The AllFather made no move to stop any of it.
Thor did as he was told, holding Loki's head as still as he could.
He knew that it would make it easier for the dwarf, but it would also minimize the damage.
There was blood everywhere.
On his hands, on his arms, all covering Loki's face, and coating the dwarf's busy fingers.
Loki struggled.
He writhed and kicked, he spat blood until he couldn't; they had to get some others to help them hold him still.
He was stronger than Thor had given him credit for.
Twice, he nearly lost consciousness.
Thor wished he would. It would make this easier for all of them.
When it was done, they left him there.
The dwarf tied the cord into a tight, sharp little knot, leapt off of him, and waved the others who had been holding him back.
Thor didn't move.
"My price has been paid," the dwarf said contentedly.
Thor wished for his hammer. He wished he could crush every bone in that creature's ridiculous, tiny body to dust.
"Are you content?" the AllFather asked. Thor looked up at him. His voice was as calm as if he'd been watching the water kiss the sand at a beach for the last hour. Didn't he care?
Loki felt the way his hold slackened as he looked away and he gave a sharp jerk, rolling over onto his hands and knees. He retched, blood oozing down his chin from the cuts. He was shaking so badly that he nearly collapsed again.
"Loki,"
He gave no sign he heard, but pulled his knee underneath him and rose to his feet. There was a small door toward the side, kept open to cool the hall, and it stood no more than a few yards away. Loki made for it, lurching unsteadily across the floor.
Thor nearly rose.
"Let him go," it was his father. Calm as ever.
Thor's hands were bloody fists.
Loki's blood.
Loki stumbled, caught hold of the door-frame, then pushed off of it and was gone at a run.
"He has paid for his crime," Odin, speaking lower now, talking to the dwarf who stood near the High Seat.
His crime? Oh. Yes. Sif.
His hands were sticky with Loki's blood.
He felt sick and he had a hard time remembering why he'd been so angry.
He looked back up to the doors, tears hot as dragon's blood.
~.~
When Sif had left Gladsheim, she did come to the Queen. Frigga had been shocked to see her as she was. The girl did not expect her to fix it, but she had been commanded by the AllFather to come.
Frigga felt her heart drop, "Did Loki do this to you?"
Lip caught between her teeth, Sif nodded.
Frigga sat beside her, an arm across her back, sometimes stroking the thick, dark hair.
Sif gathered herself up after a minute and straightened, "I'm sorry," she managed, "I shouldn't–"
"It's a lot all at once, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"And I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but it is lovely."
Sif looked at her.
"Neither better, nor worse, than gold. Beautiful just the same."
Sif didn't quite seem to know what to do, "I thank you, my Queen."
"Not at all. Now, would you like to stay with me for a while? You needn't return to your duties for a time. I can arrange –"
The girl was shaking her head, "No," she said, "the work will help me, but I thank you."
It grew warm in the High Hall at that time of day. More warm than Frigga really had a taste for. A while after Sif had left her, she laid aside her work, and made her way toward the gardens. They would help her think. Something would have to be done about Loki. From what Sif had said, it seemed his father had it well under control, but she would still have to say something. But what? She couldn't imagine why – On her way she heard the voices of two girls – quite unaware of her presence – "..I think he deserved it, after what he did to her…"
Frigga turned on her heel and headed for Gladsheim.
~.~
She wasted no time in arguing with her husband.
Upon hearing what it was that had happened, she sent out her guard to search the surrounding area and find the prince.
And find him they did.
A mile or so out from Gladsheim, hidden in a secluded place in the beginning of the woods.
It was sunset, about three or four hours since he had fled from the hall.
His face and hands were all a mess of blood, and somehow, he had torn out the stitches.
When they came upon him, he was barely conscious, slumped on the ground, his back to a fallen trunk. He did not hear them coming.
A guard touched his shoulder. He could feel the heat straight through the fabric.
Loki's eyes shot open, and he drew back, snarling like a wild creature.
He was so delirious that when they tried to take him, he fought them. Seeming to forget entirely the knife in his hand, even as he fought, he dropped it.
They tried to speak to him, but if he heard them he gave no sign.
Finally, he dropped onto his knees and blacked out for good. Due most probably to the loss of blood, though the fever couldn't have helped any.
A guard caught him and they carried him back to his mother.
That was the story that Frigga heard from them when they appeared before her with her son.
She had them lay him in his bed, then called her maidens and they set to work.
The stitches were out, he'd torn them free himself. His face and arms were all covered with drying blood. He was eaten up with fever.
It was two anxious days before he woke.
Gefjon saw him move, his eyes open, and excitedly beckoned Frigga from across the room.
The first thing that Loki did upon waking was to shove Gefjon out of the way and vomit blood onto the floor.
Frigga helped him to lay back against the head of the bed. His hands fluttered above his mouth and he met her eyes for no more than a heartbeat before he shut them and forced his hands down.
She could see how hurt he was, but he'd always been proud.
The cuts had begun to grow together, and he had burst a few of them. A drop of blood – like a crimson tear – oozed down his chin.
Frigga sat beside him on the bed, taking the wet cloth one of the maids pressed into her hand. Singing softly, she began first with his hand, then moved to his face. He never moved, nor did he open his eyes, but he was awake. She couldn't tell if she hurt him, or if he was braced just for the fear of further pain, but he did not relax until well after she had finished her task. And not till then did he open his eyes.
"Do you want me to bring you something to drink?"
She imagined that he had to be hungry, it had been a long while since he had last eaten.
He was looking at the far corner of the room and without breaking his stare, shook his head.
Frigga let her hand rest on his hair for a moment, then went back to her work.
He was in bed nearly a week.
Frigga brought him books, but he never touched them. Often she would sit with him. Sometimes she would speak, but more often not. Many times he was asleep.
It reminded her of when he had been a small thing, how many times he had been sick.
She wanted to ask Loki why he'd done it. She hated to think that he could just take it into his head to cut off a girl's hair. She couldn't quite make herself believe that. No one else would have driven him to it, least of all Sif herself. She wished she could get inside his head and find the answers. He hadn't taken the hair, he'd left it in a mass beside Sif's bed. What had he done it for?
But Loki never once spoke during those days. And she didn't ask. He seemed, fragile, somehow. It could wait until he was well.
What couldn't, was Loki himself.