Chapter I

Loki's footsteps, made heavier by the weight of his manacles, echoed through the throne room. He was dressed in little more than ragged peasant clothes, but he kept his head high, defiantly meeting the Allfather's gaze. A gaze filled with disappointment.

"Loki…" came Frigga's voice, still full of motherly concern.

"Hello, Mother. Have I made you proud?" Loki sneered, determined to hide from Odin that he still cared about his adopted mother.

"Loki, please-"

"Enough!" Frigga's words were silenced by Odin's command. "I will speak to the prisoner alone."

He cannot even bring himself to say my name, Loki thought bitterly. As if it would sully his tongue to utter it.

He buried his rage and instead smiled with mock sincerity, hoping to anger Odin.

"I really don't see what all the fuss is about," he said, with a flippant laugh. "I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god… Just like you."

"We are not gods," Odin replied, stern but controlled. "We are born, we live, we die – just as humans do."

"Give or take five thousand years," Loki smirked.

Odin let out a weary sigh. He had not expected any remorse from Loki, but he had hoped that perhaps, just perhaps…

"All this because Loki desires a throne."

There was something in his tone, something that suggested that such a desire was ridiculous, that made Loki's anger breach his façade.

"It is my birthright," he snarled.

"Your birthright was to die! As a child, cast out onto a frozen rock!" Odin spat out, before regaining his composure. "If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now, to hate me."

"If I am for the axe, then for mercy's sake, just swing it."

"I would have you feel the pain you have caused a hundredfold before the axe fell," Odin told Loki, his voice distorted by disgust. "Frigga's compassion is the only reason I have spared you that fate, and if you never atone for your actions, then you will never see her again! Living a while on Midgard made Thor worthy of his place on Asgard; Frigga hopes that in time it will do the same for you. You will learn what it is to be human, and you will redeem yourself against your past wrongs, or you will never return."

Loki stood, stunned. He had expected Odin to demand his life in payment for his actions, and had been prepared to give it. But this? This was humiliating, degrading. To be forced to live as a pathetic mortal, to be punished the same way as his arrogant, oafish adopted brother; this was the final insult.

"Take him to the bifrost," Odin commanded, refusing to look at Loki as he was dragged, struggling and yelling, from the throne room.

Loki fought against his restraints all the way out to the edge of Asgard, his composure shattering as he snarled and cursed. One of the guards clamped a hand around Loki's forearm, hard enough to draw a pained hiss from between his teeth.

"I will be watching you," Heimdall told him, emotionless as he activated the bifrost. "If you ever are worthy of returning, I will know."

And with that, Loki was thrown gracelessly into the bright lights, and cast out of Asgard.

Loki had travelled on the bifrost countless times before, but this was different; he was being buffeted about, out of control, edging towards unconsciousness as he felt himself fall violently downward. In a brief second, Loki swore he could make out an expanse of desert beneath him, and then all went black.

The disgraced prince of Asgard awoke to a blistering heat, the wind doing little more than stirring up the dry dirt. He did not know how long he had lay there, crumpled and unconscious, but a layer of dust clung to every inch of his hair and clothing. He tried to push himself to his feet, and cursed. A pain flared in his ankle and his head began to swim, black spots dancing across his vision. It took two more attempts before he was standing, unsteady on his feet. Besides his injured ankle and light-headedness, something else felt amiss. A sort of hollowness, the kind one felt when grieving. It was then that he noticed the thin gold band locked tight around his forearm. Hard as he tried, he could not remove the band, and as he read the runes engraved on its surface, a coldness settled in the pit of his stomach.

Loki concentrated and attempted his favourite trick, trying to summon an illusion in his own image. Nothing. He tried again and again, becoming exhausted with the effort of it, but his fears were confirmed; Odin had stripped him of his magic. The one thing Loki had that Thor did not, the one thing that could give him higher standing than his adopted brother – gone. But it was more than that – his magic was his connection to Frigga, the one thing that could make him feel like he was still her son, in spite of everything. And it had been taken from him.

He let out an anguished cry as he realised he had nothing left. His family, his birthright, his home, and now his magic. Even his identity had been stripped from him – he was not Loki Odinson, he never had been, but neither would he call himself a son of Laufey. He was Loki, son of none. An outcast.

Realising he had no other choice, Loki began stumbling through the desert, heading towards some distant hills. Perhaps he would find a Midgardian civilisation; perhaps he would die out in the desert. Loki wasn't even sure which would be worse.

The sun was beginning to set when Loki's legs gave way with exhaustion. He collapsed onto the dirt and lay there, still, unwilling and unable to get back up. He was only half-conscious, barely registering what was going on around him until he felt a pressure on the base of his skull, something hard and cold.

"You make any kind of movement I haven't told you to, and you're dead, got it?" came a man's voice, calm and yet threatening, and Loki came to the conclusion that he had some form of Midgardian weapon held to his head.

"Now get up, slowly," instructed the voice. Upon realising he was unable to stand, the voice issued an order and Loki was pulled to his feet.

The owner of the voice walked round to examine Loki, and swore in surprise. He looked both incredulous and angry as he spoke into a small black box.

"You're going to want to get the Director in on this one – we've got another Asgardian out here, half dead by the look of it, and Fury won't be happy when he finds out who it is."

Loki, who had been studying the man's face, suddenly realised why he looked familiar.

"On the floating fortress – didn't I kill you?" he asked.

The man met his gaze and stared him down.

"Yeah, you did. And I'm still pretty damn pissed about it." With that, the man brought his weapon round and struck Loki hard across the temple, sending him once more into unconsciousness.