So this is my take on the 'Loki Redemption' fic cliché. But don't let that deter you, because I'm going to try my hardest to make this something worth reading. And maybe possibly actually FINISH it (something which never happens). Just as a bit of extra info, Loki's plot is the main one but the other Avengers have got their own sub-plot running along too and eventually they'll join up, so hopefully you'll stick around long enough for that to happen. Also: no shipping asides from the odd throwaway reference to the canon ones. For now. But anyway, enjoy!

"Father, please…I beg of you, you must not be too unforgiving with him…"

Odin looked at the concerned face of his eldest – some may say only – son, but did not speak. He had too many things to consider to waste time with the spoken word.

It was his decision what happened to Loki now. Some people, like Thor, pitied him. They thought he could still be saved, brought back to the troublemaking but well-meaning soul that had grown up within the walls of their palace. But others would be all too happy to see his head on a pike after what he had done, both to Asgard and to Midgard.

Those who wanted Loki dead were the majority. And, while Odin usually went with the majority to keep Asgard happy, he knew within himself that he could not kill Loki. He could not sentence his youngest son to death. He could not destroy the last shred of hope he saw when he looked into the eyes of his family. It would be barbaric, no matter what the crime was and no matter how high the death toll had been. An alternative punishment had to be found, something that would either teach a harsh lesson or a kindly one. Perhaps both…

"It is too soon to be making decisions yet, Thor," Odin told him, after a long silence. "It is a matter that must be discussed with all of the Aesir and Vanir."

"I understand," Thor nodded gravely. "Will Midgard get any say, after what he has done to them?"

"Loki is of Asgard and it is Asgard that will punish him. It would be unwise to involve Midgard in affairs at this early time."

"Yes, Father. That is all I wished to say…"

There was an uncertain edge to Thor's tone. He was lying. There was more he wanted to say, but had the self control not to say it. Odin commended him for this, but wondered how long it would stay that way. There were some words that could not remain unsaid.

Heavy. Isolated. Silent. These were the first three words that came to mind when within Loki's prison. The cell was the only one of its kind, at the very bottom of the harshest underground prison Asgard had to offer. There were no other cells around it, and no guards in front of it. Food and drink weren't required due to the nature of the magic woven into it, and this same magic was what inhibited Loki's.

It constantly pressed down on him, never wavering or letting go. The air was permanently thick and dense; it was like holding up the sky. So strong was its force upon him that even the simplest of movements – standing up, walking around, stretching – made him dizzy beyond belief. So for the past month – perhaps a week, perhaps a year – he had been sitting in the corner in complete silence apart from the rare occasions when Thor appeared. He never stayed long, always chased off with venomous words and threats. Loki didn't want to talk to him, or to anyone.

He didn't regret what he had done nor was he angry at his failure. He wasn't anything. He didn't feel anything, he didn't do anything, he didn't think anything. He physically wasn't anything other than existing. That was the only thing he could do now. Be.

He thought – in the few times when he thought – that this would be his punishment. He was wrong.

After so long away from any living creature, when four huge guards marched in and hauled him to his feet he didn't know how to react. At first he did nothing, then he tried to resist, then he quickly gave up as one raised their fist. He behaved after that. Whatever was about to happen was probably going to be important, since it was actually happening. He'd felt as though the world had forgotten him. He'd certainly forgotten the world. He felt disorientated.

The first thing he felt when he was marched outside was a choking, drowning sensation coupled by intense agoraphobia. The spell. That weight. Lifted. He could breathe again. Fresh air. He could walk without feeling faint. He could hold his head up without fear of breaking his neck. He could – he could do magic. They'd not cuffed him.

He frantically tried to conjure something, but the magic that flowed in his veins was still sluggish from disuse. He could feel that it was there, but it was barely responding. No magic just yet. Perhaps he was going to have it explained to him when he arrived at wherever he was going.

He didn't know how to react to all the wide open space around him, and even less so to the people that stopped and stared as he was led through the corridors of Gladsheim, so it was perhaps fortunate that he was almost entirely blinded by the sunlight. It was so much more intense than the dim light within his cell. It was painful to absorb, and yet if he shut his eyes it made no difference. He had to be dragged part of the way when it got too much, but then his vision slowly returned and he continued onwards.

Eventually they arrived in a room he had come to know well - the largest in all of Gladsheim, the symposium. Whenever a major event occurred, whether it be the arrival of a mason with a magical horse or the theft of Thor's hammer, all the gods and goddesses of Asgard would gather under its roof to discuss the matter. Many of Loki's best ideas had been conceived whilst listening to their bickering, as well as most of his worst ones. The latter tended to end badly for him, and each step he took he got the feeling that whatever awaited him now wasn't going to end well either.

In the largest seat – the throne, perhaps – sat Odin. On his left was Frigga, on his right an empty chair that was probably Thor's. Loki couldn't bring himself to look at them any more than he could the others. Most of them had hated him since he'd gotten old enough to walk, usually with good reason – almost every major figure in Asgard had been the victim of a Thor/Loki prank combo at some point. However, he was not here this time due to a child's prank…

"Loki," said Odin. Loki didn't look up from the floor. "After great discussion your punishment has been chosen."

Which meant that whatever was coming would be far worse than the cell. Despite himself, his knees started to go weak, partially from the fact they had been so little used and partially from the fact that he wasn't looking forward whatever Odin said next.

"We have elected in favour of your banishment to a foreign realm…"

Banishment? To where? Would he be cast into the frozen wastes of Niflheim? Tossed into the fiery plains of Muspellheim?

"…after being stripped of your powers. All of your powers."

Not as if he hadn't been getting used to that anyway.

"You may earn them back, but only through work in the favour of good."

Did he mean good as in pointlessly wasting his energy while other people came out on top because of it? He'd rather be without…

Any other dry thoughts were cut off, as well as almost everything else. Odin was removing his powers, all of them, all at once. It was not quite pain but something similar, and when added to the mixed feelings after being brought back out into open air it didn't help him feel any better. That was hardly the point, however. Whatever Odin said next was drowned out by the sound of the blood rushing around his head, followed by the feeling of the world dropping away around him and he was left falling through a void, not for the first or last time.

When he regained consciousness every part of him was stiff and cool. His eyes felt like they had been glued shut, but slowly his other senses started to reawaken. He could feel…something soft. He was lying on his back on something soft. Not altogether bad so far. He could hear…a mechanical kind of thrum and the sound of voices, too slurred and echoey and distant for him to make out. There was life here – that could be good or bad depending on what kind of life. He could smell…cleanliness, something that was hard to explain. Slightly acidic and slightly unpleasant, but not entirely disgusting either. Still so far so good. He couldn't taste anything, but his mouth was so dry it was painful if he swallowed.

He didn't attempt to move for a while, letting each of his senses slowly become fully operational. Gradually the voices became louder and clearer, and he had almost put his finger on why they sounded familiar when a much closer one said:

"Sir, I believe he is regaining consciousness. His temperature is just point two degrees from the ideal."

…Midgard? Odin sent him to Midgard? Surely, the Allfather wouldn't be so stupid as to send him to the place he just tried to take over?

…then again, Odin had a reason for everything. Now he was worried.

"Hello, sir, can you hear me?" a male voice said. Loki opened his eyes briefly before shutting them again when the light shone in. Definitely Midgard.

"Would you mind telling us your name?" the man persisted.

"I will say nothing," Loki said venomously. Or wanted to. He was met with a deafening silence. He shot upright, hands to his throat. Nothing. No sound was emerging.

He was mute.

Most other chapters will be longer and probably more coherent - there was a lot of jumping around here and for that I'm sorry. But if you enjoyed it, leave a review and tell me why; if not, do the same! It's the only way you and I are ever going to improve.