Dawn broke fresh and clear, as it always did in Asgard. Loki saw the sun peek through the window shades with eyes that had not closed the entire night long. He gently extricated himself from his son's embrace and slipped out of bed, tucked the boy in, and made himself ready for public pain and humiliation. He did not put on armor, they would only make him take it off. Instead he put on a slightly less casual version of his sleepwear, which was perfectly fine for wearing in public if a little unusual: a forest green tunic with black and gold trim, and matching forest green trousers. He sat down in a chair and slipped on his boots just before a guard came to the door and knocked, waking Judah.
"I'm sorry, My Lord Prince – it's time," the guard said.
"Daddy," Judah said.
"Give me just a moment, will you please? First Call isn't for a bit, after all," Loki said, and the guard nodded reluctantly.
Loki turned to the bed. "Judah, I want you to go to your room. I want you to work on your Asgardian. Study your prepositions, all right? Study hard. Don't think about anything else. Can you do that for me?"
Judah nodded, tears in his eyes. "Daddy?" he said.
"Yes, Judah?"
"I hate this place."
Loki sighed. "We haven't had the best experience since we've come here, but that's my fault, Judah. No one else's."
"I can think of someone else whose fault it is," Judah said.
Loki held up a hand. "No, Judah. It's my fault. Mine and mine alone. Now go to your room, take a nice, refreshing shower bath, get dressed, and study like the little scholar that you are. Make me proud. It won't be difficult, because I already am."
Judah's lip quivered as he looked at his adoptive father, then he climbed out of bed and bolted past him and the guard and ran down the corridor to his room and slammed the door behind him.
"He's not happy about this," Loki said to the guard. "Have you got kids?"
"No, my Lord."
"Well. There's always someday."
"We… really should be getting on, my Lord."
"Yes, yes. Let's get it over with."
The guard led him down the corridor to the common areas, out to the throne room and through it to the front doors of the palace. They stood there just inside for quite some time, listening to the crowd assemble. Despite the early hour it sounded as if quite a few Asgardians were turning out to witness the Renegade Prince get his comeuppance. It wasn't every day, after all, that a member of the royal family was caned in the square like a common rustler. The average sentence was ten strikes, but if the sentence was fair, Loki would receive somewhat more than that. Caning was usually not meted out for significant offenses like treason or attempted murder. When it was, it was sometimes fatal. Loki was surprisingly unworried about that. He had survived terrible beatings as a child in the name of "training." He could survive this as a grown god in the name of "justice."
First Call was the time when most Asgardians would ordinarily just be rising from their beds. But when the horns sounded and the guard led Loki out into the square before golden Odinhall, it seemed the entire population of the city awaited them. Odin was wearing his golden ceremonial armor and his crown, and he did not look at Loki as he was brought to stand on the makeshift stage in the middle of the square. There the guard made him take off his tunic. Gods and especially goddesses standing close enough to see his scars winced as they remembered what he had already been through, but not everyone was moved to empathy.
"Give it to 'im hard!" someone shouted, and others echoed the cry. "Let 'im cry for 'is mama!"
"'E's not 'alf the god Prince Thor is!"
"Never was good for nothing!"
"Always had a mean, nasty look to 'im. Knew 'e'd go wrong in the end."
"Don't listen to them, my boy," Queen Frigga whispered where she stood next to Odin, as though he could hear her from such a distance. "They don't know you."
"Prince Loki, son of Odin, it is the determination of the King of Asgard that you be sentenced to thirty strikes of the cane, for the crimes of treason and attempted fratricide," Odin said, in a voice that boomed over every other. "Let this punishment stand as fit. Let no god say your name protected you from due punishment."
"This is wrong," Sigyn said, at Frigga's elbow. Angrboda stood at her other hand. "My queen, can't you do anything, say anything?"
"Unfortunately I have no power to change Odin's mind once it is made up," Frigga said. "And he truly thinks this is the least punishment he can give the boy. Maybe he's even right."
"But this is barbaric. I would expect this in Vanaheim, but I did not know such practices were held to in Asgard. I thought Asgard was civilized."
"Asgard is mired in trillions of years of staunch traditionalism, my dear. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child' and capital punishment are a couple of the biggest traditions we just can't throw off."
A line of drummers gave a roll on their instruments. Loki got down on his knees. The caner stepped up and took his cane – a hollow seven-foot hardwood pole about three inches in diameter – and swung it. It struck with a solid thwaaap. Loki was thrown forward onto all fours. But he did not cry out. The caner gave him time for the pain to subside a bit before striking him again, making certain that each hit hurt as much as possible. By the end of ten whacks, his lower back was basically one single red welt. But he did not cry out.
Sigyn looked at the Queen, who had her eyes hidden in a lace handkerchief, crying. She looked at the King, impassive. She looked at Angrboda, who seemed almost excited. She looked out at the audience, silent now, unnerved by Loki's lack of outcry to what had to be excruciating pain. She wondered why no one cried out for this nightmare to end. Why didn't she? What did it say about her that she just stood there, passive, and let this atrocity occur, legal or not?
"Please," she heard someone say. They sounded very far away. "Stop this. Can't you see how much you're hurting him? He's been through enough. Stop this, please, you're killing him!"
The next thing she knew, she was flying at the King, and guards were pulling her away. "Stop it! Please! You can't do this! This will break him! He's not a criminal, he's sick! He doesn't need punishment, he needs treatment! He has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder! You're making it worse!"
"Restrain her," Odin said, not bothering to look, "but gently, boys – she's not a danger, just an idealist."
The guards held her back, and Queen Frigga came to hold her hands. "I sympathize, my dear, believe me, I do. But you just can't buck the system," Frigga said, dabbing a tear from her cheek.
"How can you stand here and watch this?" Sigyn said.
"I can't. My son is being brutalized before my very eyes. I cannot stand it. Nor can I do anything about it. I am helpless. What does your profession say one should do when in a position of zero power?"
Sigyn slumped in the guards' arms. "Just let go. Sometimes, I'm not certain we have all our shit together, either."
"When you have eliminated all other avenues of possibility, you are left with only one: just let go, my dear. Accept that there is nothing you can do and move on to the next stage where you will hopefully have a little more ability to affect a positive outcome."
"Were you ever a healer, Your Majesty?" Sigyn asked, head cocked inquisitively.
Frigga smiled. "No, but I studied to become one, when I was young. It didn't work out for me."
"You became Queen of Asgard – odd that you'd phrase it as 'not working out.' Most noble goddesses use becoming a healer as the backup plan for when the marriage market 'doesn't work out.'"
"Did you?" Frigga said.
"Not exactly."
"Neither did I. My sister was keen for the marriage market – I wanted to be a healer."
Sigyn ventured a glance at the stage. "Is it… over yet?" she said.
"No. I'm not certain how many more there are to go, but it will be awhile, I'm guessing. Try not to watch."
