Thor had never seen Sif behave in such a manner before in all the centuries that he had known her. She leaned close to the window that wrapped around the front curve of the witness room, her fist pressed to the glass, arm above her inclined head, her feet planted a shoulder-width apart, a violent storm raging in her eyes. He and the Warriors Three all tried to keep their gazes from her, knowing of how quickly her anger was known to flare, burning any who dared to stand too close. She made it easy; her darkened face never once turned to them, and her breathing was silent, making it a natural thing to almost forget her presence altogether. If not for the tension radiating through the room, Thor might have done just that.
She stared at his brother – of that much he was certain. They had never truly seemed to be the best of friends, Sif and Loki, but the purity of her ire seemed unwarranted by the situation. Yes, Loki had done some terrible, unthinkable things, but Thor still couldn't understand why Sif would be so steadfast as to retain her hatred now, when Loki needed her pardon more than ever if he was to be spared the more ominous punishments that had all too recently been popular among Asgard's justice system.
On Midgard, he recalled, they had a law against "cruel and unusual punishment." The phrase had made Thor snort in derision, wondering what might have qualified as "cruel and unusual" to the Midgardians. Now, though, he could hardly laugh at the notion, instead wishing secretly that Asgard had such a law in place to protect even those who had done terrible wrongs and fallen from grace.
He had had to witness his brother's "cruel and unusual punishment" far too many times before this, and it had always cut him to the core, seizing his heart and making it ache for Loki's suffering. He remembered a specific instance in which Loki's lips had been sewn shut – the price for one lie too many, directed at the wrong people. He imagined that even Odin had flinched – miniscule though it must have been – when Loki's eyes had squeezed shut, holding back tears of shame and pain, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were white, though his hands had shaken still.
When the time had come to remove the stitches, Thor had blanched at the prospect of being the one to pull the enchanted thread from his lips. Luckily, in the end, he hadn't had to.
He cast a sideways glance at the Lady Sif, remembering how the color had drained tellingly from her resolute face as she had slipped into Loki's chambers, closing the door behind her with a foreboding frown. What had gone on in the room beyond, Thor would never know; he had not stayed nearby to listen or waited for the appearance of either the lady or his brother. Instead, he had returned to his own chambers, bolting the door for privacy, and he had let rare tears fall as his head rested dully in his hands.
It was not a sequence of events that he hoped to repeat.
Fandral placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him a sad smile that had originally been meant to reassure; Volstagg ceased his pacing to exchange a glance with Hogun, both of them letting their eyes flick between Sif, merely a few paces away, and Loki, only in the adjoining room. Both of them seemed to be in other worlds, despite their relative closeness.
No one spoke, but, then, no one needed to. A voice reverberated through the crescent-shaped room, startling the Warriors Three and Thor, though Sif seemed unconcerned. Loki must have heard it too, for he looked up sharply, wide, guarded eyes roving about the darkness of his own room while his hands instinctively pulled the chains taught.
"Let us begin the trial of Loki Odinson, Second Prince of Asgard, in accordance to the laws and wisdom laid down by the Norns in the earliest days of Yggdrasil."
Thor wasn't sure which froze his veins more – the words themselves or the fact that, despite the decidedly delicate pallor in Loki's skin, his face had paled even further at the sound of his own name. Adoptive name, Thor reminded himself.
"We have been given written documentation of several events in the course of Midgardian time, and they shall remain unexpressed throughout the course of testimonies and defense. Let them, however, be a warning that the truth is highly advised, lest any involved wish they themselves to be held accountable."
The voice paused, clearly letting the sentiment sink deep within the bones of all five witnesses and the defendant alike, chilling the marrow, sending shivers up and down spines. Once whatever entity it was deemed them all suitably threatened, it continued.
"To open, we beckon forth Hogun, Warrior of the Realm."
The indicated warrior stepped forward hesitantly, looking grimmer than usual, and even a tinge sick at the thought of his role in the proceedings. He did not need to indicate his attention before the omnipresent voice began its line of interrogation.
"Answer the following questions to the best of your ability and with all the honesty to which you have sworn by the act of entering the courthouse."
It waited a moment, as if to ensure that he had understood, before moving on.
"How do you know the defendant?"
Hogun spoke readily, though his words seemed a trifle rehearsed. "We are friends," he said simply. At his use of the word "friend," Thor saw Loki cringe; Thor's stomach balled itself up when he realized that Loki could hear every word that they were honor-bound to express – those that would lead to his condemnation.
"In all your time as friends," the voice continued, emotionless, "has the defendant ever demonstrated destructive tendencies?"
"No." There was no period of forethought before his answer, the truth coming more easily than any falsehood.
"Have you any indication as to why he acted as he did?"
"No."
"Please describe what occurred in Midgard's New Mexico."
Hogun fell silent for a moment, thinking. Eventually, he took a breath and replied, "Short." When the voice waited, listening for more, he added, "Short-lived on my part. Well-fought on his."
Loki's face clouded in confusion at this statement, and Thor could only reason that his brother had hardly expected anything even remotely close to a compliment during his trial. Still, though, veiled admiration laced Hogun's words, and, when Thor chanced a look to his side, Hogun nodded once in confirmation.
The voice had spent a moment in silence, as if debating whether to accept Hogun's response or not. It seemed to, in the end, either disregard it or assent to it, as it said, "Thank you," and called forth Volstagg, Warrior of the Realm, stressing the importance of his honesty exactly as it had Hogun's.
"How do you know the defendant?" it asked, voice still far too stoic for Thor's taste.
Volstagg stared at the slighter man in the room opposite, saying, "I have known Loki since his childhood. I helped teach him to fight."
"In doing so, have you ever seen the defendant demonstrate destructive tendencies?"
"Never, outside of the usual training skirmishes.''
"Have you any indication as to why he acted as he did?"
The large warrior thought for a moment, eyes still focused through the glass, watching Loki carefully. "There were times," he began, "when I was not as fair to Loki as I could have been. That does not explain the happenings on Midgard, but it might offer some insight. Loki is not a bad man, though I would be lying if I said that I trusted him after all that's happened."
The voice clipped right along as though Volstagg's comments meant nothing. "Please describe what occurred in Midgard's New Mexico."
"Loki had magicked a Destroyer, sending it to Midgard," Volstagg began, reluctance hanging on his every word. "We three had gone to Midgard to retrieve Thor, hoping that he might make his brother see sense – bring him back to us. When we were attempting to show Thor to the point at which the Bifrost had deposited us, we encountered the Destroyer. It was defeated, and we all came home."
"Thank you. I now summon forth Fandral, Warrior of Asgard."
When Fandral obediently looked up, Thor thought that he saw remorse in his face as he, like Volstagg, watched Loki through the window.
"How do you know the defendant?"
Fandral opened his mouth, but the words seemed to get lost before they could be spoken. Unshed tears welled in his crystalline eyes as his jaw worked, struggling to draw sound to his lips, desperate to form a response. Finally, he muttered, "We met when I was young – centuries ago. I have since been proud to call him a friend, and so still remain."
On the other side of the glass, Loki's expression grew pained, as though he wished to disappear. Thor knew that face; it was how Loki conveyed shame.
"Has the defendant ever demonstrated destructive tendencies?"
"Far from it. Loki was always the most merciful among us as we trained."
"Have you any indication as to why he acted as he did?"
Fandral's gaze roved over Loki – standing tall, but head bowed in resignation, fingers entwined in the cold chains, eyes giving long, slow, accepting blinks, alert but unseeing. "None," Fandral said.
"Please describe what occurred in Midgard's New Mexico."
Fandral hesitated, seeming almost unwilling to remember such an event. "It is as Volstagg said," he replied, voice hollow.
"Have you nothing to add?"
Fandral took a breath, and then proceeded to describe the whole of the battle in great detail – Sif's strike on the Destroyer to Thor's self-sacrifice to the cosmic storm that had felled the Destroyer in the end. Every statement appeared to cause him hurt, as his voice hitched with emotion twice, not for the story itself, but for the fact that Loki had been the cause of such a tale.
When he had finished, the voice said, "Thank you." Thor imagined that, had the battles on Midgard – the one in New Mexico and the one in New York – not been formulated by and around Loki, he might have simply considered them other magnificent conquests to turn into stories that could regale listeners, inspiring instant admiration and excitement.
The voice called the Lady Sif to attention, but the woman didn't move.
"How do you know the defendant?"
When Sif remained silent, Thor and the Warriors Three chanced looking at her. She remained exactly the same as she had before Hogun's questioning – arm over her head, fist against the glass, face so close that her breath left mist. Her eyes fell closed, but the crease between her eyebrows gave away her inner turmoil.
The voice was patient, however, awaiting Sif's response as if it had all the time in the world.
The uneasiness among the witnesses grew heavier, threatening to smother all of them in their own apprehension. On the other side of the glass, Loki had stiffened as if bracing himself for her words.
And still, Sif said nothing.