He could not see their audience flinch, but he could sense it: a vague, dull wave of horror sweeping through the great vault of the throne room. As if they had hoped, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, that Thor was not bowed; as though after so many years of war, after all the spilling of blood and destruction of nearly everything of beauty and worth in Asgard, Thor would try some futile last-ditch act of rebellion and probably cost all of their lives, just to display himself like a barking dog on its chain: did they think he had learned nothing from his exile to Midgard, so long ago?

For he did not think it would be him that Loki killed, no. He would bind Thor, and then he would make him watch.

Finally there was nothing left but resignation.

Once the chamber had emptied, Thor stood resolute but leashed as surely as a beast, stumbling forward a step when Loki's fingers caught and jerked the chain. His eyes met his brother's briefly. This was a crossing into a life that Thor had never before imagined for himself, and yet there was in him an awakening towards the gleaming hunger in Loki's eyes, the fathomless, bottomless madness of his that nonetheless pulled at something aching and familiar within Thor's breast. How he has longed for this day. Thor swallowed and went beside him, and found himself in the chambers that would have been his if fate had spun differently. There was no audience here.

"Well, Loki." His voice was rough. "Are you now satisfied with what you have won?"