"He did it again, he told me to go away."
A small, wet-eyed child sat in the lap of Frigga, her strong arms wrapped tightly around him. She kissed his long black hair, and said softly,
"Thor is only growing older, my son. He is finding friends, deciding what to do. He still loves you. He is still your brother."
Her motherly words always put little Loki's mind at perfect ease. He snuggled in tighter, forgetting the world in the sweet smell of his mother, Queen of Asgard. As the sad boy drifted to sleep, Frigga found herself in her own, perilous thoughts.
She worried about Odin, the prejudice, cruel father who only saw strength as a virtue. How she wished he would see greatness in Loki's stunning magic, wit, and love. She looked into the peaceful, pale face of the child in her arms and could only see destiny, power, and such sweetness that was so vulnerable.
"My child," she whispered into his ear, "You are forever mine, and none shall hurt you."