A/N: This story is the result of my desire to explore what happened to Loki after he dropped from the Bifrost,. It's inspired in part by a couple of Tom Hiddleston quotes regarding where Loki might have traveled between Thor and The Avengers, and where he is now - emotionally - as he sits in Asgardian prison. These quotes will be added in a footnote at the bottom of this chapter.

The fic follows two timelines; crossing between 'present day' Loki, imprisoned in Asgard, and flashbacks of what befell him between the first Thor film, and The Avengers. As annoying as big chunks of italic font can be, that's the most effective method I can think of to separate flashback scenes from present day. Some of this story will reference Thor The Dark World prelude comics and the TTDW trailer.

This fic is not an attempt to justify what Loki did in the Avengers - I fully love BAMF!Loki but bear in mind there will be lots of feels and angt in this story, particularly where it is told through Frigga's POV. Also, I figure rock bottom is a pretty miserable place to be. No matter how bad-ass you are.

THE HAND THAT FEEDS

- part one -

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Technicolor energy poured brilliant and churning over the broken edge of the Bifrost, rushing like an angry river into a swirling vortex far below. A beacon in the star-studded darkness. The vastness of the universe tugged at Loki's feet as he dangled over the infinite abyss, his once-brother's mercy and their combined grasp upon Gunthr all that kept him from falling.

Terror clutched at Loki's chest at the thought of tumbling into that chaotic whirlpool of time and space, and his grip on the cool metal staff tightened. With a desperate glance upwards, his eyes met the straining face of Thor before settling with shock on his once-father - awoken too soon from the Odinsleep.

The Allfather towered over them; his grasp upon Thor's leg the anchor that kept both sons from falling. Loki stared wildly, his expression pleading and disarmingly genuine. "I could have done it Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!"

The words tore ragged from Loki's throat as he searched his father's face for approval - or absolution - but the steady gaze that met his eyes was one only of grave sadness, and he recoiled in bitter despair at the sight of a father who already mourned a son lost.

"No Loki."

Those two damning words fell from Odin's lips like lead ballasts and Loki felt the weight of all he had wrought crush upon him, as the horror of his betrayal reflected in the Allfather's world-weary gaze.

He had made a grievous error, and the man who'd raised him as a son now looked to him as a stranger.

A monster.

In that moment, Loki understood with piercing clarity that everything had changed. Everything he thought to hold dear was now taken from him. He was neither of Asgard nor of Jotunheim. He had destroyed his relationship with those who had once been family, slain his real father... He had nothing.

He was nothing.

The smooth metal of Gunthr was a lifeline beneath his clenched fingers, but it belonged to him no more - it never had.

And so, he let it go.

The swirling energy of the Bifrost drew him in as he fell away from the bridge, but it was Thor's open-mouthed scream that followed him down. He clung then, to the cold comfort of his brother's foolish stubborn love.

He hadn't lost everything dear to him after all.

The anguished echo of Thor's cry chased him into the kaleidoscopic void.

But it couldn't bring him back.

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Long-lived though they were, even Jotnur half-breeds had need of air to breathe. Soon after plummeting into the wormhole, Loki fell into unconsciousness as the air was ripped from his lungs. He could have fallen for eternity - until deep space caused his body to freeze and shatter - were it not for the space rock he collided into at such force it smashed his immortal self back into awareness. Of sorts.

Loki awoke with a wretched gasp torn from lungs that could draw no breath. In a fluster of panic he clutched at his throat; frenzy taking over as his chest clenched hard around hammering heart, and each sucking breath only suffocated him further. His lungs felt squeezed tight and burning. There was no air, no matter how deep he tried to breathe. Nothing but a terrible pressure on his chest which grew and grew with each sour chalky mouthful of nothingness that he dragged into his lungs.

Surrounded by darkness, he had no idea if he was alive or in Hel, nor sense at that point to care either way, but as his oxygen-starved brain bordered hysteria and threatened darkness, instinct drove him to cast an old familiar spell.

Reaching into the emptiness before him, Loki's hands twisted and pulled to perform a mid-air weave. It was no easy spell to work - no simple trick of illusion - but his hands fell into the rhythm of the weave as he built an invisible casement around his body. With lungs squeezed close to shattering, he bound his spell together with a flick of his wrists. It was done.

The air he drew in was unnatural - wrought by magic - but it filled his lungs nonetheless and he almost cried with joy as the crushing pain eased within his chest.

Then before the ache of his lungs could fully recede, the ground beneath his feet began to shift as great fissures opened up around him.

Limbs forced to take action, Loki clawed for purchase upon the shifting metal and ice, stumbling upon the heaving swell beneath him. The surface broke in great chunks just as fast as he could throw himself forward, tilting and rolling until he began to slide. Faster and faster, his body smashed and ricocheted against jagged rocks torn free from their age-old lodgings. Until finally the ground fell away entirely, and he was once again tumbling into a void.

"Loki, please, speak to me." Frigga's voice was soft and fringed with sorrow. "Won't you at least look at me?"

Without response, Loki remained in his position. Cross-legged upon the floor of his brightly lit cell with his back against a wall. Hands clasped and resting lightly upon his ankles. Eyes fixed on a space mid-way to the floor. An occasional blink. The regular shallow inhalation of breath. No more than that.

Never more than that.

Gone was the man who had entered this prison cell with the proud bearing of a Prince; refusing to be cowered. Gone was the man who had cast scornful eyes over his jailers - those he had once called family - as he'd stood supercilious and strong despite his wounds and his reason for being there.

Time and isolation had darkened the blight upon his soul and drawn him inwards. His memories he would not share, even to ease the burden of bearing them.

The Queen's heart ached to see her son so lost within himself - so closed up, even to her. She had borne witness to his simmering rage when Thor returned him to Asgard, bound and gagged. She'd felt his humiliation as if it were her own, even as she knew his actions warranted such harsh arrest.

Still, he was her son, and so she had thrown her arms around him in the hope a mother's love might lend strength to his fractured soul. And though he'd dropped his head against her shoulder and released a shuddering breath, his eyes were hard and haughty as he raised them to her own; glinting with a coldness that chilled her to the core.

Odin had entered the chamber then, demanding her absence. But Frigga remained in the shadows, to be sure her son's neck remained clear of the gallows. With words like stinging barbs, Loki had taunted the Allfather, and as her heart cried out for her foolish boy to quell his lying tongue, she knew then, the truth behind his words.

He was asking the Allfather for the release he had not been granted when he'd plunged from the Bifrost.

He was asking him to finish what he had not been able to do himself.

But Odin had dealt a punishment that spared their son of death and yet, in Loki's tormented eyes, was by far a crueler fate. And though Frigga had wept for her son, she had not appealed for clemency.

She had seen that coldness in Loki's eyes; she had felt the dark chill of his blackened soul and she knew - she knew - he would never again be the boy he once was. This deadly, vicious man was a part of him now. All she could hope for was time to heal the wounds Thanos had inflicted upon his soul. And then maybe, maybe…

Returning her thoughts to the present, Frigga raised her palm towards the invisible force of energy which permitted no exit or entrance by any except those whose very blood had gone into its creation. A latticework of golden charms hummed into being at her proximity. Although she had not been a part of its spell-casting. she felt the magic within her rise up in recognition and sing within her veins.

"I will not give up on you Loki. I cannot believe you are lost to me - to us."

Still, Loki did not respond, and reluctantly she withdrew her hand, knowing the signature of her magic upon this shield would only alert Odin to her presence in this place.

She was no weak woman to be quelled before the might of a King, but she knew better than to try her husband on some subjects - not when the Odinsleep had done so little to return him to his vitality.

Yes, Loki was one such subject best left unspoken. For now.

So Frigga kept her sojourns hidden from her husband - for the sake of his failing health. She knew how to cloak herself from the all-seeing eyes of Heimdall just as skillfully as her sorcerer son. And although she was by nature a soft-spoken gentle woman, she also knew how to strike the fear of something worse than death into the hearts of the prison guards. The wroth of Odin himself was worth risking for the guards, to escape the fate she promised if they dare tell of her visits.

"Do you remember the time you fought with your brother over an orphaned fawn, while on a hunting party with your father?"

Frigga chose her words carefully, wanting not so much to share a moral-driven tale of sibling rivalry and unconditional love, but to assess Loki's reactions to her references of kinship.

As she expected, Loki gave no response. Closing off a sigh, Frigga continued, knowing that now she had begun to weave the tale, they would see it through to the end. Whether Loki wished it or not.

"Do you remember that argument? How your brother wanted to bring home its skin, while you pleaded with your father to spare the wee thing, and allow you bring it home for a nanny goat to raise alongside its own?"

Fresh affection rose up within Frigga at the memory of how eager her youngest son had been to nurture the same creatures Thor would prefer to see mounted on a wall. Though in hindsight, she couldn't help but wonder if Loki's motives were borne out of concern for the animals, or desire to thwart his brother's triumphs.

"Then your father tried to tell you the only nanny goat with milk to spare was the bad-tempered Herdís and she was just as likely to eat the fawn than allow it to suckle."

Frigga laughed then, and the sound was so ill-matched with the surroundings yet so filled with warmth, even the guard who stood at the prison entrance tilted his head towards her and broke rank with a smile. But the Queen only had eyes for her son, who seemed to be sitting stiller than ever, if such a thing were possible.

"Of course, you would have milked the goat yourself, and butted it with your own head if it dared complain."

Frigga paused in her story and reached towards the barrier once more. Loki's demeanor had changed. An alertness had crept over his face. It was subtle, so subtle, but she'd studied his carefully-schooled expression enough times in recent weeks to gauge the slightest change.

"But while you and Odin argued, your brother took matters into his own hands. A long day of hunting with so little reward had left Thor with thought only for his stomach, and so he -"

"My Queen?"

Frigga pursed her lips. She'd heard the footfalls but chosen to ignore them, hoping the palace guard would have the courtesy to allow her story to finish before announcing Odin's displeasure.

"The Allfather requests your presence."

The Queen raised a delicately-shaped eyebrow. "Oh, does he now?"

Fixed expression faltered beneath stern stare. The guard fumbled, suddenly glad he wasn't the Allfather.

With a small smile and shake of her head, Frigga returned her attention to Loki, starting in surprise to find he'd turned his gaze upon her; a faint frown breaking through the smooth veneer of apathy.

They locked eyes, neither moving until finally, Frigga could take the silence no longer. Slowly she rose to her feet, knowing the story would have to continue another day after all.

"At least you don't look at me with hate." Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. "That I could not bear."

Loki lowered his gaze then, but not before his frown smoothed out; to be replaced by something that was at once worse and better than the blank wall of indifference she long hoped to bring down, brick by brick.

He had always struggled to hide his deepest thoughts from her, and she knew that if any trace of the son she had known resided in him still, it could only be a matter of time before he let something slip.

Later she would wonder if it was a good or bad thing, that when Loki's impenetrable guise finally dropped, the visage that replaced it was one of raw and unrelenting despair.

As Loki stood manacled and humiliated in await of Odin's judgment, Frigga kept vigil beside him. A mother's embrace he refused to return. Still, she rested her hand against his smooth cheek in wonderment of how a son, so lost, could be found.

"Be strong." She breathed, as she bound all the love and strength of her own heart into those two whispered words.

But as a footstep fell behind her, and Loki's gaze hardened at sight of the man who'd raised him as his own, she realised that although her youngest and most beloved of sons stood before her, he was yet to find his way home.

TBC...