The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet. – Aristotle
The small, black-haired boy sat under a tree with his knees hugged against his chest, watching his father and older brother play at war. Father had no need to play, but Thor enjoyed his lessons, doubly so when they were taught by Odin All-father, the hero of the Jotunn wars. Loki had no talent for swordplay, and besides, he was still too young and too small. He lacked the husky layers of muscle that Thor seemed to have been born with. Loki Odinsson was slender and wiry, almost elegant in his build. Some of Thor's friends liked to tease him about his 'pretty hands' and the interest he took in magic. Loki narrowed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, twitching his slim fingers.
A gentle rustling of skirts behind him told Loki that his mother was nearby, and he scrambled respectfully to his feet. "My son," she chided, "why are you sitting here bespelling your brother instead of helping him?"
Loki grinned as Thor's artfully-executed footwork somehow failed in a tangle of limbs. Odin effortlessly avoided him and dealt his son a thwack across the rump with his practice blade. "Thor doesn't need my help," he shrugged. "He just needs to stop trying to impress people. And Father says I'm still too small to train for battle."
Frigga pursed her lips thoughtfully. She knew her husband's reasons for wanting to keep Loki away from warrior's pursuits until he was older—Loki was small for his age, though wiry and tough, but Odin's true concern lay in always making sure that their second child would not be placed in a position where he might break the spell that Allfather had inadvertently placed upon the infant, when he had first laid hands on Laufey's son. Without understanding what the charm was, they could not adequately guard against it unraveling.
And yet, Frigga foresaw the danger in leaving their second son out of the pursuits normally enjoyed by princes even younger and smaller than Loki, and without means of protecting himself as he grew older. She watched her husband and his heir sparring on the grass for a long time, then put her hand on Loki's shoulder. "Come inside with me," she said. "I could use the company, and it is time for your lessons."
Loki's solemn face brightened at that.
She sat him on a bench before the fire in her solar, with a silver bowl filled with water nesting in his cupped hands. There were various runes carved all along the inside of the rim. Frigga stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders. "Open your eyes to the infinite, my son. Now... what can you see?"
Loki concentrated. "Nothing," he said, after a long moment. "Just the water and the bowl."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Are you certain?" his mother pressed.
"Yes!" the boy insisted.
"You're not looking hard enough," said Frigga sternly.
"I am!" Loki lifted angry green eyes to the queen. "There is nothing in this bowl except water!"
"Boy, do you think I would waste my time teaching you to stare at a bowl of plain water?"
"No, but I—ow!" He flinched from the light whack on the ear. It didn't hurt, really, but his mother almost never struck him. "Mother," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady, "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, but there is only water in this bowl." Loki set his small jaw. "And n-nothing you say will convince me otherwise."
Frigga glared at her son... and then knelt and took the bowl from his hands and hugged him tightly. "Well done, Loki," she murmured, stroking his black hair.
He blinked. "Mother?"
She kissed his head then sat back, smiling gently at his confusion. "One of the most important things to understand about seidr is to always know what a thing truly is. Not to simply believe the evidence of your eyes, or what others tell you, but to trust your instincts." She folded her hand around his and touched his cheek. "No matter who or what is trying to convince you otherwise."
It was a lesson he never forgot, even when he was imprisoned in the caves below Asgard after his failure to conquer Earth, stripped of his magic and his voice and most of his clothes and left alone with his bitterness. His wrists and ankles and waist were bound tightly with the roots of an ancient oak tree, whose power and strength he could feel pulsing against his skin but could not touch. The cold of the caves was nothing to him, and in the darkness, Loki was left only his memories, slowly shaking free of the poison that had bound them out of his reach.
"We were raised together. We played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?"
"I remember a shadow..."
The water dripped unseen from the rocks; he could hear water rushing somewhere just out of his reach, and his parched lips longed for a drink. His stomach growled and whined for one of Idunn's apples, his eyes screamed for just a scrap of light. He was sickened by shadows.
"You are our son, Loki..."
The last untainted memory he had was of falling into the abyss and waiting for his father to save him, for his brother to leap after him. His mind flew backward from that moment: always trying to become a warrior to rival his brother and never quite succeeding, never living up to the image of Thor that he thought was what Odin wanted, and always having one person to be proud of him and love him, regardless of everything.
"Your ambitionis little, born of childish need."
"Trust your instincts. No matter who or what is trying to convince you otherwise."
"Open your eyes to the infinite. What can you see?"
Loki let out a painful sob. "Mother!" He had no tears to cry, but the frigid water of the cave dripped on his face and left icy tracks down his cheeks. "Mother..."
He felt a gentle hand stroke his tangled hair. "My son... my son."
The tree roots loosed their hold on him and Loki fell forward into his mother's embrace.