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Beneath
Chapter Two Hundred Ten - Pronouncement
"What do you think of the coffee?" Thor asked when he re-entered the office. It wasn't what he'd meant to say, but then, he hadn't ever come up with exactly what he wanted to say, not when "I'm sorry" was so insufficient and had already been said so many times. And not now that Jane had pointed out his earlier blunder. Coffee, at least, was safe.
"It's fine," Loki said. He'd moved away from the table with the pitcher, where his tankard sat abandoned. "I wanted to talk to you about something."
Thor smiled in relief. If Loki could cut through the awkwardness and come straight to the point, he could, too. "So did I. But first, I want to apologize for what I said about the patch. I didn't mean to be so critical. I thought he was lying at first, too. It was unfair of me."
For several seconds, Loki just stood there, watching Thor and trying to figure out what he'd just heard. Thor had recognized that without Loki spelling it out for him in giant flashing letters? And then he understood. "Did Jane say something to you?"
Thor swallowed and hoped he didn't now look as foolish as he felt. "She did. But as soon as she mentioned it, I knew what she was talking about. I understood. And my apology is sincere. I will do better. I'll figure this out. If you'll give me the chance. I only…I fear you won't give me the chance." That wasn't what he'd meant to say either. More was bubbling up behind it, more he didn't mean to say, more Loki probably wouldn't take well to, so he clamped his jaw and held his tongue.
"I don't exist in order to give you chances to…figure things out. That isn't my responsibility."
"I know."
"I have other things to think about."
"I don't mean to say otherwise. It's just…when this is all over…you're leaving." So much for clamping his jaw and holding his tongue. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for Loki's scathing reply. It took longer than he expected, long enough that by the time Loki spoke, his eyes were open again.
"Yes. And you'd better tread carefully. You're headed into territory you agreed not to return to again." Don't, Loki silently urged. Thinking about retreading that road left him feeling exhausted. His defenses were battered and weak. He couldn't deal with Thor and his never-ending longing for their brotherhood of old right now on top of everything else.
"I won't. Don't think I don't want to, but I'll abide by our agreement. I have to ask you something, though. I raised this, about what happened to Baldur, when we were stuck on Svartalfheim with Brokk's body. Why did you tell me you weren't innocent? I was willing to listen to you then, Loki."
Loki snorted. "Were you now. You wish to tell me that you would have believed me had I insisted it was an accident?"
"I…I don't know."
"I do."
"I don't know," Thor insisted. "We never talked about it. Not like that. Not calmly. I don't know. I…I like to think I would have believed you. You had no reason to lie about it anymore."
"Anymore," Loki echoed, glancing over at the tankard full of coffee and briefly wishing it was full of mead. Unfortunately, he was going to have endure this.
"I'm talking about what I understood at the time. But you didn't answer me. Why did you say you weren't innocent?"
"Because I wasn't innocent, Thor."
"But you were. You mean because you believed you'd killed him, but by accident?"
"Obviously my thoughts on that have changed since then. Regardless, I wasn't exactly innocent, was I? I still made the arrow, out of the one material that could harm him when everyone was convinced nothing could."
"But you—"
"Yes, yes. I know. It wasn't my fault. I'm not guilty. 'Not guilty' isn't the same thing as 'innocent,' is it?"
"I suppose not," Thor agreed reluctantly. "Loki…I want to apologize also that I didn't support you then. That I didn't believe you in the end. I know the words are meaningless after so long, but I still think it's important to say them. I wish I could have…seen it all more clearly. I should have. That one time we talked about him, after…I should have known then, at least. How could we have talked like that if you'd murdered him? And then Jane tried to tell me, and I wouldn't listen. A door was shut on it all and I couldn't bring myself to open it. I'm sorry. You deserved better from me. But I suppose that's nothing new." It might have been the first time that Loki had deserved better from him. But it had been far from the last.
Loki listened, feeling more and more weighed down by Thor's words until he dragged himself back to the chair he'd been in earlier and dropped into it. "You're right. It's meaningless. It's meaningless coming from you."
Thor nodded over a heavy breath. He had no reason to expect Loki to be forgiving, and he no longer felt so arrogant and self-righteousness that he instinctively needed to defend himself by reminding Loki, or even himself, of the wrongs Loki had done to him and to others. The one did not negate or excuse the other.
"Whatever else has happened…none of that was your fault."
"It…what? My actions were my fault. I accept responsibility for that."
"For what? Would you stop being so pathetically noble? You did nothing wrong. Not in this. Reserve your guilt for the things you're actually guilty of. This isn't one of them."
Thor silently took in Loki's demeanor – non-combative, even relaxed, he would almost say. He didn't know what to make of it. Loki was always combative with him these days. Or if not overtly combative, then dismissive, disparaging, insolent, or simply rude. Clearly, he was missing something, some new way Loki had found to insult him that he hadn't caught on to yet. "I don't understand," Thor said, certain he was about to find out.
Loki slid down a little, slouching in his chair. Thor looked so earnest. So wretchedly earnest. No one had ever accused Thor of being incapable of sincerity. Thor's guilt was as sincere as everything else about him. It was even worse, now that it was preceded by a degree of internal scrutiny and reflection that not long ago Loki hadn't thought Thor capable of. It was positively oppressive. It needed to stop. "I realize this won't make much sense to you – I'm not even sure it entirely makes sense to me – but I'm weary of everyone else's guilt. I'm weary of my own guilt." Weary of everyone's guilt but the one who finds guilt unproductive, he couldn't help thinking, though he refused to dwell on it. "Do you ever still think of him?"
It took Thor a few seconds to realize Loki, who was watching him with tightly focused eyes, expression all but blank, was asking about Baldur. "Not really," he said tentatively, uncertain where Loki was going this, whether there might be some form of trap in it. "Until now, of course. He was alive for a short time, a long time ago." When Loki's gaze drifted and he didn't respond, Thor asked, "Do you?"
"Not until recently." He looked cautiously back up at Thor, trying to judge what he saw there, though he wasn't sure what he was even looking for. He wasn't sure what he saw, either, but whatever it was, it didn't prevent him from continuing. "It came up at the South Pole. With Jane."
"So I gathered. She said you had a nightmare about it. That you were being loud. That was what let me tell myself I didn't need to question my understanding of what happened. I've never known you to make much noise in your sleep."
"I wasn't that loud. The walls there are absurdly thin," Loki said in a dismissive tone. He didn't need Thor asking about that. "It came up before that. Reminded me of it. Jane told me a few of those stories about us from Norse mythology. Including 'The Journey and Challenges.'"
The connection wasn't instantaneous, not with only a partial title. But when it came, it came in a flood of memories. "'Of the Valiant Odinsons?'" Baldur running, Loki shoveling food into his mouth, himself drinking, and so much laughter, laughter to the point of chest pains. A smile slid over his lips even now, and he took a long drink of coffee, savoring the drink along with the memories.
"The same," Loki said with a nod. "Quite the ostentatious title, wasn't it."
"It was a perfect title. I felt valiant when we performed it. Didn't you?"
"You always felt valiant. I think I mostly felt sick to my stomach."
"Sick from laughter. You know you loved it just as much as everyone else."
The instinct was there, right on the surface, to make light of it with a mocking retort, but it lost form and bled away before it emerged. "I did. Even when I complained, I did."
Thor barely let himself breathe, so fragile the moment felt. Even his tankard he kept in its awkward position just below his chin. Loki's candidness would surely vanish if he raised or lowered it.
"In another of Midgard's myths, they say there was a bargain, that Baldur could be restored to life, if only all of Asgard wept for him. One old woman didn't weep, and thus the effort failed. Apparently, the old woman who didn't weep was me, in disguise."
Thor's head drew back as that sank in. "That's an appalling story," Thor said, the acid in the coffee now chewing at his stomach. "You wept."
"I was afraid. And angry and confused, but mostly afraid. I wept for myself."
Thor pictured Loki as he'd looked back then, only a hair or two older than Baldur, weeping. Alone. He huffed out a breath and lowered his arm. "No matter. It's still a stupid story. If it would have brought Baldur back to us, you would have wept oceans for him, to make sure it happened."
Yes, Loki thought. He would have. He'd tried to rewrite history to make it happen. Looking back on it now, he saw it in a new light, the attempt he'd deemed an abysmal failure, proof that he was fated – cursed – to kill Baldur and destroy from the inside out the family that had taken him in. Saving Baldur through time travel had been impossible. But what he'd seen there…. He'd rewritten his life. Reclaimed his life. His entire understanding of who he was had shifted, again. When that understanding had come to him, he'd yearned to share it, to tell Jane. He'd never had the chance. Perhaps he would some other time; perhaps he wouldn't. The yearning, though, was back. Jane wasn't there. Thor was. And this…in some strange way they'd shared it, despite their drastically different experiences of it. Perhaps because in the end, it was Thor who'd brought him back. Literally.
"After I found out the truth of what I was…I came to believe I was fated to kill Baldur. Fated to kill you. Or perhaps to be killed by you." It wasn't easy to get out, not at first. But having come this far, his tongue loosened and the words continued. "Fated to hurt Mother. To destroy this family. To destroy everything I touched. Like a parasite. Like the mistletoe. You remember that, don't you? That mistletoe is a parasite? An innocent-looking little seed that sprouts and eventually kills the host that enabled it to live?"
Thor stood listening with rapt attention, shocked at what Loki was telling him, shocked that Loki was telling him this in the first place, and entirely of Loki's own volition. He was still standing there in silence when he realized Loki was also silent, and waiting for a response. It was a terrifying silence, for Thor was certain that whatever he said would be wrong, and Loki would close himself off and never speak this way to him again. He took the other chair, drank deeply from his tankard, pushed a smile to his lips. "Only you would broach such serious matters and find a way to insert a botany lecture."
"It's not botany," Loki said stiffly. "It's a metaphor."
"I know. I was trying to be funny. I don't like hearing you say such things. You aren't fated to destroy anything or anyone. You aren't a parasite."
"I followed you to Midgard, once I became king. It wasn't enough that you were cast out, reduced in strength to that of a mortal. I took away your mother, your father. Myself, when you still believed us brothers."
"We are—"
"Shut up and listen. I could have killed you. More than once. I took your hope of ever returning home, of ever returning to yourself, to who you were before. Even before that, I took the throne from you. I took and I took, and I did it without an ounce of remorse. Can you not see how I thought myself a parasite?"
"I…" No. No, he couldn't. Loki took, yes. He'd been disturbingly cruel when Thor was held prisoner by SHIELD. Loki had done some terrible things. But he didn't take the throne; it was given to him. It was a distinction still on Thor's mind despite the greater focus now on events in the much more distant past. Loki was talking, though, not arguing. Thor wasn't going to agree with him, but he decided he wasn't going to argue, either. Not right now, at least.
Loki relaxed minutely when he saw the struggle within Thor end, only silence following. "Add to this that when not yet forty years of my life had passed, I had already taken the life of one I would have said I loved…and what do you have but a parasite?"
"You did love him. And his death wasn't—"
"We know that now. We didn't then. I didn't then. What I'm saying is…" He stopped, looked down, shook his head, looked back at Thor. "I can't make you understand, can I? This is a waste of time." Whatever they'd shared, it was a long time ago, and this wasn't about Baldur, not really. It was about Jotunheim and rage and "know your place" and other things that had happened long after Baldur. Long after Thor had stopped understanding anything about him.
"You're not wasting your time. You're not, Loki. Tell me. I'm listening."
He was wasting his time. He'd been feeling worn down and unexpectedly sentimental. He supposed he still was, because he decided to finish what he'd intended to say. "It changed…what I thought I was meant for. The destiny I thought awaited me. Once I thought it over, the clearest evidence of my fate was the fact that I'd killed Baldur even before finding out the truth of who I am. A thousand years before it. I thought there was something in me, in my blood, that…" He tried twice more to try to continue, but found he could not. It was as much as he could manage.
Thor's mouth briefly fell open. "I see," he said, and felt the fool for being unable to come with something more appropriate for his first words. He did understand now, and he couldn't believe Loki was sharing this with him, and he was more worried than ever about saying the wrong thing and ensuring Loki never did so again. "You thought that…because you'd killed Baldur, you were meant to kill the rest of us? Or…to destroy us?"
"That is exactly what I said. Half an hour ago. You're a little behind."
"No, I…I'm all caught up, I think. When you found out you weren't responsible for his death, you recognized that was untrue?"
"I recognized…that I have a choice. So don't get too comfortable," Loki added, lest Thor take from this more than he should.
Thor nodded, but otherwise ignored Loki's warning. "I wish you'd told me that you thought you didn't. I've known you all my life, Loki. I could have told you you were no parasite."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say you've known me all your life, or we'd be here all night. As for the rest…sadly, 'Thor is 100% convinced of it' does not, in fact, make it true. Nor is it particularly strong evidence of anything other than that you're easily convinced of things. I should know. I'll also not list all the patently ridiculous things I've convinced you of over the years, because I truly don't want to be here all night."
"No one needed to convince me of that. And I have known you all my life. All your life. I know what you mean to say, that I didn't know you as well as I thought I did. But that was in later years…wasn't it? We used to be the best of friends. More than that. Brothers. And I…. How far back does it go? Is that why you grew to hate me? Because I didn't stand up for you when you were declared guilty?"
Loki was taken aback by the question. By the sheer wrongness of it. He might well have hated Thor at some point during all that. He'd hated the sun and the moon and the day and the night and the earth and the sky at various points. He'd mostly hated himself. And that wretched serpent. But before, no. And after, no. He had not hated Thor; he had not blamed Thor.
He didn't hate Thor now. He'd even said as much to Thor a few days ago, a nearly instinctive response to a puerile question. A puerile concept. It made him think of small children fighting over some trivial thing of sudden importance only because they'd decide to fight over it for reasons unclear even to themselves. But it was only now, cast in the context of the aftermath of Baldur's death, that the idea of hating Thor seemed not only puerile but absurd. It wasn't just an instinctive reaction to ward off further idiotic questions. He felt the truth of it now. Of all the things he'd ever felt toward Thor, of all the things he felt now – and certainly much of it was negative – hatred wasn't among them.
He wasn't sure what he thought of that. Hatred was a powerful motivator, fuel for a fire that burned tremendously hot, but it took more than it gave, consuming what was inside until little more than a shell was left. Letting that fire burn out was freeing, and Loki felt far freer than he had in a long time, since before he found out he was born a Frost Giant. Relaxing his guard around Thor, though, was risky. His freedom was hard-won, and he couldn't turn around and cede it to Thor by being dragged back into the way things were before, back into Thor's orbit. That hadn't changed. That couldn't change.
"I never hated you for that," Loki finally settled on. It was true – he didn't have it in him to be cruel right now – without veering down paths he was unwilling to travel.
"Are you sure? Did I only think we were so close? Were you always pretending?"
Loki's back straightened with a spark of anger. Apparently it didn't matter what they learned about Baldur's death, Loki would always be an ingrained perpetual liar. But Thor looked confused by his reaction, and Thor could not possibly be confused that Loki would be angry about being called a liar, not given the circumstances. He was overreacting. Thor was in essence asking, he realized with surprise, the same thing his mother had right before he'd entered the throne room. His mother, though, was known for her perceptiveness, a word Loki never would have ascribed to Thor. Oblivious ignorance, yes; perceptiveness, a resounding no.
Like his mother's question, it wasn't easy to answer. And like Thor's previous, it was fraught with danger. "Not always."
Thor nodded. He could live with that. He knew Loki had long harbored resentments he'd been unaware of, but it was disturbing to imagine that there'd been nothing but resentment ever since Baldur's death. That all of his good memories with Loki since then were false. "You say you took and you took. Loki, if I had anything to give, to change what happened to you, to turn back time and be a better brother and a better man and stand up for you, you would never need to take it. I would offer it freely."
"Of those I might have expected to act on my behalf, I don't think you were ever among them."
"What? Why not? You…you had so little faith in me?" Thor grimaced. He had no business being offended by that. "In which case you were right, of course."
"That wasn't it. Try to look back on that time honestly. These were the days when you were getting Mjolnir stolen out from under you because all you could think about was getting your hands on a nice set of fresh melons."
"I wasn't exactly thinking with my brain then," Thor said dryly.
"Did you even have one? Sorry, I couldn't help myself," Loki said with a hand out before Thor could object. He hesitated – letting Thor so fully off the hook went against his instincts – but the need to bludgeon Thor every time an opportunity presented itself had also passed. Whatever exactly Thor was to him now, Thor wasn't his enemy. Thor hadn't tried to drown him, not on purpose. Hadn't tried to boil him alive. Had not thrown him from the bifrost, no matter how hard Thanos's lackey must have tried to convince him of it. Where Thor had erred, he deserved to know about it, and that mistreatment deserved Loki's condemnation. But he didn't deserve blanket condemnation. He deserved the truth. He deserved to hear it again if he hadn't grasped it yet.
"You were in no position to do anything for me," Loki said. "You had no power at all in any of that. You were a bystander. Nothing more than a member of the audience, who happened to know all the performers. You were as young as I was and just as foolish. You believed what everyone told you. You believed me until the other voices were so many they drowned mine out, and then you believed them."
"You're saying I was fickle."
"You were little more than a child. It would be unfair to call a child fickle."
"I wasn't a child, Loki. I don't have that excuse."
"Not literally. You know what I mean. Not much more was expected of you than of a child. Did anyone ever even ask you what you thought?"
Thor tried to sift through the memories, to find them first in order to sift through them. It wasn't easy; those memories had been intentionally buried a long time ago. "I don't think so. They asked what I knew. I don't remember anyone asking what I thought."
"It wouldn't have held any weight if they did. Even if you wanted to, you had no ability to intervene, no way to influence the magistrates, much less to override them. No power at all. I cast no blame on you in this, and for the love of all things sacred, please don't insist that I must."
Thor found himself nodding, acquiescing, though he still tried to peer back at those days and weeks. He hadn't seen himself as powerless, he knew that much. But he'd never seen himself that way. Until his banishment to Midgard, he'd generally seen himself as the most powerful person in the room, or almost so, if his father happened to be there, too. He was Thor Odinson, and when he spoke, everyone listened. How often, though, had they been merely humoring him, indulging him because of who he was, instead of taking him seriously? And really, why should they have taken him seriously? His arrogance was such that he'd never questioned it at the time. "All right," he said, still hesitating. "I'm glad at least that yo hold no grudge over it. Thank you for hearing me out. Shall I leave you to think, then?"
"About what?"
"Geirmund. His punishment."
"No. I told you I needed to talk to you about something."
"I thought…I thought we already talked about it."
"About your guilt for things you had no power over? No, Thor, that's not what I called you back for."
"Oh. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Geirmund. His punishment."
"All right," Thor said with a slow nod. He was surprised; Loki had not sought his thoughts on this before, nor showed much inclination to share his own.
"He wants to be seen as having reclaimed some honor here. I do agree with Odin on that. Nobility in humility, perhaps. Or perhaps it's less what others think of him than how he sees himself. It's natural that a man wants to think well of himself. Perhaps especially so a man with a young wife and child."
"Perhaps," Thor agreed without putting much thought into it. He didn't care to try to imagine Geirmund's perspective.
"Did he truly serve Asgard well?"
The answer came reluctantly. "He did."
"How so?"
"He managed trade with the Midgardians. With Tony Stark, specifically, but also with others as needed. I don't know all the details. I didn't need to know them, because he handled it so well. Tony can be…a challenge to deal with" – he paused at Loki's frown, but the expected jibe didn't come – "as can navigating an unfamiliar culture. There were some complications regarding what form the deliveries should take, and Geirmund worked with the appropriate people to sort all that out and…he bridged the gap between what we needed and what the Midgardians could provide, and he did it quickly. Our warriors fought with bellies full of Midgardian supplies. He spoke up in meetings. He never just sat there tending only to his own tasks. Once he even conveyed a message to me from Jane, and he handled it with discretion without being asked to do so." Thor paused, shook his head in frustration. "Had I looked for fault in him I couldn't have found it. What do you do with a man who's done such good, while hiding such a heinous wrong?"
Loki rolled his eyes. "You tell him thank you for the good he's done, and then you mete out the punishment he so richly deserves for the heinous wrong. It's not that complicated," he said. His own conflicted reactions had nothing to do with any right Geirmund had done alongside the wrong. "If we only punished criminals who were pure evil, who'd never done a good thing in their entire life, who'd never kissed their mother or…or helped an old lady cross the street, we'd never punish any criminals at all. The accused would defend themselves by saying 'but I've never kicked a puppy,' and then we'd let them go free."
"Kicked a puppy?"
"It's an expression."
"If you say so."
"I do."
"About Geirmund's punishment, then…?"
Loki let his gaze wander for a moment, reviewing the decision he'd come to. It had been hasty, but he'd thought it through during his brief time alone earlier, probing it for potential complications and identifying solutions to them. He felt comfortable with it, and more satisfied than with any previous punishment he'd considered. Unlike those others, though, this he couldn't accomplish merely by speaking an order.
He faced Thor again. It wasn't easy. But it was, perhaps, a little easier than it would have been before they'd sat down here together.
"I need you to arrange something for me."
Thor watched and listened closely, without interrupting. Loki wasn't demanding, or ordering, or taunting him in that recently Loki way of issuing commands and almost daring Thor to refuse them. He was requesting, without pretense. Like they were equals. Or brothers. When Loki finished explaining, Thor's answer was simple.
"I will arrange it."
/
/
The Aesir were nothing if not creatures of habit, and when Loki surveyed those gathered in the throne room again, they were all standing exactly as they had been before. Odin and Frigga, too, were standing again, though with Jane now at Thor's side, a sight that was no longer quite as uncomfortable as it had been the first few times Loki had observed it. It helped, of course, that his attention was fully on Geirmund, standing before him again, also exactly as before.
"Geirmund Faldarson. You brought death, and sorrow, and suffering to the throne of Asgard. To me. And I don't even know you."
"You may ask me anything, my prince," Geirmund said, stoic resignation back in place as it had been from the moment he'd been led back into the throne room.
"I know that. And I don't care to. I don't care to know you. I don't intend to think of you ever again beyond this day. You will, in essence, cease to exist. I know all that I need to. You intervened in something you knew nothing about, and in doing so you took not one single precaution. You were careless, and criminally reckless, and the fulness of your motivations remains uncertain. Because of you, my last conversation with Baldur was an argument. When you took him, you also took the possibility of reconciliation. Yet as terrible as they were, your actions that day, some of them, can perhaps be understood. In time, perhaps even forgiven. I, too, was young, and made poor choices driven by fear."
Loki paused. He'd just made it past the hardest part, the only part that would be difficult to speak aloud. What happened was a long time ago, hardly his finest moments, and not something he wished to dwell on, certainly not in public. But Odin had refocused the perception of Geirmund's story in one way; it was time for Loki to now do so in another way.
"None of that is why we're here this evening. Why I stand above you in judgement. We're here because I suffered a punishment in your stead. Only one person ever knew the full truth of what happened that day: you. You kept that truth to yourself, and left me to bear the blame. Everyone else believed I killed Baldur. Even Midgardian mythology records that I killed him," he added with a nod toward Jane.
"You said that the worst decision of your life was when you changed that arrow. You made equally poor decisions when you fled the realm, surely knowing that suspicion would fall on me, and when you found out I had been judged guilty and you said nothing, not the day you found out, not the next, not ever, until I recognized you just last night. Yet we haven't heard as much about that decision, have we? There's a reason for that, of course. There's no dispute. No question, no doubt. No complications. You knew the truth, and you remained silent. We didn't talk about Baldur anymore, and certainly not about his death. Perhaps that made it easier for you to tell yourself that it was over and done with, and your confession would make no difference. But you cannot possibly have believed that just because a stain was no longer mentioned that it was no longer there. Late as it is, your confession does make a difference. It would have made so much more of a difference had you spoken up back then, even had you spoken up only upon your return from Vanaheim.
"Punishing you now doesn't bring Baldur back. Nor does it give me back the years I lost under the serpent, or recovering from it. And the stain has set for so long that I'm afraid it's permanent. Punishing you does right a wrong, however. The wrong of a lack of justice. This is justice. For Baldur, and for me."
Having started out on the floor before the stairs, Loki now ascended three of them, back to the same position he'd started these proceedings from. His peered down from underneath the worn and heavy helmet; his yellow cape swirled around him as he turned. "The law calls for the execution of one who kills an immediate member of the royal family, and while you may not have set out to kill the king's son, I am satisfied that the level of recklessness in your actions pushes them to meet that standard. I am also told that as long as anyone here has been aware of you, you've lived a productive life, marked by service to Asgard. No level of service would obviate the need for punishment in the name of justice, however. There would be justice in your death, and in the meting out of additional punishment in advance of it. And you would accept that without dispute, would you not?"
"I would, my prince," Geirmund answered crisply. "I do."
"And yet, I don't want to send you to your death with your head held high, as though there was something noble in it. Something honorable. There will be no martyrdom for you. You will live. And you will serve Asgard for the rest of your life."
A sharp breath came from the gathered crowd; Loki imagined it to be Geirmund's wife, but he didn't look away to try to confirm it. Whatever hope he'd just given her, he was about to take away.
"I pronounce your punishment thus. Early in the war that officially ended just yesterday, Asgard made a bargain with a citizen of Midgard to supply food when trade was cut off and the food sources were deliberately targeted. You know this bargain well, from the work you did on Midgard. With the war over, Asgard must now uphold its end of the bargain, and compensate Midgard per the terms agreed to: gems, and incorporation of Asgardian knowledge in improving Midgardian crop yields. You may not be the perfect candidate for that role, but neither does Asgard have a perfect candidate. You have spent some time on their realm and proven your ability to work with them, and you have varying levels of experience with magic, management, and farming. Asgard will ensure that you're initially provided with the bare minimum needed to survive and nothing more. You'll live simply, as a Midgardian, and beyond the initial provisions you'll be expected to pay for your needs out of the low wages you'll receive for your labor. And you will be expected to labor, testing your work on crops you will grow, and with which you'll also feed yourself. Perhaps you'll finally prove to be a competent farmer after all."
Geirmund's shock was giving way to relief. Gratitude. It wouldn't last.
"As soon as arrangements can be made, you will depart for Midgard. You will make your home in an Asgardian prison cell until then. Once you leave, you will never set foot on Asgard again. You do not deserve Asgard. And Asgard does not deserve to have to look upon your face."
As Geirmund's eyes drifted closed, Loki knew he'd chosen well. This punishment would hurt not just for the duration of the falling of a whip and some limited period of time after. It would hurt forever.
"My prince."
Loki gazed out at the onlookers now, and found Dagrun stepping forward, even as the older woman next to her tried to pull her back. He held out his hand. He wasn't surprised she'd spoken up; she'd been the one to go to the guards and request to hold a Welcoming, after all. He was already prepared to address her question. "Your permanent exile is your punishment alone. That it affects others, however, cannot be avoided. Your wife may join you, with your child, if she wishes. Dagrun Brisadottir, if you accompany him, know that you will not have the freedom to come and go from Asgard whenever you please, you will be joining him in exile. When your daughter reaches five years, you would be required to return to Asgard with her for her education, with one return trip to Midgard with her each year, until she reaches twenty. Your child will call Asgard home no matter your decision, but if you do choose to go to Midgard then you will remain a part of her life to the extent possible, and to the extent you and she desire. The details can be addressed when she reaches twenty. As for the initial decision, Dagrun, you need not decide now. If you join him, you will do so in one month's time. Geirmund Faldarson, do not be misled by my compassion for your innocent wife and child. Your exile will never be readdressed or reconsidered; it is irrevocable. Do you understand?"
"I understand, my prince. I'm sorry."
Loki ignored the apology. He'd heard enough of them. "Tonight, before you are taken to your cell, you will first be taken to the whipping post. I put great consideration into how many lashes you should receive, and what the condition of them should be. I thought it should represent the eighteen years of Baldur's life, or the number of years you kept your silence over the truth. But there's no real meaning in the number of times the whip strikes your back. You will receive one strong lash. You will not receive any healing. It will be left to scar. If anyone else ever sees the scar, you are required to explain why you have it. If it ever fades, you will notify Heimdall, and someone will come to administer another single lash without healing. You will bear this scar for the rest of your life."
He descended the steps again, and drew close enough to Geirmund to almost brush his nose. "You will never forget," he said. Everyone had probably heard, but those words were for Geirmund alone. "Take him away."
/
Giant gold star to "PerkyBird"! Yes, indeed, this idea for what would ultimately become Geirmund's punishment was planted back in Ch. 69 "Ideas." In fact we first learn of what Asgard would offer in return for the food aid through Geirmund himself, when he reports it to the Assembly meeting, before Frigga.
Previews for Ch. 211: Details-shmetails, a lesson on Australian history, a bit of "mirroring" on Jane's part, a change Loki doesn't want to see happen, and a twist Loki never expected.
Excerpt (this one was hard to come up with! and not particularly good as an excerpt, but, ha, here it is anyway):
A smile slid over Loki's face, chasing away the solemnity. "Did you not read the in-flight magazine?"
"In-flight…?"
Loki couldn't help a laugh at her incredulous look, but his mother's hand gripping his arm sobered him again. It was, after all, a legitimate concern Jane had raised. But it was not up to him to address it. He looked to Thor, who nodded.
