Frisk is just closing the laptop Mettaton have given them—they type much faster than writing by hand and the robot was in a generous mood, which is great because having a laptop for these council meetings is a godsend—when Toriel's voice cuts through the chatter of the others leaving the table. "Ambassador," she begins, her voice making Frisk's spine freeze. Behind them, they hear a faint twitch from Sans from where he'd been leaning against the wall, waiting for them to get done with the meeting.

They force themselves to look up with a perfectly polite and attentive look on their face, hiding their apprehension neatly. It was a look their own mother would be proud of—their mother had been well aware of how politicians could eat a naïve newcomer alive, child or not, and had done her best to prepare them. "Yes, Lady Toriel?" She does not go by 'your majesty', but there isn't a polite way to address her without some form of title—everyone's seemed to have settled on "lady" for now, even if it pains Asgore to say it.

"I would like to speak with you for a moment." Privately goes unsaid, but Frisk knows the tone too well to ignore it. It's disconcerting to hear their mother come through in the Toriel of this world's voice,.

They glance up at Sans; he looks nervous and apprehensive. He still hasn't spoken to Toriel yet and they now seriously think that he won't unless they either force him or Toriel figures out on her own. He is an expert at pushing off uncomfortable problems off, but now he's left in the awkward spot of doing his job or coming clean. Frisk decides to take mercy for him first. "I'll see you at lunch?"

He nods, but the light in his one socket is still considering Toriel. He shuffles out of the room. Once the door shuts behind him, they abandon their things and walk over to join her by her seat.

"Yes, my lady?" they try again.

She nods to the chair besides her. "Take a seat, if you would."

They do so, careful to keep a respectful distance without appearing meekly cowering away from her. They fold their leg over the other at the knee and look up at her expectantly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Now Toriel considers them, but not for long. She makes a small noise that Frisk recognizes from their own mother as her sighing out her nose. "We are overdue for a… chat."

They nod, more to themselves than her as she's still looking away. "Yes, that sounds right. May I ask a chat about what specifically?"

"Nothing specifically," she corrects, finally turning back to them. "But firstly about the lie you told me when I let you leave the Ruins."

Frisk pauses, face carefully blank. "Well," they begin, "I didn't lie exactly. Just allowed you to believe what you already assumed of me."

"You took advantage of me," Toriel shoots back, eyes flatly unamused.

Frisk nods. "Well, yes, of course. But I'd much rather lie by omission than tell a truth that will help no one, especially if the lie hurts no one. Especially if it is only helpful."

Toriel looks at them, eyes narrowed for a moment before she sighs and rubs her fingers against her muzzle. "And I am expected to trust you with the welfare of my children and people?"

Does she have the right to claim them as "her people" after abandoning them to go into exile? Frisk wonders, but puts the thought aside. "I told you, I only lie when it won't hurt others. When I lied to you, I wasn't intending to do you real harm, just avoid inflicting it on others." They demurely duck their head. "And I would certainly never try to hurt Asriel or Chara. Even if you can't trust my word, I hope that my actions at least prove that much."

She can't argue that that isn't true at least—they have only recently been officially granted guardianship of the children, but in the weeks since the Barrier came down, they've done their best to do right by the children. Even before then, when Asriel was still Flowey and Chara was just a soul piggy backing on their own, only Papyrus could claim that he had equally good intentions by them. Toriel and Asgore can't claim as much—not that Frisk is going to try and bring that much up now.

"I am sorry that I didn't give you a good first impression of me," they offer. "While I will swear I was only trying to do what I thought was right, we didn't end on a good note."

To their surprise, Toriel snorts. When she looks at them again, they can see something in her eyes that they hope is at least bemusement. "I suppose I should take the moment to admit that I was the one at fault for our first meeting beginning with a sour note."

"Only if it would please you, my lady."

She looks away, reaching out to fidget with a pen in silence for a long moment. "I'm expected to do a lot of things that don't please me. I am expected to forgive a world of murders who would condemn a species for their ancestors' wrongs, who then murdered my children, stealing them from me. I'm expected to help that useless fool lead his people again or deal with his incompetency in silence." Her gaze falls heavily on them. "And I am expected to just hand over my children to you, after a century of losing them. Yet, here you would say that it's alright for me to be petty over something so small?"

Frisk smooth down a crease in their pant leg to buy for a moment. "Well, my lady, I find that sometimes it's the little things that make life more bearable. I won't begrudge you for it." They offer her a small smile. "It's not the worst treatment I've been given before."

Something flashes over Toriel's face, but it's gone too soon for Frisk to be sure what it is. But, from the way Toriel doesn't speak immediately, Frisk thinks that it might have been pity or maybe even empathy. "That doesn't make it right."

Frisk shrugs. "Justice is a luxury that I can't always afford. It's something to be fought for and I am not a fighter. Well, not usually." They grin. "I'm more of a lover than a fighter."

"Yes," she drawls, startling them into amusement. "So I've heard."

"Oh my." They pretend to titter, curling a finger around one of the long hanks of hair that frames their face. "Gossip spreads so fast nowadays."

Toriel pauses, gazing at their hand, still twisted in their hair. "Why do you wear your hair like that? Doesn't it just get into your face?"

Frisk's hand freezes; it feels like something slammed into their chest. The truth is, they've been wearing their hair like this since they were fourteen, when they grew their hair long for a bit. When they went to cut it, they found themselves looking in the mirror and pausing before reaching for the hair in back first. After that, they wore the front of their hair loose in the two long locks while tying the rest back when it was long enough. They clear their throat. "It's silly, but I like it. It," they pause, trying to fight down a nervous bubble of giggles. "It makes me look a bit like my mother is all."

Toriel is silent, staring at them, and Frisk realizes that she now suspects. "Who is…" she begins; Frisk feels their heart climbing into their throat because this somehow feels more awkward than when they told Sans their more private moments. Then she clears her throat and looks away. "No, never mind."

Oh, they think and then try to decide if they feel relieved or disappointed. The question sounded like it would lead to new, uncharted territory and they should feel glad possibly dodging a bullet, but all the same, where might it have led? Perhaps this means that they're going to have to tell her one day. Heh, now Sans isn't the only one not telling her the whole truth. Perhaps I should give him some slack.

A clock chimes somewhere—Frisk tries not to sigh but finds themselves smiling. "Sans is probably waiting for me to go to lunch," they murmur.

"Most likely," she replies back, slightly surprising them. When they look at her, she smiles, her expression a little—mischievous? "Does he still honestly think he's fooling me by keeping quiet?"

Frisk has to bite their lip to not bark a laugh. "Um," they begin, lips twitching hard. "Well, he's hoping." They remember his anxiety about the whole thing and find their amusement fading into a gentle sympathy. "He's worried you'll be furious at him for not stopping me from bringing down the barrier, like he promised he would."

"Ah, yes. I did make him promise that," she says, almost as if she is surprised to hear it. "To be honest, I didn't really expect him to live up to that. I just assumed that someone else would kill a human before he ever even spotted one. I certainly didn't think one would get past Asgore or actually bring down the Barrier." She taps her fingers against the arm of her chair. "Did he try to stop you?"

"He did," they nod. "Might have worked if I wasn't so stubborn about it."

She closes her eyes and chuckles. "Ah, yes. You are 'determined' at that." She opens her eyes, gazing at the far wall. "But, despite all your meddling, it did only lead to good." As they sit up, hopeful, she glances at them. "The Barrier is gone, the Edict repealed. My children returned." She sighs. "That last one alone is worth it all, even if they are not by my side now."

Funny; for some reason, the words feel like high praise. Their chest feels tight as they smile up at her. If only they could offer her some kindness back, but the one thing that would probably make her happy is out of their control—if Asriel and Chara chose to return to her side, that is a decision they will make on their own. It's not for them to push the children for or against it, not that Frisk would ever dream of it. Frisk can only smile kindly. "The two of them do make a lot of things in this world more bearable, no matter what they are."

She turns to them and for a moment, they can see in. There, under the pain and trauma and anger and indignity, they can see that quiet strength and love for her children. She will pull through, for their sakes if nothing. "Well said," she offers at last. "I think, ambassador, that for the sake of the children, if nothing, that I can overlook your deceptions if you can overlook my attempts of harming you."

"Done," they reply instantly, offering her their hand.

Her hand dwarfs theirs as she shakes it and for a moment, she smiles. Then she stands, pushing her chair back as they jump up to join her. "I believe Sans is waiting for you. Enjoy your lunch."

Frisk bows. "Thank you, my lady."

Toriel nods to them and turns, exiting the room with all the grace of a queen. The moment she is gone, Sans reappears directly besides them, making them jump.

"So," he begins, glancing at them before shooting a look to Toriel's recently vacated chair. "How'd it go?"

"All things considered," they grin, "pretty damn good." They pause and consider him before standing. "We just chatted for a bit about stuff."

"Stuff, huh?"he drawls as they go to finish collecting their things.

"Yes." Once the rest of their things at stowed away into their inventory, they turn to him. "Lunch?"

"Yeah, sure." The two walk out together in silence, but they don't go far before he speaks again. "So, what did you talk about?"

"Oh, duties. Asriel and Chara." They glance at him mischievously. "About the fact that she knows exactly who you are."

They had to stop to catch him as he stumbles.

A/N: Hey everyone! That week off helped-I'm back on time and I even have next week's done, so hopefully that will also be on time. This week's chapter was a request from Brainless Genius, who asked for something with Toriel or Asgore. Since I've been meaning to do some stuff with the both of them, it was the perfect chance-I hope to do a few more chapters with both of them still, but for right now, I wanted to go with how Frisk and Toriel reset their bad relationship into something a little less toxic. While Toriel's still bitter about the kids, her shame's really strong, so as long as the kids are fine and not actually that far away, she's willing to put up with the arrangement for now. She does hope that the kids will want to reconcile one day.