12/14 or so, I think.
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Thor had always been given to sulking.
This though, Frigga thought, was something different.
He was a tall youth, with might that rivaled some of the men, and him just beginning to come into his adult strength. He'd been distraught these past days, moody beyond his usual brooding. Which was odd. When he fought with Loki, she would hear of it, and she had heard nothing.
She went to him.
He was in the training grounds, which were oddly deserted for this time of day. She wondered a touch wryly if, just perhaps, the darkened face of the prince had anything to do with that.
He paced along the outer back wall of the grounds, kicking stones with his boot. Alternatingly folding his arms and flinging them around him, as if the expanse of the movement gave him some release.
She glanced upward to the sky. Thor had displayed symptoms of the strombringers of old. But the storm had not risen to him, this time.
Unfortunately, Thor lacked yet the ability to control his gift. The storm responded to him as he grew more agitated. One day, it would respond to his call. It was unlike Loki's gifts and her own, in that it was not a thing in which she could aid him, more than by advice. And that she was hesitant to give without his asking. Thor did not seek her out the way Loki had once done. When troubled, Thor went off by himself, much as Odin always had, and as Loki was growing to do.
It was to be expected. A boy could not always run to the embrace of his mother. She was glad to see her sons test their strength and their wisdom. It was only that she wished they possessed more of the latter.
But wisdom, as she so often reminded herself, could be gained without experience. And if they would not rely on the experience of others, then they would have to go on that they garnered for themselves. And while it was the harder path, it was not a choice she would begrudge them. It had been the path she had chosen as well.
She remembered her own father, and his weary fondness for her and her headstrong ways. She thought of him often as she interacted these days with her sons.
"You are restless today," she said.
Thor glanced up from folded arms. He hadn't known of her approach. "Mother," he said. He looked away, searching for some kind of excuse.
She did not let him look for long, "I find myself in somewhat of a bind, my son,"
His head went up, face lined with sudden concern, "What is it, Mother?"
And that was it, too. If it had been only that he was sulking, he would not be so willing to relent. He would have regaled her with the tale of how he'd been wronged.
"I am a bit short on time," she said, looping her arm comfortably through his and walking with him along the edge of the grounds, "Your father wants me with him at the council this afternoon," she explained, "And I had meant days ago to get to the sad mess of my garden. I had wondered if you might attend me."
"To," his brow creased in puzzlement, "…weed?"
"If you would," she shrugged, "Or merely to stay and speak with me. There is not much to be done, and I grow lonesome in my gardens with you boys grown and busied about your own affairs."
After a moment, Thor nodded.
She pressed his arm, "I'm glad of it," she smiled.
"I still could ask your brother," she said more generally, walking with him, "but I thought to ask you first. It's been a long time since we two have talked."
She noted that his smile had something uncertain behind it and she didn't ask him anything further. She let him direct her across the expanse of courtyard and to her gardens. He was quiet as he walked beside her, and she only commented softly on benign things – only just enough to allow him the space to gather his thoughts. She had to lengthen her stride to keep pace with him. She didn't think he noticed, and it made her smile. It reminded her of the way he had galloped about when he was only a little boy.
She knelt down at the edge of a neglected bed and, folding back her sleeves, she set about her task.
Thor fidgeted nervously behind her for a while, keeping pace with her gentle prompts toward small talk, before he finally got on his own knees, offering his hands and asking which he ought to pull.
"I feel a fool only standing there behind you," he said.
Frigga smiled, "You needn't," she told him fondly. "But, if you would, these," she held up a spiney shoot of a weed, "are the things that need to go. They're taking over the entire bed."
Thor gave her a curt nod and began trying to tease out the little plants. His hands were clumsy, but well-intentioned. Frigga appreciated his thoughtfulness. He frowned in concentration. She knew how little he liked interruptions when he'd set his mind to a thing, so she did not speak, but enjoyed this time with him.
She missed him when he was so often gone.
And he would soon be a man.
They had never spent over-much time together, she and her elder son.
"If I can't…" Thor paused. He didn't look away from the work his fingers were getting at in the earth. He tipped his hands in a sort of shrugging gesture, "rule, then, what happens?"
She paused a long moment, considering.
"What is it that would prevent you?"
"I would," he said.
She glanced at him, then back to her own work. "In what manner?"
"If…" he gave a sigh that was more weary than aggravated, "I prove myself unworthy of it, what then?"
She had not expected such an admission from him. She wondered at it, a little proudly, for it showed a maturity she did not know he'd grown to.
"I'm not blind," he interrupted her musings a touch bitterly, "I'm not like the rest of you. You and Father and Loki, you all have your magic. I have no part of that. I have no great power. I…" he rubbed absently at his forehead with one hand, streaking it unknowingly with dirt from his thumb, and he shook his head. "I don't know why I should have this place. And I would not have it by merit of birth alone."
She did not express at first her surprise, or the warm pride she felt in him. For one moment, they were washed over with longing. He was becoming a man before her eyes. The days of his infancy were long past and she couldn't help but miss them. Then the moment had passed and left a glowing feeling in her breast. Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself.
"Let your mind rest," she counseled. "Think little of those things. Think instead of all the people devoted to you already. Think of your friends. Do you imagine them so foolish as to place their trust in one who was unworthy of it?"
Thor sat back on his heels, but he did not look at her. He made no move to speak.
"You have charm to rally the people to you," she said, "and strength men in their prime can do no more than envy."
She saw him begin to smile.
Straightening, she put out her hand and touched the back of his. She met his bright blue eyes. "Train hard, and focus on pruning those gifts you have to their truest fruition," she said, "The rest will follow."
He smiled. It wasn't the brash grin he usually gave. It had sweetness to it, and uncertainty. "You truly believe so?"
She pressed his hand. "I do."
That night she spoke of it to Odin. At first he disbelieved her, but as she spoke his disbelief was replaced with indignation. "Such misgivings cannot be pandered to and be counted upon to die."
"He understands the magnitude of what it is we should be asking of him," she said. "Is not this a good thing?"
"Better," Odin said, "that he not need the supporting hand of his mother."
Stung, Frigga drew back a little. She recalled in the early days of their reign how Odin had described his own mother. Her calculation and cruelty. It was a good thing that he had never felt such a need himself, she thought.
Or perhaps, she wondered, he had, and having no recourse, had driven any memory of such a longing far from his mind.
"He would have your approval over anything," she said.
"I would he knew his strength as his own and not look to mine for its merit."
Frigga closed her lips. Going to the wide window, she wrapped her arms about herself and she watched the birds dive through the haze of the sunset sky. One final rush before sleep.
She heard a creak and then the butt of the spear on the tiled floor behind her.
"I fear I have angered my queen."
"No," she shook her head, "Not angered."
"What then, my wife?"
She did not turn to face him. "An infant learns to walk by watching the steps of its parent."
"Then," he said, "Let them watch."
"And if they fear, ought I not reassure my children?" she turned then, and she looked at him. "I will not stand idly as they beg my aid, Odin."
He smiled with one side of his mouth, "It is the weakness of your sex, Frigga," he said. "It is a woman's plight, for her heart ever to exceed her mind."
"Would that I were a man, then, if only for a moment and might the better understand yours."
"Never wish that, my queen," he said. "I will watch," he promised, laying a hand to her shoulder, "and I will see what there is to be done for him to aid him on his path."
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Loki's back again next chapter. Promise. He usually monopolizes my writing and I wanted to give Thor some time with his mom at this vulnerable age. I like seeing him a little uncertain of himself.
In answer to the guest who reviewed chapter 9: yes. If briefly. And soon…ish.
