Of Wise Fools
The folly of all beings, mortal or otherwise, is their propensity to lie. It was something Athena and Frigga often agreed on. Lies were shortcuts, easy and straight, but the point of life is rarely the destination itself, and much of the journey is missed through such detours.
Yet lies were irrevocably part of the universe they all lived in, and Frigga and Athena tended to keep their counsel when those around them chose to indulge in untruths. Sometimes the immediate issues needed to be addressed, whatever the consequences, and even the long-lived gods and goddesses knew that time was sometimes of essence. Frigga was always more disposed to keeping silent and letting her husband do what he would, for better or for worse. Athena had a feeling it was because whatever Frigga saw could not be changed.
Destiny tended to work that way.
Still, she was shocked when she beheld the so-called second son, features rosy and hair soft as down, large eyes staring woefully up at her with a fist to his mouth, as if holding back words. She was so surprised, she could not speak for a full ten seconds. Near them, Artemis was talking to young Sif, being as tolerant as the archeress could possibly be of children, while Apollo was trying to divert Ares away from the impressionable young Thor without being too obvious. Odin watched the activity with his usual stony silence, and Frigga watched Athena, face inscrutable, as if daring her to remark that Loki was not actually the son of Odin and Frigga.
Both women knew she knew. Frigga had to know. Athena might have pledged celibacy, but she knew the heart of parents; a cool, analytical understanding, albeit, but she knew, and she knew that Odin did not possess the kind of heart that would love a child not of his own blood. Athena, frankly, was doubtful that even Zeus did. The King of Olympus had many lovers, but his Queen had no such freedom, and it was not entirely because of Hera's values. If overly crossed, Zeus would kill Hera, and Hera knew. She had nearly stepped too far once, and the goddess was not foolish enough to repeat that mistake.
"What is his name?" Athena asked, certain she was told before, when the Olympians first arrived in Asgard a short time ago, but in the wash of bewilderment, she had completely forgotten.
Frigga's expression did not falter. "Loki."
Air. Loptr, Loki. An unusual name. It also bore a disturbing resemblance to luka, which meant "close".
"Who named him?"
"I did."
The other goddess was stiff, and the child sensed this, starting to whimper. Neither goddess looked down at him, maintaining eyelock with each other.
"Congratulations," Athena said.
She wondered if anyone else noticed how false that sounded.
"He found him during the raid."
Frigga pulled the cloud-cloth over to work further on one side. The white expanse glittered splendidly, beautiful in its simplicity. Athena was skilled with weaving herself, but the two goddesses had completely different styles, so neither felt her turf threatened.
"In Jötunheim?"
"Yes."
Loki made a noise in his crib. Frigga continued to sew.
Athena watched her for a while, musing that Frigga was acting strange. The goddess certainly had her own flaws, but she seemed unusually cold and apathetic towards the child she had, from all appearances, adopted.
"Did he not ask your counsel, before raiding the Jötunn?" Athena asked cautiously.
"Of course not," Frigga shook her head. "The hearts of men listen far more intently to the call of battle than of a woman. He has always yearned to end the king."
That was what was strange about the raid. Asgard and Jötunheim had a long history of conflict, and Odin's hatred of the Frost Giants was certainly not a recent development, but the Asgardian King had ample opportunity to invade the icy world before this, and never did so.
"What reason did he find to do so now?"
Loki made another noise, and Frigga's lips quirked wistfully. She still did not react to the child.
"I can only guess how he thought."
Whenever Frigga pretended not to know something, Athena knew it was to hide, to deflect. The Olympian did not choose to press, however. Likely, the reason was foolish, impulsive—typical of Asgardian men. Had their women be more powerful, none of them would suffer their idiocies, but the Olympian goddesses faced a similar issue, and Athena could hardly judge Frigga for choosing not to bother intervening.
"What are you going to do?" Athena asked.
"I will raise him," Said the other, "As my king commanded."
"As your own?" Frigga was wise, but from her behavior, Athena was not sure her heart could accommodate an infant thrust out of nowhere, especially by her arrogant husband, who was not even considerate enough to account for her feelings on the matter. She seemed too weary to be even resentful, and while Athena thought this somewhat out of character for a goddess normally warm and kind, she was also aware that this was an unusual imposition on the Queen. Certainly, Hera had been less tolerant of her stepchildren, and Loki was not even related to Odin. "You would treat him as you would Thor?"
Frigga did not answer immediately, and that pause itself was telling.
"Out of all of us," She said quietly, "He is, perhaps, the most innocent."
"Pity does not equate with love."
"No, but a child might not tell the difference."
"He will one day," Athena pointed out. When one lived as long as they did, the truth had plenty of time to unfurl. Lies were shortcuts, easy and straight, but their inherent quality is to mislead, and so they mislead even those that use them. Shortcuts were rarely worth the while. "Even if he does not have all of eternity, the universe is not large enough that the past can be left behind."
Frigga looked at her wearily. The Queen hardly needed Athena to preach to her, and the Olympian was dismayed by the hopelessness in her eyes.
"I need to live for Thor, you see," Said Frigga. "Balance him as much as I can. As his mother, I have at least that power. I cannot risk that, to incite the wrath of Odin over a child that is not mine."
Athena remembered the day Hera challenged Zeus—and she was well within her rights, too, even if her methods were flawed. Sick of Zeus's infidelity, she had confronted him in front of the entire court. Athena did not agree with her, but she had to sympathize with her stepmother; Hera must have tried every other way, behind the scenes, for eons upon eons without result, and finally reached her limit. It was unfortunate that her limit mattered less than her husband's. Hephaestus, the son of the King and Queen, had stepped in front of his mother just as Zeus prepared to fling her off Olympus, and took the fall for her. Everyone had been deeply disturbed and upset, even Zeus, but he was firm. On Olympus, he was King, and not even Hera could challenge his authority.
The same, no doubt, applied in Asgard. Frigga was not Odin's equal, just as Hera was not Zeus's. It was just the cold reality.
"Must you really hide his identity from him? Is Odin-King absolutely adamant?"
"Yes."
There was nothing more that could be said for that.
Frigga went back to her sewing, and Athena leaned back, eyes turned now to the still whimpering child in the crib. Loki was unusually quiet, for all the little noises he made. She had the distinct feeling the child was not well, but Frigga did not seem able to tend to him, wrapped up in her own turbulent feelings as she was.
The Olympian stood, glancing once at the Asgardian Queen for permission, but Frigga was engrossed in her work now. The Goddess of Wisdom went to the crib, where the child was on his back, large dark eyes gazing up at her.
Do you know? She wondered. Do you realize you are among strangers? Are you afraid to cry?
It was on the tip of her tongue; that mad impulse to rescue this child from Odin and bring it to Olympus. The Olympians had no fondness for the Jötunn, but their quarrel was not as deep as Asgard, and Athena was certain she could convince Zeus to allow her to take the child—she had, after all, convinced him to keep her, and somehow won his paternal affection, in spite of the black mutterings of Fate claiming she would one day be his demise. This nameless child would matter even less to him, but she knew it would be pointless to offer to take the child away. Even if Frigga wanted to be rid of him, Odin would never permit it. Athena, after all, was not even supposed to know that Loki was not his real son.
You poor thing.
A child was a child, and for a Jötunn, Loki still made for a lovable figure, small and helpless and round with wide eyes eager to take in the world. Athena reached out, taking his small, delicately-formed hand. He grasped clumsily at her, a reflex of all infants.
You poor thing.
"He will bring Asgard to ruin," Frigga suddenly said.
The cloud pooled at her feet. The Queen stared off into the distance.
Athena had been bending over the crib. She straightened slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"Loki. He will bring about Ragnarok." Frigga looked at her with a flat gaze. "He will destroy…everything we know."
That…painted Frigga's reticence in a whole new light.
Athena looked back down at the child. "Did you tell Odin?"
Frigga looked at the crib. "And spare him the fruits of his own folly? You know how well Destiny tolerates that."
"But you condemn Asgard through your inaction."
"Asgard will be much changed. We as a people are unused to change, but perhaps that is a flaw of ours, and not something to be indulged."
"If Asgard falls, all of us will be pulled along."
"That is so."
Athena swallowed the swell of irritation that rose with the reply. "You should tell him."
"If we kill the child, something else will take its place. That is how Fate works. I hold the hope that if we allow Destiny its course, destruction will come with reconstruction."
"That is a high gamble you stake," Athena warned.
"You remember Cassandra, I hope."
Athena suppressed a wince. Cassandra was a mortal princess of Troy, one whom her half-brother Apollo had lusted after, bestowing the gift of prophecy in order to win her affections. When the young maiden was unimpressed, he was affronted and condemned her gift to be nothing but a source of torment. Both she and Artemis had been outraged by the indecent treatment of the poor woman thereafter, but Athena, herself, had been angry at Troy for their arrogance, and fond of Odysseus. Cassandra had died a miserable, but swift death, and frankly, that was the best the mortal could hope for with the burdens she carried.
"You are no Cassandra. All of us know your power. You need but speak, and others will hear."
"Yes, but what everyone does with what they hear, alas, is beyond even my power to predict," Frigga retrieved the ends of her cloud.
Loki made another noise again. Athena looked down at him. Such a small, frail little thing, a bundle of flesh, uncoordinated and underdeveloped.
"You will speak of this to no one," Said Frigga, who was sewing again.
The Goddess of Wisdom narrowed her eyes. "Why tell me of this, Frigga?"
"Because I know you can keep secrets," Frigga snapped, and her eyes lifted to gaze at nothing at all. "Is it so wrong to need a friend?"
Loki whimpered again. Athena looked down at the child. Her earlier feelings of sympathy warred with dread. In Asgard, Frigga was the only one who knew just what he will become.
Perhaps she was protecting the child in her own way, by keeping silent.
"No," She said quietly. "It is never wrong to need a friend."
But oh, how this lie can destroy us all.