A/N: Well hey there! I actually found this from maybe two years ago. Finally decided to post it, because I'm too picky about my own writing, you feel?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

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Boys grow to men. Lessons are taught. And a mother's heart is near to breaking.

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"Mother!"

The cry split the relaxing silence of the palace. Frigga sighed, laying down her book and welcoming the little ball of energy that was her son and was speeding straight toward her, almost knocking her over. The little boy buried his face into her chest, sobbing pitifully. Frigga rubbed his back soothingly. "What's the matter, Thor?"

Thor hiccuped, staring up at her with miserable blue eyes. "M-Mother, Loki t-took my h-hammer!"

Frigga glanced over her son's head to see a taller, thinner, dark-haired boy tread quietly into the room. He caught her eye sheepishly, saying, "Hello, Mother," with a tentative smile. He clutched something, which looked like a stick, behind his back.

Frigga mentally went through the ways she could discipline her slightly younger son. Not coming to a quick agreement with herself, she beckoned him over, to which he obliged.

Thor, looking up from his mother's embrace, glared at his brother murderously. Frigga pulled him away to arm's length and studied her sons' faces carefully.

Thor's eyes showed anger at his brother, yet looked at her pleadingly, begging for her to do something about his beloved hammer, which was still in the other boy's possession. She noticed the tear stains he was trying so hard to wipe away and the bedraggled hair, a sign of a previous fight.

Loki, on the other hand, stood impassively, eyebrows slightly raised and mouth tilted a bit upwards, showing his mischievous nature. His hands were clasped at his back, still grasping the hammer. His feet shifted just slightly, telltale signs of nervousness.

She sighed. "Oh, children, what shall I do with you? I cannot seem to have a quiet moment to study my books. Please, tell me why that is."

Thor stared at his feet and pointed to his brother. "Mother, he took my hammer away and he will not give it back." His voice was quiet, quite unlike him.

Frigga turned to Loki. "Is this true, son?"

Her younger boy bit his lip. "Yes, Mother," he murmured.

She gazed sadly at them. "Must you always come to me? Why can you not be big boys and solve your problems?"

Her sons glanced at each other, apparently calculating ways to get the other in trouble without revealing their own wrongdoings. Loki was the first to look up. His jaw was set determinedly and there was a look of subtle resignation in his eyes. "Mother. . . ." He held up the small wooden hammer he had been clutching. It was a crude replica of Mjolnir, the hammer Thor was said to possess one day, though none knew for certain. The paint around the handle was chipping and the wooden head cracked from many play-battles between the young brothers.

Loki continued: "Thor was not fair in his. . . playing." His voice dropped to a murmur: "He took my sword, Mother."

Ah. Both have wronged each other. . . .

Frigga tood the hammer from Loki's grasp gently. "Sons, look at me, please." They obliged. "I believe you need to think this situation over carefully. So Loki, stay here, and Thor, please go sit on your bed until I tell you to come back."

The elder brother hung his head, balled his fists, and marched out of the room, pounding his feet on the hard stone floor. Frigga sighed and gestured for Loki to sit on the chair next to her. She turned to him and studied him carefully. His eyes were fixed on the blazing fire on the hearth. The light cast a warm golden glow onto his pale face, giving him an almost ethereal look. His eyebrows wrinkled slightly and his lips were pressed together in thought. His slender hands gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, feet dangling and swinging above the floor.

"Still your feet, darling," Frigga reprimanded gently. His legs halted their journeys back and forth abruptly and her young son crossed his ankles.

The question he then asked surprised the queen: "Mother, why is it wrong to take other's things?"

Frigga sighed and ran her hand over the worn cover of her book. "Loki. . . think about this: Say there is a man who owns a wonderful horse. Say that horse is the pride of the land and many people wish to possess him. But then one day another man comes and takes the horse out of his owner's stables and takes him to his own home. How do you think the first man would feel?"

The boy was quiet for a time. Then, "I suppose he would feel sad. But. . . ." He wrinkled his eyebrows more. "But what if the second man was poor and needed a horse and could not buy one of his own?"

Her eyebrows lifted. She was not expecting that response, even from her intelligent son who thought through every aspect of every situation before deciding on an answer or path to take. "Well, I suppose in that case the second man could have talked to the first in a civilized way instead of simply taking the horse for himself."

"I suppose. . . ." Loki mused. "So is it wrong to take from someone because it makes them feel bad?"

"No. But that is one part of it. Stealing is wrong because. . . well, some things do not belong to some people. And when you take something that does not belong to you it is simply wrong. Never is it alright to take something that is not your own."

"He took something that was not his own, Mother!" Loki's voice echoed through the dimly lit chamber. He stood, facing the fireplace, fists clenched angrily, jaw moving as if he were chewing something. His shoulders were held up stiffly, emerald cape arching over them and sweeping the ground just barely. His eyes blazed in rhythm with the fire, reflecting the golden flames perfectly. "He took someone's child, then put that child through years and years of misery and rejection. Mother, my true father threw me out into the cold because I was small. Because I was a runt!" He whirled around, gazing wildly into his mother's eyes with his intense green stare. Frigga placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, which he shrugged off. He stalked around the room, turning completely every now and then.

"Loki, please. Think about this-"

"No!" her son bellowed. "Odin may have raised me, but he was never my father. He never loved me! Not even my real father loved me! To Odin I was only an instrument for uniting two kingdoms, and how did that turn out?!" Loki's lips turned up in a sneer, and he continued his pacing, cape billowing around behind him. "All he managed to do with me was to make my life miserable. Then after-"

"Loki! Listen to me!" Frigga cut in sternly. Her son halted his steps and faced her. His face was such a horrible mixture of pain, anger, and sorrow, she almost didn't have the heart to scold him. But she steeled herself and continued: "Going on about this will not solve anything, no matter how much you want it to. The only thing you can do is to accept the truth."

"But it's-" Loki protested.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "It is hard! It might even be impossible. But, well, sometimes you have to do the impossible." Her face softened and she placed a hand on Loki's cheek. "Oh, dear one. . . ."

His eyes closed, he shuddered, and after a while a single sparkling tear escaped from under his long, dark lashes. His eyebrows drew together, creating long lines of worry on his forehead. Frigga wiped the tear away gently with her thumb, then rested her head on his broad shoulder and stroked his hair.

"Mother," he whispered.

"Shh, shh," she murmured soothingly. "It's all right, darling. It's all right. . . ."

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, tears staining her gown. After a moment, her son's sturdy frame began to shake as he wept.

She had no words.

She did not know how to reassure him; this was beyond her.

But it was comforting that she could hold her son safe in her arms once more. . . .

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