This fic was a pain and a half to write, but one that almost demanded to exist. Especially before Ragnarok came out, so here it is. I'll leave a more detailed explanation for the inspirations that lead to the fic in the end notes, because of spoilers.
Trigger warnings for: Stillbirth, Mental Instability, Gaslighting, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobia, Misgendering, Fantastic Racism, Odin's A+ Parenting, Mind Rape, Suicide Attempt, Child Death, Hurt No Comfort, Sexism, Violence
None of that stuff is very graphic, but better safe than sorry.
I hope you enjoy!
One for sorrow
The room Odin enters is hushed; the normal sounds of the royal apartments are subdued and muffled in deference to what has happened. Normally bright and airy, Frigga's chambers are now veiled in dim light, the curtains drawn, the sickly sweet smell of sweat and blood blanketing the air. Servants and midwives scurry around him, shying from his blood and gore spattered armor. Only Eir dares approach him, frowning at the ruin of his face.
He dismisses her attentions for now and instead asks after his wife. He can see Frigga huddled on her bed, her form curled over another. So small, so still. Too still. He sighs, already knowing the answer to his questions. The mood in the rooms would not be this somber affair otherwise.
"She has lost much blood, my king. But she will recover, in time," Eir is quick to get to the point, as collected as she ever is. Even so, there is a new tightness along the line of her eyes and mouth, a grim acknowledgment of the sorrow that has fallen upon the royal family.
"The… the babe?" Odin stumbles at the question. Even he is affected by this. Such a joyous potential, an anticipation long awaited thwarted moments before its fulfillment.
They watch as a midwife approaches the queen, gently coaxing her away from the still form and taking it away. She wraps it in a blanket, taking great care not to twist its limbs or head.
Eir merely shakes her head. Odin closes his one remaining eye. Just for a moment. He cannot afford anything else. Too many Aesir births end this way; considering their low fertility, even one such death is a tragedy. Frigga has suffered two.
"Leave us," Odin says instead, "But only to the outer chambers. I might have need of you later."
Eir bows and obeys, rushing the remaining servants out. With a thought, Odin seals the outer chambers. It will be easier later if they do not scatter if his plan is to work. He will do nothing without his wife's consent, especially now. A part of him, a part that makes him loathe himself the smallest bit, even thinks this will make it easier. A solution to both their problems.
Frigga does not open her eyes when he finally approaches the bed. He knows she is not asleep, for her shoulders shake. A tear slips down her cheek. Her hair is a fright, her skin blotchy red and deathly pale in parts from the effort of childbirth, and her entire form is soaked in sweat from her great effort. And she is still the most beautiful woman in all the Realms.
Gently, making sure to not jostle her or his burden, Odin sits down next to her on the bed. He touches her cheek with his left hand, wiping the tear away.
"My love, I have returned from the war. Asgard is victorious," the words, which should have been triumphant, bellowed loudly for all of Asgard to hear escape his lips in a whisper. They taste like ashes in his mouth, bitter and weary.
Frigga opens her eyes. She startles a bit when she sees his face and he can feel the wince that threads through her at the sudden movement.
"It is nothing. A price I gladly paid to have arrived by your side again safely." He is quick to reassure her. Frigga tries to smile, but it is a fragile thing, quickly gone.
"Would that I could say the same of my own endeavors, husband. Our baby -" her voice breaks and she looks down. She reaches for his hand and he lets her take it. Her grip is like a vice against his fingers.
"I know," is all he says. They stay like that for a long moment, mourning what might have been. Finally, Frigga stirs.
"You are still filthy, Odin." It is a weak jest, but it heartens him. This is proof that they will get past this, whatever comes later. His wife is a strong and worthy queen.
"I felt this could not wait," he says. He opens his mouth, but falters instead of continuing. He had meant to bring another gift into her life, a companion for his son. Now she could well feel it is just a cheap replacement.
Before he can continue, the babe under his cloak finally wakes and moves. The quiet gurgle from it is enough to draw Frigga's attention. She grips his hand almost painfully and he can see a terrible sort of hope in her eyes.
Odin shrugs back his cloak to reveal the treasure he has stolen from Jotunheim. The babe blinks at the sudden light, red eyes narrowing and mouth scrunching into a displeased moue. Its coloring has faded back into blue during the journey. Odin frowns. It had been the babe's own talent that had shifted it; while a remarkable talent for an infant, it was obviously still not capable of maintaining it for long periods. Odin will have to place a geas on it if his plans are to come to fruition.
"Help me sit up," Frigga says. Her eyes are still trained on the babe, wonder shining through. The determined set of the rest of her features stops him from arguing. He helps her prop herself up on the numerous pillows and acquiesces to her unstated demand without a word.
Eagerly, she reaches for the babe and holds it close. The moment she touches it, it once again shifts its skin to match Frigga's paleness. Its impending cries are soothed into nonexistence at Frigga's gentle touch and warmth.
"Oh," Frigga breathes, a wide smile breaking out on her face. The babe gurgles and smiles back, toothless gums showing. It seems Odin's momentary fears have been for naught.
"You have given me a great gift, husband. Another son."
Odin blinks. That's not quite how he has imagined this going. But he should not be so surprised at his wife's gentle heart. Especially now, after… After. Watching Frigga coo at the Jotun babe, something in him softens. Perhaps this shall help them both heal.
The babe starts to fuss despite Frigga's efforts. Before he can send it back to sleep or object, Frigga shifts her robe to reveal her breast, heavy with milk that had been intended for their child. The babe takes to it with gusto and soon contended sounds come from it. It must have been starving. Who knows how long it had lain there in the snow before Odin had come across it?
"What shall we name him? I know we had intended Baldr for -"
"No," Frigga's icy glare roots him to the spot. The next moment, she is back to smiling down at the child, gently stroking its head. Odin feels the sting of her rejection keenly.
"He is not Baldr. Baldr is… Baldr is gone. He should have another name, one all his own."
It would have made things much simpler to name the child Baldr, despite the ache it would bring them both until the grief fades. But perhaps his wife also has a point. He would not dishonor either child that way. One is not a replacement for the other; it would be unfair to both to name it so.
Odin watches them in silence for a moment, considering. Frigga is gentle with it, her every movement conveying how blessed she feels to hold it. Her strength is humbling. It makes him feel unworthy to have ever considered she might turn the babe away.
"Loki," he says, thinking of the way the babe had been as light as air in his arms when he had first picked it up and carried all the way back to Asgard. So quiet, so fragile, barely there and barely noticeable.
"Loki," Frigga repeats, her smile lifting the gloom of the room, "Hello, Loki. My son."
The babe only shuffles, its contented suckling slowing until it lets go and yawns. After Frigga burps it, it falls fast asleep against her, one pale hand clutching a lock of her golden hair.
It is not until Frigga is sure it is asleep that she looks back to him. For the first time since he showed it to her, she seems concerned.
"What shall we tell the people? They will not take a Jotun in the royal family kindly, especially not now."
Odin knows that truth all too well. Even had Asgard not been at war with Jotunheim, the people of Asgard would not have taken it well. It had taken centuries for them to forget Frigga's own origins - and Vanaheim was not a realm of beasts and monsters; it was also much more closely culturally, politically and physically tied to Asgard than Jotunheim.
"I do not wish you to worry about that. We shall present him as the child Baldr should have been; only Eir shall know the truth. The others who know what has happened here will be dealt with through vows and such."
It is a mark of the toll the day's events have taken on her that Frigga simply accepts this without argument. Good, that shall make what he has to do next much easier.
It will pain him to have to erase one son from history to keep the other safe, but it is something he will have to do for the good of all. Asgard will not accept a Jotun foundling in their midst and especially not after so many of their own had died fighting the monsters. Even now, Odin has heard stories of the terrible giants that have come to eat their children. Utter foolishness. Anyone with the barest knowledge of Jotnar knows that children are precious to them, even the least of them kept safe and protected from harm.
With a weary grunt, Odin rises and departs from his wife and the child. He has much to do to make sure Loki is safe. He flexes his right hand and summons Gungnir. His grip on the spear feels oddly clumsy with the knowledge of what he must do. He steels himself and tightens his grip. It is the right thing to do, and that assurance is all he needs to propel his feet out of the birthing room -
- and into the Vault.