Chapter 2:

Over the course of the next week, Steve sees Loki maybe half a dozen times, working around the palace.

He cannot help but start and stare in shock each time he does. Not after what Thor told him and Tony.

Not after witnessing the flogging the god was forced to take in that courtyard, and being explained to that it was a routine occurrence. As recompense for his crimes committed against three separate realms, beyond the mere state of his enslavement itself.

An enslavement, Thor told them, enforced by the All-Father himself, the specifics of which rendered Loki the property, the literal property, of Asgard's citizenry, to do with as any legal individual here deemed fit, and meant to extend indefinitely, for the entirely of Loki's natural life-span. A life, as Steve and Tony were made to understand, which would last thousands upon thousands of years, and Steve had felt himself blanch at the mere prospect.

But Loki, when he had been this realms Prince (and it is this fact which perhaps most disturbs Steve, to realize Loki had once been acknowledged as royalty, had once presided rightfully over Asgard as leader and sovereign, only to now find himself stripped not simply of title and rank, but freedom entirely, and any and all rights with it. To go from prince to slave, and all Steve can think of is how impossibly hard that must have been. How utterly humiliating and dehumanizing.), Thor had related to him and Tony that, among the commoners of the city, among the larger populace outside the court, the second son had been unusually well loved.

At their shocked reactions to this, and obvious disbelief, Thor had smiled sadly, and explained to them of Loki's once fierce love for his home, and most specifically, its people. How, much to the confusion and dismay of the court and its nobles, and that too of their father, Loki had often spent great quantities of time amongst the lower classes. Spent nights dining with them in their tiny hovels, sitting among them and treating them as equals, and leaving them gifts of gold and gems for their hospitality before departing their company, enough to support them and their families for the entirety of a year's four seasons.

The commoners of Asgard had never forgotten the love and care their second Prince had shown to them over the many centuries, and Odin had known to release Loki into their ownership would have resulted in hardly a punishment at all, despite his new legal status.

But among the courtiers, among the nobility and citizens of rank, among his own, supposed peers, Thor had gone on, Loki had never enjoyed or known such affection. He had always been a pariah of sorts, an outcast, moving along the fringes of their groups, among the shadows, never fitting in. Whispers and rumor regarding Odin's youngest child ran rampant for centuries, growing more and more malicious the older Loki grew, until, near the end, before he had fallen into the void, the nobilities regard for him had distilled down into barely restrained hostility. Open sneers and snide remarks spoken not to his back, but to his face. Open laughter at his expense.

Thor had not realized it, he'd said, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, for he'd been too consumed in his own self to ever pay overmuch attention to his little brother. To see how he was suffering under the life he was born into. Or, rather, after discovering Loki's adoption, the life he'd been "gifted". It had only become obvious to the thunderer after Loki's seeming death, and he had, in his grief, seen the almost jubilant expressions and behavior of the court, the almost naked relief among so many of them, to finally be rid of the unwanted, second son.

Never had Thor been more ashamed to call himself Aesir, he'd told them. Never had he felt the murderous desire to end the lives of so many he'd known for ten centuries and more.

And upon the discovery of Loki's survival, upon his return to Asgard after his failed attempt to win Midgard, almost immediately, their father had declared his sentence, and Loki had been relegated as slave to the inner walls of the palace and, if any should desire it, the individual homes of the nobility, stripped of all titles and rank and worldly possessions.

He was, now, regarded as less than nothing, worth nothing.

Thor and their Mother, Queen Frigga, had been beside themselves. The Queen in particular had pled with her husband for ceaseless months on end for the freedom of their son, for mercy and leniency. But Odin had been unmoving, and had forbidden either Thor or Frigga interaction of any sort with Loki.

Neither of them of course had intended on following such a directive.

It was only when it was made clear to them it was not they who would suffer the All-Father's wrath for such disobedience, but Loki, that they began to understand just how powerless they were. Only when they had discovered Loki had been beaten to within an inch of his life for their daring to visit and converse with him, against their King's command, that they gave up any such attempts.

Upon hearing all of this, Tony had lost what composure he'd had left, and began demanding to see Odin All-Father, acting brazenly as though he would engage in some physical altercation with Thor's father if that's what it took to make him see reason.

Thor had fallen into a near panic at the threat, pleading with Tony to calm himself, telling him with ominous tone the All-Father could destroy him with little more than a thought, that he was already barely tolerating their presence in Asgard as was.

It had been Steve who'd at last talked his teammate down, though it had been difficult, frighteningly so.

Subsequently, it had been almost a relief, when Fury had called Tony back to Earth for the next three weeks, something to do with PR relations for the team, leaving the task of diplomatic representation to Steve, the reason for his and Tony's visit to Asgard to begin with. They'd been meant to stay an entire month.

It's left the captain mostly on his own, with little more to do than explore the city and interact with its people (so many fewer, Steve hasn't been able to help but notice, then there are on Earth). His reception has been, while not unfriendly, not exactly what he would call welcoming either. The Asgardians, or the Aesir, Steve's still not sure of the official word on that, regard him in much the way an adult would regard a very young child. He can see the lack of respect in their eyes when they look upon him. In a few, he's noted an even obvious disdain and contempt.

They think him inferior.

Ironic, he thinks, for his physical superiority to other humans. But something he's more than well acquainted with. He has, after all, spent the majority of his conscious life being physically inferior to just about everyone.

Here, on Asgard, he's very much back in that position.

And so he's taken to spending most of his time within the palace grounds, nearer to Thor, if for nothing else then familiarity and the knowledge he won't be looked down upon by his friend and teammate.

And so he's seen Loki, some half dozen times, working menial, backbreaking tasks about the place, scrubbing floors and walls, down on hands and knees, setting tables and acting as server to gathered guests. At one point, even, in the most uncomfortable and awkward of situations, while eating lunch with Tony out on the balcony of Steve's borrowed quarters, it had been Loki who had been sent in to serve them, setting their plates and trays and silverware, asking if there was anything else he could do to be of assistance.

Steve and Tony both had nearly choked on their drinks when they'd seen him walk in, carrying their food. Steve still doesn't know who had assigned Loki the task, and both of them hadn't been able to keep themselves from staring openly.

Steve had felt such paralyzing tension, he hadn't even been able to speak, and such almost suffocating guilt, as he'd taken in the clothes Loki wore, if they could even be called such. Literal rags, utterly threadbare and worn with holes, several sizes too large for Loki's skeletal frame, hanging off him in huge swaths of dirtied, cheap fabric, his feet bare and caked in filth, while he and Tony had been gifted with clothes of such finery and high quality make, even Tony had been impressed.

Loki had spoken not a single word but to offer his services, had made eye contact with neither of them, and Tony hadn't been able to keep it in any longer, blurting out, bluntly, if Loki even remembered them. He'd given absolutely no indication that he had.

For that brief instant, Loki's eyes has risen to them, and in them, Steve had seen a glimpse of that same, wicked intelligence he remembered from before, that same, almost terrifying perceptiveness.

But then Loki's gaze had lowered back to the floor, and he'd said nothing in reply but to ask again if he could be of assistance.

Since then, Steve has found himself unable to put his former enemy from his mind.

Has since taken to following Loki whenever he's spotted him, being sure to keep his distance and his presence secret, lest he cause some sort of upset.

Which is what, presently, he finds himself occupied with.

He tries to squash the feeling of guilt which rises in his gut at it, the vague notion that he's somehow violating Loki in some way, by watching him now, observing him in such a low place.

But Steve's concern for the god is what keeps him here. Christ, he can't believe it, but he wants desperately to help Loki in some way. He doesn't even know how. Doesn't know what he could do without causing an inter-realm war between Earth and Asgard, and frankly, he doesn't give Earth much of a chance in such a battle, if what he's seen of this place is any indication.

But God, Loki is so broken, and Steve feels his heart may fail at the sight of it.

He hides now behind one of the massive support columns holding the ceiling of the palace aloft, some hundred feet or so away from where Loki sits on hands and knees, scrubbing determinedly with a small brush at a single spot on the seemingly spotless and gleaming floor. He's been at it for the last fifteen minutes, Steve thinks, relentless and silent.

Steve feels his chest tighten at the thought of how hard on Loki's back the work must be.

He hasn't failed to notice the difficulty with which the god now moves.

He remembers how easy and confident and graceful Loki's movement had been before. How powerful and quick.

Loki walks slowly now. Gets up from a crouch with obvious effort. In place of his straight backed posture of before, he now is slightly hunched at the shoulders and spine, and there is an awful stiffness and deliberateness to the way he moves his limbs which speaks plainly to him being in a great deal of pain.

Steve also has not failed to notice the grimaces of discomfort which at times flash across the god's face if he goes too quickly at something.

The captain wonders with a morbid curiosity if the damage to Loki is permanent. If he will ever be able to move with the same, easy fluidity he once had ever again.

In the rational part of his mind, he doesn't think so, and for some reason, that makes him feel unspeakably sad.

He watches that same damage in action now, as finally, Loki sits up straight from his hunched position, examining his work closely for several, long seconds, before at last, he seems satisfied, tossing the brush he'd been using back into a wooden bucket filled with water and soap, before pushing himself slowly back onto his feet, standing straight with plain difficulty, making sure to take the bucket up before doing so to avoid having to bend and reach back down.

He stands there then, unmoving, head bent and body seemingly relaxed, as though lost in thought.

Steve's eyes move to the by now familiar band of silver adorned along Loki's right wrist, something he hadn't noticed the first time he'd seen him, being whipped outside in that courtyard, he realizes because Loki's wrists had been covered by the cloth binding him to the stake.

Not for the first time, the captain finds himself wondering at it's meaning, if it's some sort of indicator as to Loki's status now or something else. He's noticed the inscriptions upon it, some runic language which he cannot read.

"Soldier, why do you shadow me so?"

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of Loki's voice, dry and cracked from disuse, his heart thudding, at once, wildly in his chest.

How did… How could he…

Steve had been sure he'd kept himself hidden and quiet. Had taken every precaution…

Loki has not moved from his position, his head still bowed and standing perfectly still, bucket held in his left hand.

Steve swallows, wondering frantically if he should acknowledge the question or if he should just slip away, and leave Loki be, as Thor had entreated him. As he knows he probably should, before causing trouble.

As he struggles with it, Loki seems to make the decision for him, at last lifting his head and turning to face Steve's very direction.

"Please, if you would come out from behind that column." He says again.

Steve's eyes close, his face unexpectedly heating as he realizes he's been caught.

He doesn't know what he expected. Or what he expects now. But there's no use is pretending otherwise.

Bracing himself, taking a deep breath, he steps out from behind the column, keeping his shoulders squared and his gaze intently forward.

Loki looks back at him, motionless, saying nothing for long seconds, until Steve begins to feel himself grow more uneasy, fighting the sudden urge to fidget and look away.

For as broken and low as the god has been brought, Steve realizes with no little shock, he hasn't lost any of his bearing.

For a moment, Loki's chin lifts, and he looks every inch the imperial, would-be world conqueror of before, and for an instant, incongruously, Steve feels a kind of intimidation, before pressing it down and hardening his stance, refusing to look away.

Belatedly, Loki's address comes back to his mind, and realizes the god does remember him then.

His mouth opens, ready to speak, but before he can, Loki is again talking.

"You have been trailing me these last, several days Captain." And here he steps forward, strangely commanding, and Steve feels himself tense further, realizing his own failure at keeping himself discreet. "Why?" Loki continues, taking another step forward. "Do you seek vengeance upon me? Does not my present place satisfy your sense of justice? Or do you think it too soft a punishment, and wish instead to see my life ended?"

Another step forward, and Loki suddenly drops the bucket in his hand, the thing crashing to the floor and spilling its contents as the god spreads his arms at his sides, presenting himself.

"If that be your purpose here, soldier, you will find little resistance from me. Only do so quickly, before you are discovered where you are not permitted and kept from your task."

Steve gapes at him then, blinking, unable at first to process what he's just heard, what it is he's seeing.

He doesn't even know how to respond to it, and so ends up simply standing there, mouth ajar as he struggles to find his words.

He takes too long, apparently, as Loki's arms lower then back to his sides, his shoulders sagging abruptly, as though suddenly, overwhelmingly weary.

His piercing gaze at last flits away, and when next he speaks, his voice is flat and quiet enough to be near soundless.

"Or perhaps you will find satisfaction in the simple reporting of my insubordination in daring to speak thus out of turn? I think you will not come away disappointed, if you choose such a course."

Steve feels abruptly breathless, as his mind catches up to Loki's words, to what it is he's saying.

"Wh-what?" He stammers disbelievingly. "No, what?"

He shakes his head, a sudden kind of horror gripping hard his insides.

"No, I… Jesus, that isn't why…" again, he shakes his head, a sudden, consuming helplessness spreading through him. "I only thought, I wanted…"

And Loki looks back to him now, his mouth turning down at the corners, frowning at him, something like disappointment flitting across his features.

"Ah," he says, eyes once more slipping away. "pity then." He shakes his head. "Please don't. You will only find it a wasted thing, better saved for one more deserving."

Steve can only stare back, again words escaping him, and somehow he feels he's letting something slip away, that he's failing at something vital.

Loki begins to turn away then, and without thinking, Steve reaches out a hand.

"Wait…" he starts, abruptly panicked feeling.

"I entreat, if you will allow me return to my duties?" Loki interrupts. "I am not permitted the right to speak, and they will beat me if they find me conversing with you."

At this, any words that had been ready at the tip of Steve's tongue die, his hand falling to his side like a stone.

He watches then, as dropping to his knees with obvious pain, Loki reaches down to the hem of his loose fitted tunic, and pulls it up, over his head, his back to the captain.

Steve's breathe catches harsh in his throat, and he cannot hold the sharp gasp which slips from between his teeth at the sight. Without the wash of blood to hide them from view, Loki's back is a map of scars.

So many as to be impossible to count, thick and thinly cut strips of badly healed tissue, crossed and crisscrossed and lapped again and again across each other. There is scarcely an area free of them, the scars rippling and shifting grotesquely with each small movement the god makes. So extensive is the damage, the captain thinks the expanse of Loki's back must be now free of any sensation.

Steve doesn't know whether to be relieved at the reality, for how it may spare Loki further pain, or sickened, with the knowledge of how many beatings at the end of a whip it must have taken to turn Loki's back into one, giant mass of scar tissue.

He doesn't even think to question why Loki's removed his shirt at all until he snaps from his horror and sees the god wiping the spilt contents of the wooden bucket up with it, going over the puddle two, three times, wringing the tattered tunic out over the bucket before wiping the rest of it up and doing the same.

And he can only continue to watch in despairing silence, as afterwards, Loki pulls the same, filthy shirt on over his head, without hesitation, without thought. As though it's perfectly normal, that his own, meager wears should double too as rags to clean.

Can only watch, as the man he once called enemy struggles back to his feet, and walks, without further word, stiffly away, disappearing a moment later round a corner, leaving Steve to choke on the doubt filling his head.

On the question of what it is, that separates Loki from them, that it should be thought criminal, the gods own actions, but in the same span, their own, vile cruelty be deemed just and fair and right.

/

AN: A huge thank you to everyone who's read, favorited, followed and reviewed! It really means the world to me, and it means so much for me to hear from you as well, so if you have a chance, let me know what you think!