Loki was heaved to his quaking legs and held upright by a thickly muscled and tan hand. He felt absolutely degraded as he was marched out of the hall. He lacked even the energy to curse Odin for his humiliating punishment. His feet trembled as Thor continued down the hall away from the throne.

Belatedly, perhaps, Loki tasted copper on his tongue. The sudden awareness of the amount of blood in his mouth caused him to double over, stomach muscles clenching in revulsion. Thor's grip faltered.

"Loki, what are you-?"

Back heaving, Loki doubled up on himself, falling again to his abused knees. Bile pushed up throat and had no escape. His muscled tripled their assault. Suddenly a warm hand was at his neck. Between the residual pain of his aching mouth and the burning fluid clinging to the walls of his throat Loki didn't even flinch away as the thick hand gently massaged the back of his neck.

He closed his eyes and focused on the pleasant firmness of the touch. A calm voice coached him.

"Calm yourself and swallow, brother. Breathe deeply. All is well."

Loki reclaimed himself at the last sentence, swallowing convulsively and stumbling away from the blonde's steady fingers. Sweat dripped from his face from the combined attack of his stomach and the exhaustion of his ordeal.

All is well, is it? Enlighten me, brother, as to how muteness satisfies any aspect of being well.

He wanted little more at that moment than to spit upon his brother's countenance and watch his revulsion as blood, bile, and saliva dripped off his cheek.

How well would things be then? He wondered as he dragged himself to his still unsteady feet.

The anger which had fueled him through his sentencing vanished as he wobbled back to standing, replaced by nothing bar the hollow ache of his jaw. Carried away with his anger was his passionate hatred of Thor's misspoken words and the strength to fight the god's leading hand. It felt like a vacuum had replaced his innards, emptying him from the inside out. The hollowness consumed the foundation of him, his ire, and continued its assault without pause. It left him vacant and weak.

His thighs trembled above his knees as he was led through familiar passages which spidered towards his quarters. Thor's fingers were a grounding sensation at his elbow as the two continued their silent progression. The pressure of them was just on the wrong side of painful, but for Loki it was a welcome addition to the echoes of abuse with rang alone the edges of his face.

He was deposited in his room with little ceremony and even fewer words. His escort pushed the lacquered wooden doors ajar and removed his grip. Loki refused to dwell on the sudden chill which crept up his arm as Thor withdrew his hand. The powerless god hovered in the arch of the doorway, drinking in the sight of the things he never dreamed he'd see again.

The room looked untouched despite the lack of dust which bespoke cleaning. Someone had though enough of him to clean. He shoved the sentiment down alongside the chill of his arm.

All of his books were lined precisely on their shelves. His various artifacts inhabited their cubbyholes and corners. The sheets and comforter on his bed had even been turned down. Loki assumed they were attempting to win his favor and the thought struck him as ironic considering his current situation.

A gentle nudge startled him from his cataloguing. In a fit of ignorance, or perhaps stupidity, he spun to berate Thor for rushing him. He snapped his jaw open so quickly and with such force that at first there was no pain, only the awkward pull of his taut lips. Then his body caught up with itself and the slowly dulling throb across his face was set aflame.

With a sharp gasp Loki tumbled forward, palms pressed against his mouth. His fingers clawed at his face, pressed deep into the hollows of his cheeks, the joint of his jaw, trying to sooth the pain. His eyes watered.

There was a set of familiar fingers at his neck yet again, kneading the tense flesh there. Through the ringing of his agony Loki heard Thor's baritone. He was surely mumbling something soothing and Loki had no will left to fight. So he allowed the calm syllables to coax his pain down. The presence of the fingers lifted.

"Better now, Brother?"

This hands tugged him back to his still frail legs, only letting go once his feet were firmly beneath him. Loki knew not what to do with himself in his tomb of a room. The space was like an old Midgardian photograph. Everything was perfectly preserved but seemed untouchable.

The hole in his chest pulsed as he stepped further into the room. He didn't look behind him as his trembling legs carried him forward, he had no heart left to care for the hovering man behind him. If his room was a tomb, then his bed was a casket and he intended to lie in it.

Hey Everyone,

I am so sorry that it's taken me so long to update, and I'm doubly sorry that the chapter is so short, but I thought that you all deserved something. College has started again and my apartment doesn't have internet so things have just been a little hectic. I want to thank you ALL for your wonderful support and for all of the attention that you've been paying to this story. Frankly, I'm a little overwhelmed with how much you all seem to like it. A special thanks goes to PhoenixWormwood137 for their super enthusiastic review and a special thanks to everyone who favorited or wrote a review. I love you all!

Please keep me updated on what you think of the story though reviews, and thank you for your continued interest and support!

Ari.