A/N: I promised everyone that I would write a sequel, and so here is the first chapter of Bridges to Cross. This is a continuation of The Space Between and deals with Loki's relationship with the people around him. I enjoy happy endings, so while this will definitely have some angst, it will have a happy ending. I promise that. Also, this is mostly bromance. I haven't finished this story yet, so posting it is kind of a risk, since I have a habit of not finishing things... But I will finish this, I promise. I also don't know where it's going. I know how it's going to be written and what the last chapter will be about, but not how it will end. So wish me luck.

As always, I hope everyone enjoys reading and I hope you review because I love knowing what you thought (even though it's not necessary).

The title is taken from "Which Bridge To Cross (Which Bridge To Burn)" by Vince Gill. A beautifully melancholy song-have a listen!

I own nothing because Marvel already owns it, and I certainly don't make any money; I'd quit my job if I did.


Bridges to Cross

1. Frigga


The chatter was too much for him. The mindless, ceaseless, increasingly loud chatter of heroes and hero-worshippers nettled away at his mind like a hammer against grindstone. He just wanted to get away, just for a moment, even though he had promised his mother he would attend the celebration. It was a quiet party compared to the way the hall was usually filled to bursting with Aesir, just family and intimate friends, just those who knew him and understood; just those who were willing to forgive and forget, he later told himself. Loki did not disillusion himself with the hope that his life would return to normal. He was neither blind nor stupid, and he saw the way the others looked at him when they thought he wasn't watching. He had seen Balder staring, had seen Sif hold back a laugh at his expense. His own father barely said a word to him…the man who had pretended to be his father.

Only Thor paid him any mind, but Loki thought that perhaps his brother could not help himself, as they had been seated right next to one another. At the thought of the smiling, blonde brute, Loki's heart softened a little. He couldn't blame Thor, or be angry with him at this moment. He owed his brother, more than he had ever been debt with another before, and he knew that now, at least, if there was one man in all the Nine Realms he could count on, it was the man who stilled believed himself to be his big brother. Loki dodged a rather exuberant slap aimed at his back by heavy-handed Fandral and quickly excused himself, for he just remembered he had left something important in his room and needed to fetch it, and please, don't everyone get up, he wouldn't be gone very long at all, just a few moments and please carry on with your feasting and drinking.

Loki left the party, slipping out through one of the side doors, as silent and stealthy as his own shadow. He left the palace altogether, swiftly descending its hundred steps and sneaking his way past the guards and into the stables. He felt comfortable there, especially when he could be near his son. Yes, his son, Sleipnir, an eight-legged horse. He had pocketed an apple from the table earlier and had been keeping a sharp eye out for the opportunity to escape; he knew he would not be missed and that the dapple colt would appreciate his presence more than those who falsely claimed to be his friend. After all, Thor was busy telling stories from their youth and the Warriors Three were constantly engaged in contests to see how much mead they could imbibe before passing out (the victor of which was almost always Volstagg); Sif and Balder were caught up discussing battle formations and sword fighting techniques, and Odin simply watched it all. The only person in the entire room whose eyes he had felt on his person the entire time was his mother's and she had only recently retired to her room.

Now he stood in the middle of the darkened stables and held his hand aloft, flames licking his fingertips from the small fireball he crafted to light his way. He was as alone as he could possibly be in that moment and it felt like a cold swim after a hot day. Loki walked down the stable hall, not making a sound and leaving no trail, even in the soft dirt of the ground. His light cast deep shadows as he walked, waking some of the more restless horses. A couple of them neighed gently, but none cared much that the Trickster roamed their home, and went back to sleep, flicking their tails against their broad bodies to discourage flies. The stall at the end of the stable contained his prize, and Sleipnir was already dancing about in a restless jig, whinnying shrilly. Loki hurried forward and put his light out, hushing the colt as he did so.

"Shhh, there, there," he said quietly, holding out his empty hand and smiling when Sleipnir pushed his velvety little muzzle right into the center of his palm.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get out to see you sooner," Loki apologized as he let himself into the stall. "Mother insisted I at least try to have some fun."

His tone clearly indicated that he had no fun at all while crammed into a spot between Thor and Fandral, and he eagerly shed his black jacket he had been encouraged to wear, spreading it on the ground and sitting, cross-legged, on top. He magicked his light into one of the empty lamps hanging from a hook near the wall, and it cast a nice, easy glow over the small stall. Sleipnir skirted around him, knocking against his back with knobby knees and sticking his nose into Loki's sleek, dark hair. He laughed, genuinely amused with his son's curiosity, and patted his fuzzy cheek. The colt banged his head against Loki's hand and clumsily lowered himself to sit down beside the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his mother. He stretched his long neck out across Loki's lap and heaved a sigh that was all too reminiscent of an overexcited child reluctantly laying down for a nap.

"I have brought you something," Loki teased, stroking Sleipnir's soft ears with one hand as he pulled the apple out of his jacket pocket. A knife appeared in his other hand with a flick of his wrist, and he slowly cut a small piece, careful not to give his son too much, as it would be bad for his stomach. Sleipnir sniffed at the piece of fruit and gingerly took it from Loki's fingers before crunching away.

Loki pet the colt's neck affectionately and watched him chew, a strange feeling of longing overtaking him suddenly as he was struck with the terrible What-If thought he had been ignoring for the past few days. Ever since he and Thor had returned from Jötunheim, he had wondered—briefly, mind you—what it would be like to care for, and raise a child that he himself had given birth to. The thought often brought forth a hollow feeling in his chest and Loki, feeling he already had more than enough to worry about without daydreaming about Things That Could Have Been, banished his son from his mind…only to have him return again at the end of the day to plague him in his already restless sleep.

He had tried to stay away from the stables the first couple days, after he had gifted Sleipnir to Odin. It was easier than facing the fact that he was frightened; did his son even realize who he was? Had his potential as a man been dulled by the guise of a dumb animal? If not, did he understand why Loki did the things he did, to protect him? Giving him away, to Odin no less, had been a last minute, cleverly devised idea, for it would allow him to be near his son for at least a little while longer, until who knew when. Thor, however, had asked him why he had given Sleipnir away, so readily and easily after swearing to never let him become a mere beast of burden.

"Which part of that did you think was easy for me?" Loki had asked in confidence. It had nearly killed him to hand over the rope end to the stable master, and his guilt consumed him until finally he could stand the shame no longer and snuck out to visit Sleipnir. The colt had been more than happy to see him, and he had been making a nightly trip ever since. Let the others laugh, he often thought while curled up on the ground with his son, as he was now. Few could brag about accomplishing what he had, and though Thor was the only one who truly knew, Loki felt proud nonetheless. Sleipnir was his son, and nothing was going to change that, not Hel, not Odin, not Ragnarok.

"Loki?"

He scrambled to his feet, slipped against the hay, and all but toppled over the door trying to get out of the stall before whoever called his name came around and saw him cuddled up to a colt. The surprise occurred when Frigga rounded the corner, still clad in her brightly colored gown and wearing her wheat-colored hair in a pile of curls atop her head. Loki hung against the door and lowered his head, cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment at having been caught by his own mother, and, in turn, having been startled by the kindest, most gentle woman he knew. Frigga held a finger to her lips as she floated forward, pushing a little laugh back at the sight of her son trying so hard not to melt into the ground.

"Did I frighten you?" she asked playfully, tweaking his nose when she reached his side.

"No," Loki mumbled, standing straight and refusing to meet her eyes. "I was just not…expecting anyone to come out here so late."

"And why wouldn't I come check on my son?" she asked, smiling up at him. "When I returned, you had left your seat. I was just worried…"

"That I had run off again?" he asked, swallowing a heavy lump in his throat.

Her hands were cool against his forehead, soft against his scalp. He wanted to fall asleep against her as he had when he was a boy, amid all her silken gowns, her sweet perfume, and her soft, smooth skin. He couldn't understand why she was being so kind to him, after finding out he had purposely tried to kill Thor. Of course he had heard the much used term that a mother's love endures all, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it, not under his circumstances. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, despite himself. She wasn't even his real mother…

"Yes," Frigga said, answering his question with a sad smile as she moved her other hand to his shoulder to brush away some hay clinging to his dark shirt. "I knew you like to come down here, though, so I followed…I hope you aren't angry with me, dear."

Loki took hold of her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm and then one against her wrist, as though he couldn't stop his body from disagreeing with the thoughts raging about in his mind. How was he supposed to just push her away? She was the one person, besides Thor, who had always been there for him, but unlike Thor Frigga didn't try to patronize. She listened. She was good at listening, and she let him speak; when she had something to say it was never negative and she always said her piece in a way that made him feel loved and accepted. She never treated him any different from Thor, but gave both of them equal amounts of her affection and attention. She used to say that Thor was her Sun and Light, but Loki was her Moon and Stars. He craved her love and even though he knew she wasn't his mother, she was someone he could still turn to in times of need.

"Never," he said, honestly, "I could never be angry at you. I was just…sitting with the colt. He is restless at night. I keep him company."

"Of course you do," Frigga said, setting her hand on the gate. "May I?"

Confused but not about to dissuade his own mother, he opened the gate for her and took hold of her hand, inviting her in. Sleipnir looked up and flicked his tail, rotating his ears as if contemplating getting up. Frigga looked down at him, the same gentle smile on her face, and when Loki looked at her he couldn't for the life of him figure out what was going through her mind. Why had she followed him? Surely not just because she was afraid he'd run away, and especially not since he had promised her he would stay and try to make things work out between himself and Odin; he had yet to speak with the All-Father though, and perhaps that was why she was there.

"He is beautiful," Frigga said, stretching her hand out toward Sleipnir. He stretched his neck in response and nuzzled the tips of her fingers, nibbling with thick, soft lips as he tested her. "Where did you find him?"

"On Jötunheim," Loki said, standing close.

His heart beat nervously in his chest. Surely his mother couldn't have known what happened in that icy, dark cave? Surely she wasn't that gifted? The way she pet Sleipnir did nothing to calm him. Her hand flowed smoothly from the colt's jaw all the way down his fuzzy neck and to his quivering little rump. His son seemed eager enough for her touch, as if he knew Frigga was his grandmother. The thought, though a little unsettling, meant at the very least that Sleipnir was more intelligent than he appeared. Loki swallowed and avoided the sharp, knowing gaze his mother fixed him with. If she were to look into his eyes, he felt, she would instantly see every thought he had ever had.

"A long way to find such a unique foal," Frigga said, kneeling in the hay to sit next to the adorable creature nibbling her fingertips. "Was he all by himself? What about his mother?"

I am his mother, Loki wanted to say. He was not alone and he was protected! I gave birth to him! Me! I did it!

The words would not form themselves on his tongue. He couldn't confess, no matter how much he yearned to. Why was she even here? She was not his real mother; why did she continue to pretend to care for him like this? Yet, he could not stop himself from thinking of her as his mother. He was confused, he supposed, confused and tired. Come morning, he would have an answer for everything. He sat down next to Frigga and set his hand against Sleipnir's side, patting him as if he were only mildly interested in the colt's origin.

"Alone," he said, "in a cave…I do not know about his parents."

"It's a good thing you found him, then," she said, "otherwise, who knows what would have happened to him?"

His skin prickled and his mouth felt dry. He was called Loki Silvertongue, the Liesmith, Sky-Walker, and Trickster, and he was known throughout all of Yggdrasil for his ability to talk and charm his way out of every situation…and yet with his mother sitting next to him, talking in that quiet, knowing way of hers, he felt his tongue turn to lead and his words become foolish. How could he expect to trick her?

"You always loved animals," his mother said, completely ignoring Loki's discomfort. "Do you remember? How you always used to bring them home after playing in the woods?"

"Yes…"

"Oh, child," Frigga cooed, her gentle laughter like the tinkling of tiny, fragile bells, "you used to scare me nigh unto death with some of the creatures you set in my lap. A toad, a serpent, a baby dragon…how you found some of them, I'll never know, but you always brought them to your room and tried to hide them from your father and brother, but not before showing me first."

She smiled and leaned over to pat Loki's cold, pale hand with her own, pink and warm.

"You are so unlike your brother," she soothed, "always so quiet and contemplative. You're shy and sweet, and you read so much. I remember when you used to hide yourself away in the library all night long. I'd find you curled up in a corner with a blanket, a candle, and a book."

She laughed happily at the sweet memory, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Loki forced a grim smile on his face.

"I had to carry you back to your room…. I miss those days. You were so small, and so easy to hold. Now I can scarcely wrap my arms around your shoulders, and you've gotten so very tall I have to stand on my toes just to kiss you."

Loki's smile dropped and he slowly extracted his fingers from her grip, drawing them between his legs, hiding them. Frigga watched passively, though her lips twitched downward for a split second.

"Sweetheart…"

"Why you would ever want to kiss me," Loki said softly, "I'll never know."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"That I am not your son," Loki said, refusing to meet her gaze. "You are not my true mother at all, and you know this. Everything is so different now; I do not know how to cope with it….Why do you pretend to care about these past memories as if nothing has changed between us?"

The look that crossed Frigga's face was, at first, indescribable. Her mouth parted in a tiny 'o' and her eyebrows knit as tightly together as if they longed to become one. For a moment, he was unsure why he had just said the things he had. To what purpose? Did he truly enjoy causing pain? He watched and steeled himself against the tears he suspected she would manufacture, but they never came. He should have known Frigga had more mastery over her emotions than that, for even when he had first returned she had cried for only a moment before putting on her best face and smiling for the remainder of the day. Now she merely looked at him with a confused, hurt expression that he didn't quite know how to interpret

"You truly believe that?" Frigga eventually asked, in a soft, melodic voice that made Loki pause. "That I am not your mother?"

"I am Jötun," he said, as though that was the final word in the matter.

"Yes," Frigga said, "you are. Do you think, then, that you deserve to be loved any less?"

"I do not deserve your love," he insisted, drawing himself up and raising his chin. "You have no need to show me affection, no reason to continue pretending I am of any relation to you…you think I don't know what it is you are trying to do, even now? You think I care anymore? After all I've done to you, lying, trying to kill your true son, destroying Jötunheim, threatening Asgard itself by granting the Frost Giants access…how can you justify your love, when all I've ever done is cause you pain?"

His voice grew louder and louder until he was near shouting. Sleipnir whinnied and rolled onto his side in his haste to retreat, but Frigga laid hold of the colt's neck and held his head against her, stroking his ears as she waited for Loki to come down from his self-induced rage. She remained calm and in control of her own emotions and didn't try to interrupt her son. Even she could see that this outburst was a long time in coming…perhaps long overdue. She also suspected that she was not meant to be the true receiver of his altogether cruel and thoughtless words, but she had neither the heart nor the desire to stop his ranting. She waited while he devolved into a more controlled diatribe, complaining about things that had happened too many years ago—times when he had received punishment and Thor had not, times when his achievements had been overlooked in favor of Thor's, and, of course, the fact that he was just as worthy for the throne, if not more so, because he was smarter and wilier and he was far more learned, perhaps not in the art of war and battle, but well enough to run an entire kingdom.

By the time Loki was out of breath his cheeks were red and his eyes were wet, but he still refused to let himself show any outward sign of weakness. He saw pity in her eyes, pity for him and he knew that he had not reached her. She still thought him to be some poor orphaned little boy who needed a mother. She thought him scrawny and pathetic and so much less than Thor. Why wouldn't she just give in and admit to him that she despised what he was? What more did she want from him? How else was he to prove his worthlessness to her? He would show her that he was not the weak little boy she seemed to remember with such fondness. He would remind her that he was not the smooth, creamy-skinned child she had coddled and nursed as though she had given birth to him.

Without really thinking, he summoned his magic and exhaled slowly; his breath turned to mist and the temperature in the barn dropped suddenly. Frost formed on the hay and crept up the wooden stall all the way to the rafters in the ceiling, dripping long, thick icicles pointing at their heads. Sleipnir let out a shrill whinny of terror, possibly remembering Jötunheim, and Frigga shivered. Loki's eyes rolled back as his skin began to turn blue, the dark, cool color sweeping over his pale skin and repainting it, turning him into a monster. The color swept up his neck and over his cheeks like a perverted flush, passing over his forehead and reaching back past his hairline. He closed his eyes against the swift, prickling sensation of his skin changing color, and when he opened them again they glowed crimson in the dim light. Frigga could not hold back a gasp, and the small noise she made only made Loki bare his teeth in a savage grin.

There, he had it. Proof that she thought he was a monster, proof that she was frightened of his true appearance. Of course, he could never be loved by anyone unless it was in the guise of one of the Aesir. He never fit in before, and he wasn't going to do so for a moment longer.

"Why are you doing this?" his mother asked as the frost crept up her skirts, stiffening them and chilling her skin.

"Why not?" Loki asked, chuckling. "It is my heritage. Why shouldn't I act as my kind oft does?"

"Not that," Frigga said, shaking her head, "never that…I mean, why do you…why do you attempt to push me away? My son…you've been cold ever sin—"

"I am not your son!"

"Yes, you are," Frigga said, narrowing her eyes a bit. "You listen to me, Loki Odinson, I want to make something very clear to you: you are my son and I am your mother. That is something that will never change, no matter what you do."

"How can you say that?" he asked.

"Because I raised you."

"I wasn't even yours to begin with!"

"Loki," Frigga sighed, pressed her fingers to the side of her head, "I know you don't want to hear this right now, but you're wrong. About many things, my dear, but especially about me. Will you please listen to what I have to say? Grant me a brief audience, just this once, and I promise I will leave you to your solitude if you still don't believe me."

Loki considered it for a moment, looking down at his hands. They were so very blue, dark and cold, with indigo nails and strange, ritualistic lines etched across the backs, so foreign and hateful. How could she ever love him? He wouldn't sit there and listen to her spin more lies…and yet he was curious. What could she possibly say that would cause him to change his mind? Did she have some magical trump card that she planned on using? He nodded his consent, settling back down on the floor and withdrawing the effects of his magic. The frost retreated and the stall slowly returned to its previous warmth. Loki's skin remained blue.

"When Odin brought you to me," Frigga said, seeing that her son was willing to cooperate, "he told me right away who and what you were…and I admit, I was hesitant at first to take you in. The war had taken a terrible toll, on both sides, and we had no great love for the Frost Giants. But then…when I took hold of you…you were just so small, I couldn't believe you were Jötun. You cried and cried because you were so frightened and hungry, and when I held you, you reached for me as if you knew who I was. You needed me, my dear, sweet son. You needed me and so I was there for you."

"You had no obligation," Loki said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're right," she said, with a slight, graceful shrug, "I didn't. I didn't have to do anything; I could have refused Odin's request. It would have been an easy thing to do and no one would have blamed me. But no one knew. It was a secret between my husband and me."

"Then why did you keep me?" Loki howled, sitting up on his knees so suddenly he frightened Sleipnir right into the corner of the stall where he stood, shivering and whinnying with his tail tucked close and his ears flat against his head. Loki blanched immediately, regret washing over him. He had scared his own child…did Sleipnir see him as a monster now, someone made of loud, angry noises and a frightful appearance? He tried to call the foal's name but the word faltered on his lips and he sank back down, clenching his fists atop his thighs and wishing he had remained on Jötunheim. He could have taken care of himself and his son without interference and without having to worry what others thought of him. He wouldn't be here now, lost and confused, angry and uncertain. He would be home, the one world he rightfully belonged to.

"Why would you want a Jötun?" he asked, whispering the words to himself, as if he had his own answers. "Why would you care? Odin said I was meant to bring the two kingdoms together; I wasn't even meant to be king of Asgard, I was just a tool for Odin to use in cementing his authority. I have been tolerated all these years, never accepted!"

"No," Frigga said, bridging the space between them and grasping his cold, dark hand in hers. The rest of her body soon followed and their knees knocked as she reached around Loki's neck and brought him into a tight hug.

"No, never, never that," she whispered, stroking his cheek and pulling back to look him in the eyes. His blue pigmentation slowly gave way to his usual pale hue on the spots where her fingers touched, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Oh my poor son," Frigga said, sweeping a few locks of loose hair back over his head. "My poor, sweet boy, is that what you think? Is that what you've been led to believe? It's not true, my love. You are no mere tool, or some political gain. You are our son. Your connection to the Frost Giants was never on our minds while raising you. Only when you came of age did we begin to discuss those possibilities open to us, but you were never a tool."

"But why would you—"

"You needed me!" Frigga exclaimed, cupping Loki's face. "You needed my warmth and care, you needed a family, and you needed my love! I was not about to abandon an innocent, young babe with no one else to care for him! You were…so tiny, fragile, and sick. You would have died had we not taken you in. I gave you everything I had. I nursed you myself, set you in my bed to sleep, and called you my son. I sat by your side through every childhood illness, every scrape and bruise—I was there for it! I lent you my shoulder when you had a need to cry and my ear when you couldn't still your tongue; I witnessed every year you lived, laughed, grew, and loved, and I was so proud of so, so very, very proud of the handsome young man you became. I'm still proud of you, just as I am still your mother. I will always be such."

"I am Jötun," Loki said stubbornly, his bottom lip wobbling as he fought to remain as in control as he could.

"That matters not," Frigga cooed, wiping his angry, stray tears away from his cheeks. "What form you choose to take makes no difference to me, for in my eyes you will always be my son. You know this already, don't you? Do you love Sleipnir any less because he is a foal?"

Loki flinched. Damn. She knew then. His mother knew Sleipnir was his son. Of course she knew, she knew everything, how did he ever think she wouldn't somehow find out? His cheeks flushed pink, forcing the last of his blue coloring back, and he gave a half-hearted nod.

"Of course I love him," he whispered. "He—he is my son."

"Is he any less your son because he is not Aesir?"

"No…no, he is still my son."

"As it is with Sleipnir, so it is with you, my darling. I do not care that you were not born of my own body because you became a part of my soul. I do not care that you are not like the others. You are creative, brilliant, sweet, thoughtful, and loyal, and those are qualities I hold most dear. I don't care that you are dark-haired and fair-skinned, that you are neither as tall nor as sturdy as your brother. You are handsome, you are strong, and you are very much capable of taking care of yourself. There is no doubt in my mind that you are capable of ruling this kingdom as well as your father and brother…maybe even better."

"You are only saying that," Loki choked.

"No, I am not," Frigga said, squeezing his hand. "I have forgiven you for the wrongs you committed, and though it is difficult, I think I understand—in part, at least—why you acted as you did."

"You…forgive me?" Loki asked, stupefied. "But, I have not even apologized…"

Frigga laughed and leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose.

"You do not need to," she said. "You can rest assured that you will always find forgiveness in me, for I will always be there for you, no matter what."

Loki was silent for a long while, unsure of what to say. He hadn't expected this sort of reception at all, not even from his own mother. She called him sweet and loyal, and though he was unsure about the latter he appreciated her words all the same. His heart ached from Frigga's compassion, but it was a good ache, a healing ache. He pressed his hand to his heart and fisted his shirt, as if he could tear the organ straight from his chest to inspect it. It hurt. It throbbed. It breathed with a life of its own and the pain was excruciating. He would have willingly offered it up to his mother on a silver platter if she had so desired. She deserved more than that, but he had little else to offer. He had never felt so indebted before, and his gratitude must have showed on his face, for Frigga pulled him close again so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap as he used to do when he was a child. Sleipnir finally calmed from his fright, snuck back over and reasserted his position next to his parent, curling up beside him and resting his head across Loki's stomach. He felt warm, earnest tears slip free from his eyes and descend down the side of his face to stain Frigga's skirts. He made a swift move to wipe them from his face, but his mother stilled his hands.

"Let them fall," she said. "It is good to cry every now and then; it means we are still capable of feeling."

And so Loki lay there and allowed himself to cry for the first time since Jötunheim. He sobbed silently, turning his face to her skirts and hugging her waist. His shoulders shook as he curled in on himself, drawing his knees up and making himself as small as humanly possible. He had never felt so, so humbled in all his life. To know this one woman, this one exceptional woman loved him, loved him enough to forgive him for the terrible things he had done was more than he could bear to hear. He was a cruel man; he did not deserve this…and yet here she was, proving him wrong. Defying him. Frigga rubbed his shoulders as he cried, whispering soothing words to him, singing soft songs she once used to lure him into the arms of sleep. He rewarded her efforts with his own whispers, thanking her, weaving a spell for her that would never die, never diminish, a spell that would ensure that no matter where she went, a brightness would follow that could never be extinguished by cruelty or ignorance. Loki's tears soon dried and he stopped sobbing, stopped whispering, though he remained firmly buried within her skirts like a little boy trying to hide from the world.

"You are a most astounding woman," Loki said, eventually. "Your benevolence is…all-consuming. I feel unworthy of this kindness you have bestowed on me. "

"You are a most talented young man," Frigga praised, running her fingers through his hair again, massaging his scalp to soothe him. "I believe you could charm the stars from the sky if you so desired."

Loki rested his hand on Sleipnir's head, scratching him behind the ears in apology for his behavior and for frightening him. He felt…at peace, if he believed in such a thing. His chest, which had been weighed down with guilt, bitterness, and anger, felt lighter, and he could breathe a little easier. His mother still loved him. She loved him and she forgave him, and he knew now that to her, at least, he was not some monster taken in out of pity and the desire to merge the Frost Giants and the Aesir. He was still her son, her darling son, she had said, and he was welcome in her arms. It gave him confidence, empowered him, and inspired courage. He would be able to face Odin, he thought, when it finally came time to do so.

"I am afraid I still do not understand why," he admitted after another moments thought. "Why is it that you still see me as you used to? Why haven't you despised me?"

"Have you heard of the mortal saying about a mother's love?" Frigga asked, smiling down at the young man resting in her lap. "How did it go—a mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."

"I suppose it is a very accurate description," Loki agreed, taking hold of his mother's hand and pressing another firm kiss to her wrist. "A very wise mortal must have said that."

"You mean a very wise mother," Frigga corrected, pulling on his ear. "You know I love you. Never doubt that again, ever."

"I won't," Loki promised. "I love you as well. You have given me hope when all I have done is give you pain."

"It is a boy's duty to cause his mother pain," Frigga quoted again in a solemn tone, "the pain begins with labor and never ends."

"Who said that?"

Frigga smiled mysteriously and ruffled Loki's soft, black hair.

"I did."


A/N: Voila. I am still not completely happy with this chapter, but if I keep looking at it I am going to drive myself insane.

"A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."-Agatha Christie