They had invited the Avengers to Loki's sentencing, once the Bifrost was repaired. Here they were, on another planet, but only so they could see a condemned criminal get his just desserts.

"You think they'll do an actual beheading?" Clint muttered under his breath, hoping to catch Natasha's ear and no one else's.

"I guess we'll see," she replied. "Do you have a preference?"

"I'd rather not get splattered," said Clint, and she knew he was covering. Not that she could blame him; usually they were the ones to deal out death, and they did it swiftly and got it over with. They were assassins, not executioners, and the difference might be subtle but it was still there.

They'd stopped Loki, back on Earth. For them, that was supposed to have been the end of it. Being here on Asgard, now, felt like digging up old ghosts better left buried.

And maybe the ruler of Asgard felt the same way, because they were brought to a bare circular chamber of dull brown stone, stark compared to the opulence they'd seen in the rest of the city and palace. The room was maybe ten paces across, with a low dais on one side and a single chair on the dais; the chair was the most ornate thing in the room, and even it was only made of unadorned, curving wood, low, backless, and with only a wide leather sling for a seat. Before the dais, in the center of the chamber, a metal circle had been inlaid into the floor that might have been gold or polished copper; it was hard to tell in the light of the torches on the walls. There were two curved benches, also backless, outside the circle that could hold maybe eight people each, but other than that, the room was empty. Not a place for a large audience of spectators.

The stone floor inside the metal circle was bleached lighter than anywhere else in the room, Natasha noticed, no doubt having been scrubbed spotless countless times over the centuries.

Nobody spoke. After a moment, the Avengers found their way to the benches and sat, and Thor moved to stand to the right of the empty chair, but the silence built until Tony, the least patient of them, spoke to break it.

"Do we know what the sentence is going to be, Thor?"

The prince stood in ceremonial armor and glared for a moment before his eyes softened. "We do not, my friend," he said. "But it is… improper, to engage in idle conversation in this place. The occasion is somber, the circumstances grave. We show our respect by keeping silent."

"Silent," muttered Tony. "Right." He was restless, fidgety without his armor or any of his usual tech toys to play with. Natasha wondered how long he'd be able to stand the quiet before he broke.

Fortunately, none of them had to find out, because only a minute later, a small procession came into the room: Odin, presumably, since he took his place standing before the wooden throne; an ancient woman robed all in black, with a scowl on her face and a basket in her hands; and two guards, who positioned themselves on either side of the dais.

Thor seemed confused at the presence of the old woman. "Father?"

"Loki's crimes are virtually unique in Asgard's history," said Odin. "His punishment will be unique as well."

She could tell Thor really wanted to ask more, but apparently the injunction against talking was pretty strong here on Asgard; he looked upset, and bit his lip while he kept glancing at the king, but he somehow managed not to say anything else.

"Hmph." The woman, on the other hand, had no such qualms. "Punishment." She set her basket down on the bench beside Natasha, pulling out a little clay pot and a paintbrush, and stepped into the circle. "Sadistic barbarity, more like," she said, and tossed the lid of the pot aside carelessly. With a grunt of effort, she started to stoop to her knees.

Steve, the big lug, moved forward to offer her his arm, until Odin barked at him to stop. He sat back slowly, but the woman only chuckled.

"The thought is appreciated, hero," she said. "The fates know there's little enough kindness ever offered in this place. But I'm sacred; it's forbidden to touch me. Of course, you're mortal and you wouldn't know that, but the All-Father doesn't care about such mitigating circumstances. He'd be liable to lop off your hand in punishment and claim he was defending my honor, even though we'd all know better."

"Enough, völva," said Odin. "You have already made clear your objections to participating in today's judgment."

"And I will make them clear again," she answered tartly. "You don't command me, Borson. The powers I represent command you, and you would be wise not to forget it." Steve started to speak, then stopped and only cleared his throat instead, but the old woman caught it anyway. "Ask your questions, mortal. It's unlikely you will offend me."

Steve cleared his throat again and glanced across the circle at Natasha; she just shrugged and nodded. Let him get what information he could. "Well, I just… I don't mean to be rude, but if you object to the sentence…"

"Why am I helping to carry it out?" She dipped her paintbrush into the jar and began marking symbols onto the stone inside the circle. "Partly because I am one of the very few people left alive who knows how to craft this particular bit of magic, which doesn't give me much choice if I want to see it done right." She sniffed. "Partly because I think Odin, vindictive as he is, will get something he's not expecting and I want to see the look on his face when he does."

"What does that mean?" asked Bruce. "We, uh, we were under the impression this was going to be an execution. I, uh… I don't see what would be 'unexpected' about the outcome there."

"Fair enough," said the woman. "And if Odin were really merciful, you'd be right. He'd take the head of his own son, the servants would scrub the stones afterward and pitch the body into the sea rather than giving it a proper burning, and that would be an end to it. But Odin isn't feeling merciful. The boy he stole and raised for his own slipped his leash and acted without his papa's say-so, and no matter what other crimes he might have committed, Odin means to make sure he lives to regret that."

Clint, next to Natasha on the bench, shifted uncomfortably; long years of training kept her still, but she felt the same unease he did. The only difference between an execution and a murder was whether or not the rightful authority of law was involved; when the law was also the angry father of the accused, one started to wonder where justice really fit into the equation. When the sentence was implied to be worse than mere killing?

Natasha had enough pointless blood on her hands.

In front of his throne, Odin glowered at the woman, but said nothing, and Natasha was reminded of the special immunity granted to court jesters and minstrels once upon a time; the power to speak the truth with impunity was rare and closely controlled.

"So what is going to happen," Tony asked, quietly, in the tone he only used when he was digging up ghosts of his own.

"Can't say," said the woman. She shifted a bit, hitched up her robes and moved a couple feet along the circle. "Not because it's any grand secret, although I'm sure Odin would like you to believe that. No, this magic does something different to every person who endures it. Part of my job here today will be to interpret the changes it will force on his appearance. Explain what they mean."

Odin spoke up, sounding indifferent. "The völva's runes will cause the outer appearance of the accused—"

"Of your son," spat the woman. "Say it, betrayer."

"Your impudence tries my patience, witch," growled Odin. "Do you wish for me to test the circle on you before the criminal is brought in?"

The völva sat back on her heels and looked up at the king with a beatific smile. "Oh, I'd dearly love to see you try," she said. "You've chosen to ignore enough of our warnings, Borson, and so far you've escaped the wrath of the Norns. I do wonder how much longer that would be the case if you tried to impose your will on me."

She went back to her work, still smiling, and utterly indifferent to Odin's growl.

"Father?" Thor asked again, softly.

"It is an ancient working," said Odin, "not seen since my father's time. It causes the person's outer appearance to reflect the state of their inner self. Those who are pure of heart are given new form, flawless and without blemish. Evildoers become as twisted and ugly in body as they are in spirit. A fitting punishment for one such as Loki."

The old woman's back was turned to Odin, but Natasha could see her smile as she began to hum a little tune under her breath.

"How do we know this will really work?" asked Clint. Odin glared at him, but he stood his ground. "You already know she doesn't want to do this to him; what if she sabotages the…" he waved a hand at the painted runes, "the setup?"

"She will not." Odin sounded pretty sure of himself. Natasha just heard the tone of a man who always got his way.

"He's actually right about that," said the woman, still shuffling along on her knees and dipping her brush into the clay jar in her hand. "Rune work like this is old and powerful, and sacred in its own way. To try and alter it is very dangerous; I would be as likely to kill us all with a misplaced brushstroke as to craft a successful variation. Not only that, I would almost certainly anger the beings to whom I am pledged, and while you may not know it from our conversation so far, I am capable of showing respect to those who deserve it. I would not offend them for any price."

"So that's it—it just changes his shape?" pressed Clint. Natasha hid a sigh; Clint was looking for pain and suffering, not that she could blame him, but she thought he might be letting his need for closure blind him to the subtleties.

"'Just'? Oh, no, child," said the völva. "It turns him inside out. All the deepest secrets of his heart, all the emotions he has hidden over his lifetime, all the facets of his personality that none know but him, will all be on display, from now until Odin finally permits him to die. He'll be exposed." She paused and looked over her shoulder, right at Bruce. "Like a nerve."

For some reason, both he and Tony startled. The two of them leaned close and started to whisper urgently. At this angle, Natasha couldn't read their lips, but if she had to guess, Bruce was trying very hard to convince Tony to get him the hell out of here.

The old woman sniffed again and went back to her painting. "Everyone who looks upon him will know exactly what sort of person he is, and he will be helpless to hide, even behind his own skin." She glanced up at Clint briefly. "Could you bear such exposure? Would you have the strength to endure it?"

"I already have," said Clint, rasping a little. "Loki did that to me when he took over my mind." He swallowed heavily, and added, "He saw everything."

"Mm. But you got better. And only one person saw you. And you weren't aware of it while it was happening." She shuffled sideways with a little grunt. "And it was still a nightmarish torture that you would never wish to repeat, yet Odin Borson has no difficulty inflicting an even worse violation on his own son. Would you have the courage to go on living, under those circumstances? Asgard takes a dim view of suicides, traditionally. It is considered a shameful end. Odin does this," she gestured at the painted symbols around her, "to drive the prince to take his own life. He can tell everyone he was merciful, and avoid dirtying his hands with the death of his own son, while still taking care of the problem, frightening his subjects into submission, and being cruel to the boy one last time."

"Enough!" Odin scowled, and the woman subsided, but nothing in her posture said it was because she gave a damn for the king's command.

Bruce stood. "Yeah. Okay. I don't need to be here for this."

"You do not have a choice," snapped Odin.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Has Thor told you what happens to me when I get upset?" he asked mildly. "We came here to see justice done. To see a criminal executed, and I didn't like it, but I understood why I had to be here. You know, it's politics, sometimes our presence is just necessary. I get that. But this… you're planning on torturing and humiliating him, and that's not what I came here for. And you, Thor, you're planning on letting it happen." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "That's the kind of thing that gets me upset. It's… best for everyone if that doesn't happen."

He gave an awkward little half-bow to Odin, and a look of extreme disappointment to Thor, who looked stricken but still said nothing. Then he turned and began to sidestep between the bench and the outer edge of the circle, away from Odin.

"I do not give you permission to leave, mortal."

"My other half doesn't really care much about permission, unfortunately," said Bruce. He paused. "And come to think of it, there's some debate on whether or not we're even mortal anymore."

"Friend Bruce—"

"Not now, Thor." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, just because you're strong enough to take on the Other Guy doesn't mean you'd be able to keep him in this room, or keep him occupied long enough for everyone else to escape."

"You are too late, in any case, shapeshifter," said the völva. She was painfully hoisting herself to her feet, jar in hand. "Now that the circle is prepared, none may leave until the deed is done. But never fear." She hitched up her robes and stepped delicately out of the circle, mindful not to touch any of the painted runes. With a careless toss, she put her supplies back into the basket, then walked around to stand in front of Bruce and looked him up and down. "Hmm. This should work." She reached up and pressed a thumb to his forehead. "How does that feel?"

Bruce started to speak, paused, then blinked at her in astonishment. His shoulders dropped, and he took a breath as if he were waking up from a long night's sleep. "I… What did you do?"

"It's temporary," she said, "but it should last through the sentencing. Now. Sit you down." She waved him back to his spot beside Tony, then plopped her basket down onto the other bench, next to Natasha, and took her place between them, just outside the circle and opposite Odin. "Show your respect to the Norns, or whatever higher powers mortals believe in nowadays, or failing that at least respect the solemnity of the occasion," she said. "You do that by keeping silent, no matter what you see, until it's over." She straightened her robes, drew herself up with dignity, and tucked her hands into the ends of her sleeves. "And try not to fidget."

The rest of them got comfortable. Odin finally sat, and without looking at anyone in particular, intoned, "Let the witnesses enter."

Natasha and Clint had chosen the bench that faced the chamber's only door, placed to the left side of the throne, oddly enough, instead of facing it across the circle. One of the guards opened it, and ten or so other Asgardians came in single file; they were mostly older, but there were four who looked to be about Thor's age. One by one they saluted their king (and the younger four added one for their prince), then found their seats beside the Avengers, all without speaking. A couple of them frowned at the sight of the old woman and the runes inside the circle, or at the humans themselves, but that was all.

They sat, and the silence returned and grew heavy before Odin spoke again. "Bring in the condemned."

Natasha didn't miss the way Thor shut his eyes at that, clenching his jaw for a second before he pulled himself together.

The door opened again, and in came Loki, chained and manacled and shackled to within an inch of his life and surrounded by more guards than Hannibal Lecter. They brought him, shuffling, to the gap between the dais and the end of the bench nearest the door; he had a wicked smirk on his face and his eyes glittered with malice. Beside her, Natasha could hear the creak as Clint clenched his fist around the edge of his seat.

"Loki… Son of None," began Odin, and Thor actually flinched at that. Loki himself barely blinked. "You have been found guilty of crimes too numerous to count. You have rejected the embrace of your loved ones, rejected the laws of your home, and clutched instead to hatred born of madness and spite. Everywhere you go, you bring war, ruin, and death. Your crimes against entire planets are unheard of, throughout the Nine Realms."

"Is that what you tell yourself—" Loki began, but one of the guards struck him hard in the stomach and he doubled over. Before he could drop to his knees, the guards behind him hauled on the chains and yanked him back upright. Across the way, Bruce and Tony both winced, while Steve looked deeply uncomfortable.

"We are not here to listen to you speak," said Odin, and for all that he was supposed to be an impartial king, he made no effort to hide the smugness in his voice. "This is not a trial. Your guilt is well established. The severity of your crimes is known to all. We are here to pass sentence, and to see it carried out immediately."

Loki's mouth twisted in something too bitter to call a smile, but he said nothing.

Odin gestured, and the völva stepped forward, to the very edge of the circle. Loki saw her move out of the corner of his eye, and shifted his gaze away from Odin; for the first time Natasha saw his façade give way a little. "You are not an executioner," he said. The guards moved to strike him, but Odin gestured again and they held their position. Theater, Natasha thought with an internal sneer. Odin wanted to give Loki time to figure out for himself what was going to happen.

"No, child," said the old woman, "I am afraid not." She sounded sincerely regretful, and Natasha caught the flicker of confusion across his face before he hid it away.

The völva let Loki study her face for another moment or two before glaring at the guards surrounding him. "Take those damnable things off him," she snapped. "The enchantment will fail, otherwise, and then where will you be, hm, Borson?" Natasha heard the faint gasp, quickly covered, from some of the Asgardians.

"Enchantment," murmured Loki, "what…?" And then the hands of the guards, pushing him back and forth as they turned him and removed chains at his neck, waist, wrists, and ankles, nudged him forward far enough to see the painted markings inside the metal circle.

His eyes darted back and forth, seemingly reading them, and Natasha saw the moment when realization struck. "No," he whispered, then louder, "No!" He launched himself backward frantically, throwing elbows, but the guards outnumbered him eight to one, and before long they had him subdued, on his knees, with his mouth bleeding and his arms twisted behind him in a painful lock. He glared up at the king, his father, who only stared down at him impassively. "I knew you to be cruel," he grunted as the guards tightened their grip, "but I never realized you were sadistic."

"The depravity of your crimes demands an extreme response," said Odin, with the hint of a smirk hiding in his beard. Even as much as Natasha hated Loki, in that moment she despised Odin even more.

The king did no more than twitch his eyebrows and the guards hauled Loki to his feet, struggling all the while; he wouldn't have much farther to go before he dislocated his shoulders, but that wasn't stopping him.

"All-Father." One of the witnesses spoke up, with streaks of gray at his temples and beard. He sat calmly, his hands on his knees, while the other Asgardians in the room startled at the breach in protocol.

"General Tyr," said Odin mildly, "you would disrupt these proceedings?"

"I would know what sentence you have decided to pass upon the condemned," said the general. "We here assembled are to serve as witnesses that justice is served; we cannot do that if we do not know what we are to witness."

Odin started to speak, but the völva cut him off. "Loki is not to die," she said. "Your king means to deform him and leave him to suffer, instead."

"Be silent, witch," growled the king, but she only laughed.

"Loki can read them!" she said, flinging a hand out at the runes. "Do you think he would react so if he knew he were facing the axe? He came in here calmly enough, didn't he?"

"All-Father," said General Tyr. "Odin. Is this true?"

"Loki has hidden behind lies and deception long enough," Odin declared angrily. "The evil in his heart will twist his outer form to match, so that all will know what manner of creature they look upon. He will no longer be able to fool anyone. It is no less than he deserves; all shall treat him as the despised monster he is!"

Loki began to struggle again, and to spit curses until one of the guards shoved their gauntleted hand into his mouth, effectively gagging him while his feet scrabbled uselessly against the stone. None of the other witnesses said anything, but Natasha could see the looks they shared back and forth.

"Let the records of the court show that I do this under vehement protest," said the völva.

"As do I," said Tyr. "This sentence does not adhere to the law."

"You will find that it does," said Odin, "though it has not been practiced in some time."

The general clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring as he drew himself up. "I still protest! I would leave now, and encourage everyone else here to do the same, and nullify your power to do this thing, if I did not think you would only find others to take our places who have fewer scruples about whether justice is served. I can see that you will have this so-called sentence carried out whether it is just or not."

"Then let it be done." Loki screamed, or gargled really, muffled as he was with the guard's fingers halfway down his throat, but Odin ignored him and indicated one of the guards. "You," he said. "Draw your blade, cut his forearm so that the blood flows freely, then the rest of you throw him into the circle."

It took all eight of them to knock Loki off-balance enough to make him fall forward, toward the metal boundary, gasping for breath through his nose and fighting every inch of the way. Natasha spared a quick glance at Thor and saw that he had tears rolling down his cheeks, his fists clenched at his sides, but still refused to move or say anything to stop this. Nearly all the witnesses looked deeply disturbed, although whether it was at Odin's choice of punishment, Tyr's interruption, or Loki's undignified behavior, she couldn't say.

Finally they picked Loki up and bodily threw him past the edge of the ring in the floor; he landed hard, and the instant his bloodied forearm touched the stone, every painted sigil lit up with blinding light.

This is from a prompt over on Norsekink, which of course FFnet will not let me link to. I hope I did it justice.

Due to problems with FFnet's interface and general clunkiness, I am strongly considering only posting chapter 1 here and putting the rest of the fic up on AO3 only. Please let me know if there are any objections and I'll go ahead and post it in both places. It's just, it took me a long time to give AO3 a try and now that I have, I really like how easy it is to use, pretty much top to bottom. But I don't want to abandon any of my readers here who prefer not to use AO3, so please do let me know if you want to see this fic in both locations.

Cheers to you all!