.

"I came upon you in the field where you lay, bleeding and raving in pain, and though I knew not what had befallen you, I carried you to shelter, and card for you while he healed. I saved your life, stranger," the creature said, in a voice like the steely clash of swords.

Now Steve was sorely frightened by this, but more than fear he had his honor, and his honor demanded that such a great debt as saving his life be repaid. He was still fearsomely weak from his wounds, but with effort he sat up and asked, "What would you have me do?"

The iron man was silent for several long seconds after Steve spoke, but finally he answered, "You will come back to my manor with me. I have heard tell that you are a mighty warrior, and I would have you fight beside me, and be my companion."

Refusal was on Steve’s tongue, but then he paused. The sight of the unnatural thing before him chilled him to his bones, but when it spoke, he heard something in its voice, an aching sadness and loneliness that made him think of his own sacrifices. And so, reluctantly, Steve consented to return with him to his manor.

At first, it was difficult for Steve. The iron man’s manor was in a land far from Steve’s home; he was surrounded by strangers, and their ways and customs were unfamiliar to him, and made little sense. The manor was vast, filled with the most expensive of furniture and the most exquisite of decorations, and Steve, who had long had little more than the clothes on his back to call his own, could not feel comfortable there.

And though he saw him rarely, Steve could not but be disquieted by his captor, with his harsh, tinny voice and his habit of standing silently, fixing Steve with his impenetrable gaze, until Steve fled the room.

In time, however, Steve found himself growing accustomed to his life in the manor, and even enjoying it. The iron man, it turned out, did not live there alone; he had servants, of course, and also friends, a small group of warriors who fought beside him and ate at his table as well. When the iron man was absent, which was often, they spoke to him, invited him to join in their work – out of kindness, and gradually, he hoped, because they genuinely liked him.

His captor, also, proved to be not unkind, for all his oddness and aloofness; though he was frequently gone, off doing heaven-knew-what, he always spoke to Steve when he returned. He made certain Steve was lacking in nothing, from clothes to food to diversions, and when Steve asked after acquiring a book, showed him to the most fantastic library he had ever seen. Steve came to think of the iron man with, if not fondness, at least not outright fear.

And then there were the nights.

The first night in the manor, Steve had been unable to sleep. He lay in his too-vast bed and watched the shadows play across the high ceiling, and thought of the family he had lost long ago and would never see again, and he wept bitterly that he was alone. But then, at the stroke of midnight, the door opened, and he heard a figure move through the darkness of his room towards his bed.

“Who is there?” he said, voice scarcely above a whisper.

A hand brushed his cheek, tender and warm, and he felt the weight of another body settle on his bed.

“You said you would be my companion,” answered a low voice. “Would you stand by your word?”

The voice was completely different. There was no rasp of metal, just a man’s low, husky tone, but Steve knew in an instant that it was his captor who spoke to him. Startled, he reached out, and his hand grasped an arm – warm, soft, and entirely human.

“What –” Steve exclaimed.

“Shhh,” the man murmured. “Please, don’t ask me to explain. Just let me be with you.”

The kiss was gentle, the briefest meeting of their lips before the man pulled away again, but Steve felt his heart stir.

“I will,” Steve whispered, and drew the man to him, and kissed him once more.

The man came to Steve’s room every night after that, stealing in under the cloak of darkness to hold Steve, to touch him, to whisper in his ear of the feelings he held for him, and after they had been together, the two slept in each other’s arms. And it was not long at all that Steve knew in his heart that he was in love with this man.

The only thing to tarnish his feelings was that he had never seen the man’s face. Though he shared Steve’s bad every night, he always departed before the sun had risen, leaving Steve to wake alone. And in the day, when he was once again clad in his suit of metal, the nights might as well have been a dream, for he never mentioned it, and indeed spoke to Steve with no more tenderness than he ever had. It was enough to make Steve doubt what he had known from the first night, that his captor and his lover were one and the same.

The longer he lived at the manor, the more Steve was distressed by this, until finally he could bear it no longer.

“I have to know who he is!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the oak table.

“Of course you do,” said Hank, one of Tony’s comrades. “There’s nothing worse than a hypothesis you can’t test to prove it.”

Though Hank was a strong fighter, his true passion was alchemy; he spend much of his time in his quarters, studying bubbling potions that he swore would give mankind all sorts of amazing abilities, from changing size to speaking to beasts and insects.

“What you should do,” Hank continued, “is take this bit of candle and hide it on you. Then, when he falls asleep, you can light it and see who he is. Problem solved.”

So Steve took the candle stub and hid it away. That night the man came to him as he always did, but after they made love, Steve only feigned falling asleep. He lay still and silent until the man in his arms began to snore faintly, and then he slipped from the bed. Taking the candle from where he hidden it, he lit it and leaned close, letting the golden light wash over his companion’s face.

Steve had wondered if his lover concealed himself because he ugly or malformed, but when he saw him, he felt his breath taken away; the light revealed a face of extraordinary beauty. He stared transfixed at his silken black hair, his golden skin, his full mouth, and though he had thought he could not be more in love than he was, now he thought he would go mad with it.

But as Steve watched him, he had not paid heed to his burning candle, and three drops of hot wax fell onto the man’s bare skin. He jolted awake, eyes wide and horrified, and seized Steve by the shoulders.

“What did you do?” he shouted furiously.

“I just wanted to see your face. Is that such a terrible crime?” Steve asked.

The man ran a hand through his hair and sank back onto the bed, face suddenly miserable. “I’m under a curse,” he said. “Some time ago, I ran afoul of a wicked magician. He wanted me to marry his daughter, a vile and loathsome creature, and when I refused, he stole my heart from me and turned me into a monster of metal in revenge. If you had loved me for a year, without ever knowing what I was, I could have broken the curse. But now I’ll have to return to his castle, that lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and I’ll never be free again.”

Steve knelt before him, and took his hands in his. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never would have looked if I had known. I should have trusted you. Please, tell me what I can do to fix this.”

The man’s hands tightened on his as he whispered, “There is nothing you can do. The magician’s castle is so far and so secret you could never find your way there. But this is not your fault; the blame lies on me alone. I will miss you sorely, my love.”

“Tell me your name,” Steve demanded. “Tell me your name, and I will seek you to the ends of the earth, and beyond, if I must.”

“My name is Tony,” he said. And Steve held him close and dearly, but in the morning he was gone.

That very morning, Steve filled a pack and set out from the manor to find Tony, wherever he might have gone. For many days he walked, until his feet ached and his legs ached and his back ached, but no one he met could tell him of a magician whose castle was east of the sun and west of the moon. Finally he came to a great mountain, so high he did not know how he could pass it, so there at the foot of the mountain he stopped to rest.

While he sat on a rock, resting his aching feet, an old woman approached him from the shadowed trees, bent and withered and dressed all in rags.

“Can you spare a crumb of food for a poor woman?” she croaked. After so many days, Steve had little enough food to spare, but still he dug through his pack and found the dried meat he had left.

“Sit, grandmother, and have something he to eat,” he said, offering the meat to her. When she had finished it, she gave him a broad, toothless smile.

“What brings you to my mountain?” she asked him.

“I’m searching for my love, who was cursed by the magician who lives east of the sun and west of the moon and forced to marry his daughter. But now I’ve come to this mountain, and even if I knew where I was going, I don’t know how I can ever get over it.”

“I’ve heard of this magician,” the old woman said. “But I don’t know where his castle is. But you are a kind, generous boy, so I’ll do what I can to help you.”

She handed him a small vial, filled to the top with a dark liquid. “Take this potion before you go into a battle, and you will surely win, for it will make you stronger and faster, and as hard as you will fight you will not weary. Keep it safe, for it’s very valuable.”

And then she took him by the hand and led him back to a copse of trees, where he found an old grey horse tethered.

“My horse isn’t much, but he’ll get you over the mountain. Just turn him around when you get to the bottom and strike him once on the left ear, and he’ll come back to me. Good luck, boy, and may you find what you are searching for.”

And with that the old woman vanished.

The old horse was swifter than Steve would have thought, and in only a day they had crossed the mountain and come to the other side. When they reached the bottom, Steve dismounted and turned the horse to face back the way they had come; when he struck it upon the ear, it took off at a gallop.

At the first light of dawn, Steve resumed his journey. The way grew more difficult now; he traveled through dense forests and stinking swamps, low rocky hills and windswept canyons. He walked for many more days, until his feet and his legs and his back hurt so that he wept from the pain. And still no one could tell him of the magician whose castle was east of the sun and west of the moon, and finally he came to a mountain that was even greater than the one before.

He collapsed onto a stone at the foot of the mountain, exhausted and heart-sore, for the mountain was surely impassable.

Just when he began to despair, though, an old woman, even more bent and withered than the first, and dressed in rags even more tattered and filthy, stepped up to him from out of the trees.

“Can you spare a crumb of food for a poor woman?” she begged. The long journey had nearly emptied his pack by now, but Steve’s heart went out at the sight of her, and he dug until he found his last bit of cheese.

“Sit, grandmother, and have a bite to eat,” he said, and gave it to her. When she finished it, she took his hand in her twisted, dry one.

“Why have you come so far to my mountain?” she asked.

“I am searching for my love, who was cursed by the magician who lives east of the sun and west of the moon and forced to marry his daughter. But in all the days I’ve traveled, no one could tell me where he is, and now that I’ve come to this mountain I fear I’ll never find him,” he said.

“I know of this magician,” she said. “But not where his castle lies. But you are a rare and good young man, so I’ll do what I can to help you.”

From her bag she took out a mail coat and cowl, polished until they shone. “Wear this armor into battle and you will surely win, for it will turn aside even the fiercest blows from sword or axe, and however long you fight you will not feel its weight. Care for it well, for it is very valuable.”

And then she led him by the hand to a copse of trees, where he found an old brown horse tethered.

“My horse isn’t much, but he’ll get you over the mountain. Just turn him around when you get to the bottom and strike him once on the right ear, and he’ll come back to me. Good luck, boy, and may you find what you are searching for.”

And with that the old woman vanished.

The brown horse was even swifter than the grey horse had been, and they crossed the mountain in only a few hours, to Steve’s astonishment. Once again he turned the horse around when they reached the bottom of the mountain, and when he struck it upon the ear, it disappeared in a gallop back the way they had ridden, and Steve continued on his journey.

The way now was terribly hard; he walked for days and days through barren deserts and frozen plains, until his feet bled and his legs trembled and he thought he could not stand from the pain any longer. Many times he thought of turning back and giving up on this fool’s quest, but then he thought of Tony as he had seen him last, and his resolve stiffened again. But no matter how far he traveled, no one could tell him anything of the magician whose castle was east of the sun and west of the moon, and at last he came to a mountain so great it made the two he had crossed before look like mere hummocks.

Steve sank to the ground at the foot of the mountain, too worn and heart-broken to stand another moment.

Lost in his own misery, he didn’t notice the old woman who emerged from the trees until she spoke to him. She was bent near double with age, her skin as brown and wrinkled as the bark of a tree, and only the barest of rags covered her.

“Can you spare a crumb of food for a poor woman?” she pleaded. It had been days since Steve’s food had run out at last, but she looked so piteous that he searched his pack for anything he could find, and turned up one last meager crust of bread.

“Sit, grandmother, and eat – though I have little to offer you,” he said, and placed the crust in her hand. When she finished, she laid her hand on his head.

“It’s rare a traveler comes as far as my mountain. What brings you here?” she asked.

“I have been searching for my love, who was cursed by the magician who lives east of the sun and west of the moon and forced to marry his daughter. But I’ve failed him, for as far as I’ve come I’ve never met anyone who can tell me where he is, and I can go no farther.”

“I know this magician,” she said. “But I’ve never found his castle. But you are the bravest and the best man in the world, so I will do what I can to help you.”

She took from her pack a shield, round and brightly painted. “Take this shield with you into battle, and you will surely win, for nothing can shatter it, and no matter how far you cast it, it will return to your hand. Keep it always near you, for it is very valuable.”

And then she led him to a copse of trees, where he found an old horse as black as night tethered.

“My horse isn’t much, but he’ll get you over the mountain. Just turn him around when you get to the bottom and strike him once between his eyes, and he’ll come back to me. And when you’ve done that, keep walking. Soon you’ll come to the house of the East Wind, and he might be able to tell you what you need. Good luck, boy, and may you find what you are searching for.”

And with that the old woman vanished.

Steve had never ridden a horse as swift as the black horse; in one blink of his eye they were at the top of the mountain, and in a second blink, they were down the other side. He turned the horse and sent it on its way back to the old woman, and then he began walking, on his way to find the house of the East Wind.

Late that night, long after the sun had set, Steve finally came to a clearing in the woods where stood a great house, larger even than Tony’s manor, and he knew it must be the house the old woman has spoken of.

The heavy wooden door was locked and barred, but Steve hammered at it, calling for the lord of the house to come and let him in.

“Who calls upon me so late?” a vast, booming voice demanded.

“I’ve been sent by the old woman from the mountain to see the East Wind,” Steve shouted. “Now will you let me in, or shall I beat this door down and find him myself?”

He raised his fist again, but the door swung open. He heard the booming voice laugh, and as it did, great gusts of wind swept past him, so that he had to hold fast to the door to stay on his feet.

“I am the East Wind,” the voice said. “If the Witch of the mountain sent you, you are welcome in my home. Come in and eat, and tell me why you seek me out.”

The Wind guided him inside, where there was a vast table, piled high with every kind of delicacy. Steve set into the feast like a starving man; when he had finally sated his hunger, he leaned back in his chair and spoke.

“I have traveled,” he said. “I have traveled as far as the East Wind blows, and farther, because I am searching for my love. The magician who lives east of the sun and west of the moon cursed him, and forced him to marry his daughter, and I am going to get him back. But I crossed a great mountain, and the old woman there could not tell me where to find him, and I crossed a greater mountain, and the old woman there could not tell me, and I crossest the greatest mountain I have ever seen, and the old woman there told me I should find you.”

Steve felt his chest grow tight as he told his tale, as he thought of how long it been seen he had seen his love, how futile his quest sounded even to his ears.

The East Wind blew around him, stirring his sleeves and ruffling his hair.

“I’ve heard many times of this magician,” he gusted. “But I don’t know where his castle is. I’ve never blown that far. But my brother the West Wind blows much farther than I do, and he may know. If you’d like, I can carry you to him on my back.”

So the East Wind wrapped around Steve and lifted him up, and with him seated on his back, the Wind blew and blew until they came to a house in woods, larger and grander than the first. The East Wind let Steve down gently on the doorstep, and when he pounded on the wooden door, he called out.

“Open the door, brother. It is I, the East Wind, and I have a task for you.”

The West Wind blew the front door open, and the zephyr of his voice carried the warm scent of spring flowers.

He invited them both in, and sat them down to tea, and as they dined, the East Wind told his brother how Steve had been sent to him to find the magician who lived east of the sun and west of the moon.

“Oh, I’ve never blown that far in my life,” the West Wind breezed. “That castle is far beyond my reach. But you know our brother the South Wind is stronger than both of us together. Surely he must know where the castle is. I can carry you there on my back, if you’d like.”

So Steve and the West Wind departed the grand house for the house of the South Wind, and as fast as the West Wind blew it was hardly any time at all before they reached it. And his house in the woods was much grander than his brothers’, so much finer than anything Steve had seen before the he scarcely dared knock on the door.

But when the West Wind shouted out “It’s your brother the West Wind! Open up, so that I may speak to you!” the door sprung open at once.

The South Wind insisted they sit down to a supper of fish and sweetmeats and fine wine. Over the meal, the West Wind told his brother of Steve, and how he had traveled the land to find the magician who lived east of the sun and west of the moon.

“Oh, that’s terribly far,” the South Wind puffed. “I’ve blown a great many places, but I’ve never blown there. But if you’d like, I can take you to our brother the North Wind. He’s the strongest of all of us by far, and if he can’t tell you where the magician’s castle is, no one in whole world can.”

The South Wind was strong and quick, but even so it was a long way to the house of the North Wind. And as they blew it grew colder and colder, until Steve thought his hands would turn to ice and his nose would freeze right off. When they reached the house of the North Wind at least, the forest around it was deep with snow, and icicles as big as men hung from the eaves.

As soon as Steve set foot on the doorstep, the door blasted open, and the North Wind roared out.

“What do you want?” he bellowed.

The South Wind drew himself up and answered, “It is your brother, you old blow-hard, and I’ve brought you a human who would ask your help. This man is searching for the magician who lives east of the sun and west of the moon, but I have never blown so far, and nor has the West Wind or the East Wind.”

“And why do you want to find this magician?” the North Wind challenged.

“He cursed my love and took him away from me,” Steve answered him. “I swore that I would find him, no matter how far I had to travel.”

“You’ll be traveling a good long way. I once blew an autumn leaf to that castle, but it exhausted me so that could not blow at all for many days after. But if you are that anxious to go there, I can carry you.”

“If you said I must ride, I would ride; if you said I must walk, I would walk; if there is a way to get there I will take it. I am afraid of nothing, and nothing will keep me from him,” Steve said.

“Very well,” the North Wind replied. “But you must sleep here tonight, for it is a long and difficult trip, and we will need the full day before us if we shall make it."

That night Steve slept in the house of the North Wind, and before the sun had completely risen the Wind woke him. Steve watched, fascinated, as he blew himself up until he was huge and terrible, and then they went, so high up in the air that the forests were merely green smudges on the land, the rivers graceful lines as delicate as a spider web.

They blew, and blew, and in their wake were storms that snapped trees in two, swept roofs from houses, and churned the sea into a tempest. And still they blew, but the North Wind began to grow tired, and as the sea stretched before them he sank lower. Before long he sank so low that Steve could see the thrashing waves beneath his feet, and feel the spray on his face. But just as he started to fear they had come too far, and would never make it, he saw land on the horizon, only a little way out.

The gust of the North Wind grew more and more feeble, the sea grew closer and closer, but the land loomed large, and just before the Wind lost his last strength and dropped them into the waves they reached the shore. He dropped Steve so fast that he rolled painfully across the sand, and then he was gone, off to rest before he could make it back to his home again.

When he had regained his senses, Steve saw, to his amazement, that the Wind had tossed him onto the shore at the base of a huge castle; the wall stretched far above Steve’s head, and to the right and left as far as he could see. The only break in the smooth white stone was a window, small and high and barred.

Steve crept closer to the window, taking some pains to conceal himself, and as he drew nearer he could hear someone singing.

It was out-of-tune, the voice harsh and cracked with grief, and it had been many months since Steve had heard it last, but he knew at once that it was Tony’s. And there, on the ground underneath the window, Steve sobbed with joy, for he had found his love at last. All that remained was rescuing him.

“Tony,” he called out once he trusted himself to speak again. “Tony, can you hear me?”

“Who’s there?” Tony asked, and Steve’s heart ached at how wretched he sounded.

“I swore I would find you. To the ends of the earth, and beyond, I would come for you. Do you remember?”

“Steve.” And in that one word, Steve heard the endless months Tony must have spent in that room, awaiting a rescue he knew would never come, mourning a love he would never have again.

“I cannot speak to you long,” Tony said quietly. “The magician and his daughter will be back soon. We are to be wed tomorrow. If they know you are here, they will have you killed.”

“I will kill them first,” Steve declared. “I will not let her have you. Just tell me how I can get to you.”

“If you go to your right, you will come to a door in the castle wall that only has a single guard on it. If you can pass him, you will reach the main doors, which are guarded as well. And if you get past them, you will still have to face the magician.” Tony’s voice shuddered. “Please, don’t get yourself killed. I couldn’t bear knowing you died because of me.”

“I promise,” Steve said. “And you know I keep my word.”

It hurt him to turn his back on Tony once more, now that he had finally found him again, but he knew he would not have truly have fulfilled his vow until Tony was free from the magician’s clutches and safely with him again. So he followed the wall as Tony has told him, hugging close to the stones and keeping a watchful eye for anyone who might stumble upon him.

He reached the door without discovery, and when he heard the unmistakable sound of a guard pacing back and forth in front of his station he stopped, sinking back into the trees so could observe his foe unseen.

It was then that he remembered that he still carried on him the gifts the old women had given him – the potion, the armor and the shield. Somewhat to his surprise, the armor was as light as the old woman had promised, weighing him down no more than his linen shirt, though he could feel the strength of the steel links. The shield fit on his arm as if it had been made for him, and even without throwing it he could tell that the balance was perfect.

Last of all, Steve took the small vial and drained it, grimacing at the thick, bitter taste. And as soon as he swallowed it, he could feel it working, his weariness and weakness fading away, replaced by a warm swell of energy.

He moved too quickly for the guard to stop him; before the man even had time to realize he was there, Steve had struck him so hard a blow with his fist that he fell down insensible, and Steve was able to enter the inner court of the castle unimpeded.

Some paces before him were the main doors of the castle, massive constructions of wood and iron guarded by several men with swords and spears. When they saw him approach the doors, the guards raised their weapons to him. But their spears could not pierce his armor, and when they swung their swords they could not pierce it either, and rebounded, doing more damage to them than him, and he soon defeated them all.

He turned the immense winch that opened the doors, and walked into the castle. All that remained was the magician, but Steve knew that he would be the most fiendish of foes.

Steve strode through the castle, the sound of his boots on the stone floors echoing loudly in the empty halls. Soon, he came to another set of doors, and when he flung them open violently, he found himself in a cavernous chamber, decorated lavishly with fine silks and tapestries. At one end of the chamber, an old man in red robes lounged in a throne-like chair.

“You!” Steve shouted, glaring at the red-robed man. “Are you the magician who lives east of the sun and west of the moon?”

“I am,” the man hissed. “And who are you, that dare to come so insolently into my castle, into my very chambers?”

“I have walked through forests and deserts, swamps and plains to find you. I have crossed three great mountains to find you. I have flown with the East Wind and the West Wind, the South Wind and the North Wind to find you. And now I stand here in your castle to tell you that you have taken my love from me, and I will have him back.”

The magician laughed, a horrid cackle, and drew his staff up. “And what will you do to take him, foolish boy? I already defeated your love in battle, and you look to be little match to him. He will marry my daughter tomorrow, and their wedding gift shall be your bones.” And with that, he pointed his staff at Steve, and a great bolt of lightning shot out.

Steve threw himself to the ground just in time, feeling the heat of the lightning even through his armor. And that was not the last attack the magician had. Gouts of flame, fierce winds, blasts of cold so strong they shattered the stones, all these the magician cast at him, and Steve was hard-pressed to move quickly enough to save himself, let alone make his assault.

But at last, as he leapt out of the path of a violent flood of water, Steve saw the tiniest of openings, and before he could even think, he had thrown his shield at the magician. He watched as the disc arced through the air, and though the magician saw it, he could not raise his staff in time to blast it away. The shield struck him, and with such a great blow upon the head that the magician fell down dead upon the spot.

Steve walked stiffly to the magician, unable to take his eyes from the body, and retrieved his shield. And then he turned and walked from the room again, and back down the empty, echoing halls of the castle to a narrow door that had been locked and barred. He lifted the bars, and undid the locks, and when he opened the door, the first thing he saw was Tony, sitting by the window, head in his hands.

“I promised,” Steve said. And Tony lifted his head, eyes wide and dark with tears, and flung himself into Steve’s arms, and kissed him, long and hard.

It was, by a long margin, the best kiss of Steve’s life.

And that is how the warrior Steve traveled to the castle that was east of the sun and west of the moon, defeated the wicked magician, and rescued Tony from a terrible fate. And together they lived happily ever after.

Comments

[mercy-slays.livejournal.com]

Now this is a fairytale, though from the beginning, before I actually read the tale you based it on I thought of Eros and Psyche. =) But wow. This is so interesting and right now I'm trying to figure out who is who in your fic.

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

I've not read Eros and Psyche (I fail at Greek mythology), but according to wikipedia this story and that one are variations on the theme. How awesome!

Glad you liked it!

[hockeyiris.livejournal.com]

East of the Sun and West of the Moon is very Eros and Psyche. I get so amused when I find fairy tales that follow Greek myths. But yeah, I think of them before I think of the fairy tale, even though I know both. It's just great to see others who do the same.

[morgulq.livejournal.com]

*grins* Count me in on the Myth before Tales thang!

It's a hazard of studying Classics, I guess. Along with a permanantly gutter-residing brain.

[hockeyiris.livejournal.com]

But it's fun stuff, really. At least for me. And I think I would have to get clean just to get UP to the gutter, but I enjoy it there.

I kind of want to take a class just to really study myths. I'm best at Greek, then I go for Celtic, Norse, Egyptian, etc...

And I just checked out two dozen myth and fairy tale books that I need to get through this month. I get scary when I get on a new kick.

[morgulq.livejournal.com]

Greek is my specialty...kinda. I study it so I have to know it. The fact that he majority of Greek Myth is some weird sort of crack helps. A lot. Prokris and Cephalos are my favourites. Girl power and metaphorical middle-fingers FTW! (Also, Creon ejactulates centipedes and wild animals. There was a VERY long, intellectual discussion WITH REFERENCES about which STD he had.)

Norse is fun because hardly anyone knows it apart from the obvious bits, Celtic is kind of the same. Egyptain is almost half-way. People will know tons about some parts and bugger all about others.

Being a New Zealander, I've also built up a mental stockpile of Maori Myths and a few legends. (Check out the story of Hinemoa and Tutanekai. That is one determined woman.)

The funny thing is that, despite having taken Comparative Mythology courses (Babylonian FTW!), I've learned more about various mythologies from American Gods than I ever did in class. If you ever get a chance, read it. It's long and twisty and requires research...but it is well worth it.

[kijikun.livejournal.com]

Ah! I love this type of tale. I thought at first it would be one of the iron shoe types but oh I love this.

And Tony having his heart being stolen if perfect...

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

The iron shoe story is just about my favorite one ever - but I couldn't figure out how to make it work DX

So glad you liked it!

[helva2260.livejournal.com]

The iron shoes might work if it were Tony doing the searching, thematically at least, though I can't as yet come up with a good in-character reason for them...

But yes, this is a really good re-telling. I love the way you adapted it so that Steve gets kitted out with the super soldier serum, the mail, and the shield by the three old women. And that Hank's the character who encourages his curiosity. I was partly expecting Thor or Storm to turn up as (one of) the winds.

[saphirerose1986.livejournal.com]

I like how you switch key elements to fit The avengers. Hank as an alchemist definitely was a high point.

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

Man, Hank as an alchemist is the scariest thought ever, when I think of all the fantasy novels I've read that have the alchemists as the guys who blow themselves up on a daily basis. Scary, but AWESOME.

[johanirae.livejournal.com]

Man, I love how you stuck to the traditional fairy tale elements of the tale, while still keeping with the strong Tony/Steve pairing :D BEAUTIFUL :D

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Really glad you liked it.

[geuna.livejournal.com]

(claps happily) Ooooh, I like fairytales like this! XD I'm almost tempted to make my own! Oooooh, so much LOVE!!!

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

Hee! You should totally write your own - this is a terribly fun challenge, and a nice way to bring in some needed schmoop to the comm!

[geuna.livejournal.com]

Ooooh, but I wouldn't know which roles to choose! It does sound tempting, though.

[saraid.livejournal.com]

awwww.... but we need more porny fairy tales, yeah?

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

I AGREE.

[simmysim.livejournal.com]

This is so, so, so cute. I'm really jazzed about this theme, and this is a great telling of it! I really love the old fashioned tone, your description of Steve's ~valor~ was great. Your description of Tony's suit and his voice was sincerely creepy and depressing. The battle, the vanquishing of the evil magician, all very fun to read. :D

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

Really glad you liked it! And Steve fit in so perfectly, he's such a classic hero to begin with XD

[imightlie.livejournal.com]

I've not read a fairytale in so long that I forgot about the whole magical three things XD

this was excellent btw

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

Heh - first rule of fairy tales, everything always comes in threes. Second rule - if you are nice to old ladies, they will always give you random things that will later prove enormously useful.

[notquitethegood.livejournal.com]

This was fantastic.
I've never heard of this fairytale before so double thanks for the fic and for introducing me to the original tale.

[masterofmidgets.livejournal.com]

Thanks! This has been one of my favorite fairy tales (well, this and all the other versions of it, like The Enchanted Pig) ever since I read Lang's Fairy books when I was a kid, so I'm glad to spread the love.

[hockeyiris.livejournal.com]

This was adorable.

I find it funny the fairy tale challenge came after I raided my library for my favorite old fairy tale books, and some I never read before. I really got it for another fandom, but I'm sorely tempted to just attack them one day and see if I can dig something out to turn into Tony/Steve.

That lovely pointless ramble aside, this was adorable. I love Steve getting his armor and the shield. And adding in freaky Iron Man stares.

Definitely a nice little read for when I got home. I'm still relatively new to the fandom, and I love reading gems like this, especially when canon is so fucked.

[gestalt1.livejournal.com]

I'm loving all these fairytale fics! They're all such brilliant adaptations.

[onewayfreak.livejournal.com]

This is fantastic! The mood is so nice, I haven't read anything of the fantasy genre in a long time, and this really took me back. Very classic and pretty without being over-the-top and too cracky. It really felt like I was reading a fairy tale. I adore Steve as the white knight because geez, that's what he is anyway. He's a man out of his time.

Great job!

[runenklinge.livejournal.com]

Awesome! How come that every fairytale fic is just perfect and 100 times better than canon?

Nice.

[jazzypom.livejournal.com]

I really liked this. I was like, "I'll just read one paragraph and see where I'll end up..." and now I'm here, beaming with admiration.

Well done.

[music-est-vita.livejournal.com]

Aww! I love farytales, this was adorable.

[cygna-hime.livejournal.com]

This is one of my favorite fairy tales, and you told it wonderfully, very true both to the story and to the characters.

[prettyarbitrary.livejournal.com]

Now that was a most excellent fairy tale! But are you sure it was a magic staff and not magic rings? ;)

[crimsonquills.livejournal.com]

Oh, this was wonderful! It read exactly like a fairytale should, complete with happy ending. <3 Thank you for sharing!

[elspethdixon.livejournal.com]

Okay, this managed to hit upon my marriage of (in)convenince kink hard, which is something I wasn't expecting to find catered in this fandom (between this and kijikun's Beauty and the Beast fic, I'm really enjoying the fairytale challenge *grins*). It also brilliant incorporates superhero-style identity porn, with Tony coming to Steve as Tony at night, and then as Iron Man in the daytime, like the bear-prince in the original story.

I love the three old women giving Steve the supersoldier serum, armor, and his shield in return for kindness, in classic fairy-tale fashion, and Steve kicking ass in true paladin/knight-in-shining-armor fashion at the end.

[tavella.livejournal.com]

I've loved all these fairytale stories, and I especially like how you worked in the Captain America touchstones in classic three-gift fashion (serum, shield, outfit).