She cradled the bundle in her arms, pulling away the edge of the blanket to look at him. Round face, pink skin, blue eyes. This was the offspring of a Frost Giant? Looking down at him, his little brow creased and he started to wail. How long had he been left alone? Left abandoned by his own people? Was there a mother on that frozen world that mourned losing him? She watched her husband's retreating back, the slope of his war-weary shoulders. No. This was a child of Asgard. And she would call him Loki.
She found him with his face and hands pressed against the window, looking down at Father and Brother. They were mounting their horses, preparing for a ride. She called to him to return to his bed. Slowly, he climbed back under the covers and she tucked them around him soundly. She pressed her hand to his forehead, his skin still warm from fever. She bade him eat the broth she had brought for him, as only healthy boys could go riding and the sooner he was well, the sooner he could ride. He scowled stubbornly at the offending bowl before opening his mouth, allowing the spoon entry.
He was tucked into the corner, between his desk and the wall, a book balanced on his knees. She asked why he had not come to her sitting room as he did every afternoon after his lessons. He kept his head down, a curtain of black strands hiding his face, eyes staring at the page but not seeing. Her silk dress pooled as she knelt in front of him. A mother's touch tipped his chin up and a tear slipped free from the bruised and swollen eye. Ashamed, he looked away. A gentle hand on his cheek brought him back to her and she smiled softly, drawing him into her arms.
He winced as his brother slapped him hard on the back, congratulating him on their victory. Joined by Sif and The Warriors Three, the Thunder God's cheering roar of triumph echoed through the palace halls. Jovially, they marched onward to a glorious feast. Loki trailed behind, the hidden wound in his side throbbing. Ahead, he saw them all bow clumsily in their revelry to someone unseen. Gliding toward him was his Mother, all silk and golden gems. He straightened as best he could, denying the pain. Respectfully, he nodded to her and she to him as she pressed something small into his hand. A smile and a wink as she continued on her way. Loki looked down. In his open palm lay a smooth, flat stone. He turned and watched her serenely walk away, curious how she knew that was exactly what he needed.
She hooked her arm into his as they waited for their cue to enter the Great Hall. She knew he felt the disappointment of being the second son. The spare son. But she still told him how proud she was of him, how he would be his brother's confidant when advice was needed, that he would balance out his brother's eagerness with temperance and patience. He smiled at her and she knew there was mischief on his mind. Trumpets sounded and they walked forward. She hoped whatever Loki had planned for today would not disrupt his brother's coronation too much.
Through the glow of the healing chamber she could see the hurt etched plainly on his face. This was not how she had ever wanted him to find out. Odin had steadfastly refused to ever tell him and she knew this would be a blow for Loki, ever the outsider. When the advisor entered the chamber, her heart froze. Loki's hands hovered over the staff. Her words were encouraging, a gentle push so that he may see he was able to do this. His knuckles were white around Gungnir, his face a mix of awe and disbelief. His confidence wavered but she would solidify him with a new title. King.
The light from the explosion still dotted her vision as she ran through the palace. Through the Great Entry she saw a father and son walking together. Her steps slowed as Thor put up a hand and called to her. She stopped. There should be three of them. Why aren't there three of them? Her eyes widened in horror, realizing where her son had gone. Odin reached for her and she swung his hand away. Her arms wrapped themselves around her. Around the womb he did not come from, around the breast he did not feed from. Sobs wrenched themselves from her body, chasing after her son, lost in the void.
An immortal's years speed by so quickly at times. But these two mortal years dragged for the Queen of Asgard. And then he was there. A liar's tongue and a trickster's hands bound by Odin's magic, his shoulders remained strong and squared. She went to him and he turned his bruised and bloodied face from her. She cupped his cheek, feeling the cool metal that silenced his silver tongue. He tried to jerk away but she was stronger than him now. A mother whose son had been returned. No force could overtake her. She pulled him down into her embrace, arms wrapping tightly around him as he buried his face into her neck. He sagged against her, relenting, and made a sound in his throat. She knew the word he could not speak. Mother.
There was an uneasy truce between the two sons and, often, when one travelled to Midgard, the other followed. She began to suspect it was not out of brotherly love that Loki made so many trips to the mortal world. He did not often speak of Thor's betrothed, still holding on to a small amount of dislike for the young woman who had changed his brother so. But when he spoke of the woman's friend, Darcy, he would smile to himself and shake his head. She asked him to explain this, but he claimed it was nothing of import.
She was petite but full. Dark but fair. And she said such peculiar things. The Queen knew immediately why Loki took a liking to her. Frigga watched the couple as they sat across from one another at the feasting table. They had already created a silent, subtle language with each other, all smiles and glances. The din in the hall drowned out whatever words they shared from the queen. Darcy told a story with her hands and when she had finished, roars of laughter echoed throughout the hall. The queen saw how Loki laughed and thought she was losing her son again. But this time, for a mother, it was in the most pleasant way possible.
Loki pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves nervously, adjusting the golden vambraces, tugging at his pauldrons. Frigga lay her hands upon his, stilling them. She ran her hands over his shoulders, settling the folds of his title cloak, letting it drape freely behind him. His eyebrows were knitted in worry. Oh, her dear boy. She reminded him of his love for Darcy, of Darcy's love for him and he calmed. He posed a question to the queen: did she love Darcy? Of course she did. She had given the Queen of Asgard her son back.
Round face, pink skin, blue eyes. Frigga held the newborn baby close, cooing to him as he mewled. Loki mirrored his mother, another bundle in his arms, identical to hers. He joked nervously about having two little beings made up of him and Darcy, Ragnarok must be soon. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. They are beautiful and perfect, she told him, just like their father and they will be loved just as deeply. His expression changed, calm and accepting. He nodded at her sage words, kissed her cheek and whispered his thanks.
A/N: Massive thanks to Sadirapookie for the challenge. I've never taken part in a writing challenge...so it was a fun exercise to see what I could do when pressured. The reason there are 12 drabbles is to represent the 12-pointed crown The Empress is sometimes depicted wearing. She is considered the "mother" figure and how the card is read can have LOTS of different meanings, but the nurturing, caring mother is the most prominent.