Half of Asgard is crowding the Idawöll. Asgardians of every age have come to see justice done upon him. The second son of Odin´s house. It has been yet a week, him and his brother have returned from midgard, and the Allfather and his counsil have already decided his fate. It is a beautiful day. The sun is reflecting from the cities golden towers and the air lingering with the crisp scent of late spring.

After all, this is a good day to go to Hel´s realm. They will not remember me as the one who tricked them into looking mournful. Just because it rained on his execution. - And as he walks up the stairs to the stand where the allfather will declare his punishment Loki realizes he is strangely at peace with the prospect of death. The shackles clunk on the wooden floor of the stage and he somehow feels disgraced by the fact that he, who has always been silent and swift shall leave this world with such rumpus.

All of them are here. Odin sits, Frigga on his right, on a marvellous throne and Thor stands to his left. In the backround the golden palace and all of the court are neatly arranged, standing to both sides of the stairs. A little further to the left of Thor are the Warriors three and Lady Sif as well as Heimdal. All of them wear their most precious and glorious armor while he is in plain grey tunics much to wide for his slender figur.

„Listen, Loki Odinsson, second Prince of Asgard" - he has to rub it in even now, second prince - „you have failed your duties as a prince and future king, failed this realm and all who hold it dear at heart" - right, future king who is the liesmith again? - „as you have brought death and despair to the realm of midgard. You committed kings slaughter and intended genocide on the Jotun and your actions have lead to the destruction of the bifröst. For this you will be punished with pain. Until it measures the cries of the mortal mothers that lost their children and until you feel as lost as those children, now orphans, crying for their parents. Until you feel as empty as the husbands who have lost their wifes and fathers having lost their children. Until you feel as aimless and afraid as the Jotun without their king to protect them from the likes of you." - well Allfather this was already done before I came to midgard, I would have you hear me, that this is not punishement, but my lips are locked - „and after that you will be contained at the dark dungeons until those you have wronged in this realm would decide with one voice to release you." - He wouldn´t even grand me death. - „Heimdal bring forth Surtr´s whip."

A whisper travels through the crowd. Frigga turns to her husband with eyes wide of shock. Sif and the Warriors three stare to the ground as Thor bows down to his father´s ear but is silenced imidiatly by a gesture. One of the guards releases Loki from the muzzle „Do you accept your punishement?" „I do, my Lord Odin" „Then we shall procede."

The tunic is torn from his torso and Volstagg cuts of the pants legs with a dagger in order to present Lokis already bashed and scared skin. These signs of injury none had been prepared to see. „This is not of the Avengers making, mother. I swear it upon Mjölnir." Thor exclaimes as his mother shots up from her throne in shock. All of those on the stage can look upon injuries of different age. The most recent from Midgard are mere scratches compared to the large gashes zigzaging over Lokis abdomen to be covered by the rest of his throusers only to continue on the back of his legs down to his ankles. Some of them look as if reopend and elaborated with acid or burns. A sharp inhale is heard from Sif and Fandral whispers „well Surtr´s whip won´t find a spot that´s not punished already."

„Silence!" Odins voice sounds like thunder. „The Allfather´s verdict has been spoken and it will be done. Bind him. When your cries measure the pain you have caused, Loki, I see your judgement fullfilled."

The first slashes come strong, the flaming whip hisses when wielded and when it touches skin, burning red marks into Loki´s pale skin. At some point the torturer takes pity and eases the force of his strokes. With the effect that the ends of the whip tangle around the limbs and burn themselves into the flesh. Only then Loki gives a whince of pain, other than that there is utter silence among the Idawöll. Only interrupted by the fizzeling of the whip.

Finally his knees give in and he is hanging in his binds like a forgotten puppet. „Would you stop this madness, father." „What madness. He could end it right away." „But he will not. Can´t you see? This is selfdestruction." Odins eyes flicker for a moment, then he gives a sign to the guards and the torment is over. The entire crowd bows as their king rises and leaves up the staires of the palace followed by his wife and his son. The Idawöll empties slowly leaving a barely concious Loki entangled in his binds like a caught insect in a spiders web and a very concerned looking Sif.

She had always known Loki had a crush on her. Ever since the day down in Idunns garden when they had been sitting in the apple orchard and she had asked him to cut her hair. She knew from the soft touch, the careful cutting with his daggers, he always kept sharp as scalpels. And when the hair grew back as pitch black as his own she was certain. But he never courted her nor did he show any signs of affection. You could only catch a slight glimmer of that attraction when his guard sliped.

What a pity actually - she thinks to herself - I might have liked him back. She starts cutting his binds and Loki´s worn out and tired body slumps into her shoulder as the restraints give away under her daggers. „Forgive me, Mylady. My composture lacks of the proper grace. How come my father punishes you with this dreadful sight?" „I am to escort you to the dungeons." Her voice is hard. Actually harder then she intented but she has not forgotten about the destroyer and the day in New Mexico. She is angry.

And that is why she is not gentile and careful as she hauls him up to his feet. It takes them some attempts until Loki can support his own weight and walk. It is a very slow process as he needs to rest several times in between and can hardly make it down the few stairs from the stage because his vision blurs and he almost trips. They leave a trail of blood drops, because the whip has ripped open one of the nastier gashes zigzaging across his flank and there is a red creek running down his left leg.

Finally they arrive in Loki´s cell and he collapses on the floor. „Come on now it´s not that far to your bed. Just few steps" By now her anger has succumbed to the overwhelming pity for this shambled creature that once has been the smug and smart prince of Asgard. „Please, please don´t make me move any further." he whispers, his voice raspy and weak and as she looks into his eyes, she doubts that she has ever seen anyone more sad, or more lost or more exhausted.

He is already passed out, when she tucks him into the blanket she took from the prison bed.