The sun never shone here quite like she had on Asgard, not even like she had over Midgard. Her rays never seemed to reach through the clouds, the days were impossibly short, as harsh as the inhabitants of this frost-bitten realm. It was the perfect place for banishment; so far from the warm civilisation he had grown up in, so devoid of any kind faces. No matter how long he remained here, be it eternity or longer, he could never find home or comfort here. Home was with the last kind face to have looked up him, the dear queen who had accepted him as her son, even knowing that a monster lurked skin deep.
She had been forbidden from the court all those seasons ago -if he could even trust his sense of time anymore- and unable to defend him where he could not for himself. His mind was still rattled then, vestiges of the Tessaract clinging to his thoughts, and his tongue turned to lead in his mouth. He thought nothing of his brother, could not even place if the would-be king stood in the room to watch the All-Father's judgement. He could only remember being so alone with no company but the raging torrent of his own mind, awash with fear and manic hatred.
No former love shone in the eye that Odin kept, no smile graced those thin lips. For a long time, the All-Father merely stared at his prostrate body, forced to kneel, his head bowed. When he finally spoke, the crashing thunder seemed to break Loki's eardrums.
Exile.
Loki expected death. He deserved no less, truly, and whose kind words drifted into Odin's ear like a tune of a songbird, granting what little mercy the god of gods possessed? He thought briefly of being stripped of his power, of being hurled through space to Midgard as Thor had been, but no such fate awaited him.
Odin led his prisoner himself, and himself threw him to Jotunheim, for what better place to return something than the place you had taken it from?
For many months, Loki fought wars with himself as he tore the final threads of the Tessaract from his mind. He was nothing but hatred for a long time. As the days continued, he softened, knowing there was no day when he could see the golden curls and warm smile of his mother, there was no day he would hear kind words spoken in his ear. No love was left for him.
He lived in fear of the jotunn, and eventually, stopped trying to maintain his Asgardian disguise. Odin left him here to his people, those people who had abandoned him as a child and hunted him now. He lived each day in fear of the one to come, cold and tired and lonely.
Eventually, even the threat faded and his hatred of his own skin wavered. He was never happy, but he was alive.
At times he would look up to the sky, imagining that he could place were Asgard was, imagined his brother on the throne, ruling the golden realm with a gorgeous consort by his side. By now they would have had children. Would they be strong like their father? As hot-tempered? Would they be as beautiful as their mother ought to be? Loki wondered if Thor told his children about his lost brother, or if he had become a tale whispered among children who stayed up too late, the mad prince of Asgard, the monster from Jotunheim, who had once threatened the life of the All-Father and the rightful heir.
It was one night during his dreams that he finally broke. The night was cold, cold even for the realm of the Frost Giants. The wind was biting and snuck through cracks that weren't even there. It chilled him and woken him from sleep, but his mind remained hazy. He was there, he was there. Loki stumbled out into the storm, following the crunching footsteps of the king, waiting for him to speak again. But eventually he realised that there was no forgiveness to be had. Thor had not come to him, granting him pardon, Frigg had not send her eldest son to him with his favourite wine, Odin had not a smile for him still. Too many nights dreaming of repentance he could not have, of treasures he could not claim, had worn through the thin defences he had left, and he lied himself down into the soft snow, unable to move his body.