Author's Note: Thanks so much for your support, guys! I have deeply appreciated it!

Small confession time, I have never written from Frigga's POV before and discovered that I will probably not be doing it again. XD

Requested by Natt! Thanks for the suggestion, my friend! I really feel like I was able to flush out a lot of stuff and clarify others, so thanks!

Warnings: See previous chapter warnings. PTSD, slight gore, injuries, physiological manipulation.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!


Bonus Chapter: Frigga's POV

"I'm so sorry for your loss, my queen…"

She's staring at the plates again. It's porcelain, only porcelain, but she wants to grab them by their ugly rims and throw them. Shatter them. Destroy. They stare back at her, laughing at her misery and singing songs of a haunting praise.

The table is set for four.

The servants have been doing so for centuries. They had no reason not to. (No reason beyond the insistence of everyone that her children are—) They were simply following an ingrained command and she's not going to be cross with them for that. (She's going to try.)

Four.

There's only two of them now. It's the first time she's taken dinner in the royal family's private dining room since she returned from Muspelheim. She and Odin have been far to busy for otherwise (ignoring this room valiantly, because there should be two others here, not just them) and they hadn't had a need.

Frigga had made a point to gather her family together every fortnight when circumstances allowed it.

A table set for four.

And her sons are not on the other side. Not sitting at the table, as they should be, Thor rapidly discussing something and ignoring all table manners while Loki stares off into the distance offering a comment here and there, lost in some thought.

A table set for four.

They never came home. After weeks of waiting, they never came back. Frigga didn't wait with baited breath, but she should have. She should have kept one eye on the Bifrost bridge and the other searching for her sons among the Vanir.

She didn't.

Because she was a fool.

When she left for Muspelheim, Frigga had no idea she would return to this. Odin had been worn—exhausted—and though Frigga frequently dealt with trade beforehand, the Muspelians had asked for Odin directly. Unable to provide, she had gone because their lack of resources wasn't something they could ignore. Frigga had left in a hurry that morning to meet with the regent of the realm. She'd been so pressed for time she hadn't even managed to tell her sons she was leaving.

Nothing haunts her more than that.

She returned to Asgard three weeks later, ten days longer than expected, the trade completed and a wary success pressed between her shoulders.

The table is set for four.

Her sons are gone.

Dead, most insist. She knows what the curia regis whisper behind her back. Tales of her failure to protect them. How they were eaten alive inside those stupid woods and if the Blodig Skog is feeling mericful, it might spit their bones back up for proper funeral rights.

Four.

"...they were becoming fine men. You should be proud."

Frigga's vision fuzzes with a mix of anger and tears. That number burns the inside of her mind. Four. Four. Four. Her sons are gone. They're dead. She failed. She's their mother and she failed. She didn't even get to say goodbye.

"I'm sure they fought valiantly to the end."

Frigga lets out a roar of anger and flips the table onto its side. The glass and porcelain shatter, the sound echoing in her ears and making the inside of her head hurt. It wasn't enough. The sprinkled glass touches the edges of her toes, but Frigga snatches one of the still mostly-intact plates and hurls it across the room. It shatters on the far wall, beneath a tapestry and digs like knives into the woven cloth.

She made that tapestry. It's of their family. Before they were ignorant of what was to come. Before her sons were stolen.

She hates it.

Tears blur everything and Frigga sinks to her knees, wrapping arms around her middle as her insides burn so furiously she thinks she might be sick with grief. Tears spill down her cheeks and the glass in the room vibrates as her sedir reacts with the violent turbulence swirling through her.

Thor and Loki are gone.

Dead.

And she did nothing to stop it.

000o000

"Mother," it's Thor's voice that shakes her from her shock. If he hadn't spoken, Frigga suspects that she would have stood there gaping at his bloody form for another millennia, trying to both drink in the sight of him greedily and valiantly ignore it for the sake of her sanity. Her vision is blurred with tears of relief, but it does little in swaying the protective sting in her stomach.

Frigga lurches on her feet, but can't get herself to move quite right.

Weeks.

Months.

She has waited so long for this moment. To see her son again. To be able to reach out and touch him and his skin to be solid and real beneath her fingers. This doesn't feel like reality, perhaps a conjured dream, but not reality.

He's here.

He's on the Bifrost bridge.

She exhales stiffly and feels the world come into blaring focus again. The Einherjar are moving rapidly in front of her, trying to both contain the two men—prisoners?—Thor dragged back with him and fret over her son. The blond is ignoring them with ease (does he even know they're there?) and has eyes only for her.

She stares back at him, unwilling to break the precious eye contact.

His gait is unfamiliar, tilted with pain and an obvious limp. His leg is deformed and from a single look she can tell that it has been for quite some time. His hair is long, damp, and dirty. He looks as though he hasn't changed clothing in weeks, let alone bathed.

Thor is gripping the reigns of several horses as he staggers down the Bifrost bridge. His own stallion, Loki's mare, a few others. The latter steeds belong to the Warriors Three and Lady Sif if she's remembering right (where is Loki? The others? Why is it just Thor? Is that Tjan?).

Thor.

She snaps into focus, shoving forward and moving. She has waited so long for this moment once she realized the possibility of her boys not coming home was mounting. She was breathless for days, a gnawing ache of worry clenching inside and making it hard to breathe, let alone exist.

"Thor!" Frigga exclaims in relief and feels her breath constrict in her chest as Thor's shadowed eyes and heavy face look up at her properly again.

"Mo'ther," Thor's voice is strained. He keeps eye contact with her and tries to hobble another step, but his leg gives and he collapses forward. She catches him with ease, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to keep him upright and feels relief at how real he feels beneath her touch. He's here. He's truly here.

"My son?" she questions, glancing up when she hears Odin approaching behind her. Her husband's expression is twisted. Confused, but angered all the same. He walks towards them briskly and rests a hand on Thor's shoulder. For the first time since the Heimdall's aid came bursting into their private quarters and spouting about Thor's return to Asgard, she feels the shock begin to wear off.

Now a gnawing worry takes its place.

"Thor." Odin says. His voice has the faintest edge of disbelief.

Thor's heavy head lifts from her shoulder to raise in the direction of the other. His eyes widen for the briefest moment as clarity washes through them. "P'pa." He mumbles out and Frigga feels as his legs give entirely. She snatches him under the arms abruptly, trying to keep him from toppling completely.

"Thor," she says frantically. Breathes out, because she can't get her voice any higher. Her son. This is her son and he's back. (Where are the others? Where?) "Thor, look at me."

He doesn't.

He moans softly, hands at last releasing the reigns of the horses and Odin reaches forward to help her take their son's weight. They share a weary look. "Amma," Thor whispers, knees slamming against the Bifrost bridge when he slips. He lands hard on his ankles and Frigga kneels down next to him.

"Thor."

Can she say nothing else?

"Amma, please, I'm so tired." Thor whispers, looking up at her. His red-rimmed eyes only reveal further evidence of this. "Amma, please," he begs. Frigga grips his shoulders tightly, at a loss for words. She has no idea what to do and she hates this. "'m so tired," Thor repeats, "just a moment to rest. Not slacking off, promise. I'll get back to it. I'll find 'em, Mother. Promise."

"Thor." Her husband's voice, not her own. "Thor, what are you talking about? Where is your brother?"

Thor's head slumps. "Lost him."

Frigga feels herself stiffen, a spool of panic opening in her. Lost him? Where? How? "My son…"

Wet tears slip down Thor's cheeks; they seem to be born of hopelessness. "Was lookin' for a long time. Promise. Please. I didn't mean to...to lose him. Can...can I...I hurt everywhere. My legsa broken, I think."

"Where is your brother?" Odin's voice is harder. There's a frantic note to it, but she shoots him a scathing look all the same resting a hand on Thor's hair. Now is not the time for an interrogation. Thor is exhausted. He needs their reassurance, not questions.

Thor releases a gurgling sob. "Gone. Skog of the Blood. I didn't...didn't…"

She tightens her grip in his hair. Loki. The burn of anxiety extends from her stomach to her throat, threatening to swallow her voice with it. Loki. "Thor," she forces her voice to be steady. It's all she can do to remain calm. "My son, you're exhausted. Surely you're speaking the thoughts of a frantic mind."

You are making excuses.

Accept the truth.

Thor shakes his head, making a weak noise. "M'ther. M'ther, 'm not—"

She squeezes her eyes shut, fully aware of the implications of this. Loki, and the Warriors Four, are still in the Blodig Skog. They were separated, and they never came home. (Might not come home altogether.)

"Papa…"

Thor sounds desperate. Whether he's seeking their approval or their comfort is lost to her. She just knows that he's seeking something and it feels impossible to give it. He needs rest. She suspects it's been too long since he gave himself to sleep.

"My son," Frigga cups his cheek, forcing him to look up at her rather than the far off place above her husband's head. "Have you slept?"

"Nnn." Thor moans.

"Thor, you can sleep." Frigga promises, smoothing her thumb across his cheek. "Dearheart, please, I insist. Rest."

Thor shakes his head. He seems nearly delirious. "Gotta find 'em. Brother's...brother might be scared. Promised 'im I'd coma back and I didn'..."

Frigga's heart gives a painful lurch, but she exhales stiffly and draws Thor close to her chest slowly, allowing him to collapses against her as she traces two fingers over his face. When her sedir touches the center of his forehead, he slumps completely in her arms. She hates having to force him to bed, but she knows Thor will push and push until his body gives out completely, and she won't see him dead.

If the need arises, she can deal with his wrath.

Not his death.

They need to get in contact with Eir. Norns curse it, it hadn't even occurred to her until this moment that they should find a healer. Heimdall's discovery had wiped her mind completely clean of anything but seeing her son again and simple things—like getting a healer—had been brushed aside.

It's of no matter. They can still make it to the capital. They aren't far from the palace.

Her teeth set and she looks up, noting the Einherjar around them seem to have settled. The prisoners Thor dragged with him are held by either arm by the guards and their faces are set in scowls. Something is off about their eyes and they reek of unweathered magic. Someone has been practicing powerful—but unstable—craft over these two men.

Heart seizing, Frigga brushes a hand against Thor's forehead to assess his condition and finds faint traces of the same rotten sedir, but no lingering effects. Whatever touched these mens' minds influenced her son's, but no longer.

Good.

(What is it? Does it have Loki? The others? Where did it come from?)

"My king," a Einherjar says softly. It's the captain of Thor's guard. Ullr. It's a relief to see that the stem of loyalty that binds her people together is still here, though the boy rarely lets his guard actually do their job. Loki was always—is always—worse in that regard. Thor would simply slip out of their grasp and vanish for a few hours. Loki would leave an illusion with his and let the guards pretend they were doing something other than protect bent light.

"What? Speak." Odin's voice is hard. She knows he must be as frustrated and confused as she is. For all his wisdom, for all her wisdom, and they lost complete track of their children for months and have only now been returned half the set.

And only by sheer chance.

(What happened?)

"Should we return to the palace, or shall we summon the healers to meet us here?" Captain Ullr inquires.

Frigga's lips press together tightly and she looks down at her son. She's uncertain as to the extent of the damage, but she'd rather do this out of the public's eye. It may be the Bifrost bridge, but it feels hopelessly exposed and vulnerable. (Thor feels unprotected here. One moment from being snatched out of her grip again.)

She glances at her husband, trusting his judgement. He's already looking at her, though, and his lips press together ever so slightly. Their unease they don't allow to show on their faces. They've been doing this for far too long now.

"The palace." Odin decides at length, "Take these men ahead. We'll arrive shortly."

Captain Ullr nods and shoves Tjan and the other man forward, keeping them moving in a rapid succession as he and his men shuffle around the three of them. When the group is far enough away, Odin squats down beside her. He reaches out a hand to rest on her shoulder and squeezes it gently, sighing under his breath.

Thor remains slumped in her arms, face lax and pressed up against her. "He's burning." Frigga murmurs softly, stroking the side of Thor's cheek again. The fever is obvious, and likely a heavy contribution to his apparent unease in the mind.

"I suspected as much." Odin says. "He was barely standing. You heard him, didn't you? About losing Loki?"

Frigga nods, that uncomfortable knot presenting itself again. "I did." She confirms, shifting somewhat. "We can discuss this later. We need to get him to Eir."

"Aye." Odin agrees and gently pushes her out of the way to gather their son into his arms. Frigga doesn't protest, letting him walk towards where Sleipnir is waiting. She breathes out slowly and turns.

The Bifrost Bridge has never looked so welcoming. Frigga's transversed its light-streamed paths thousands of times over the centuries she's lived in Asgard, but she can scarcely recall a time she's been so relieved to be standing on it. (A time where it meant so much to her.)

She looks to Heimdall, standing at the entrance to the observatory with his hands clasped over Hofund and expression blank as ever. His eyes are trailing her eldest, though, watching as Odin awkwardly mounts his stallion while struggling to keep them both on the horse.

She stands still a moment longer, lets herself revel in this. "Thank you." She says to the gatekeeper. "You may have saved his life."

Heimdall's gaze flickers to her. He dips his head. "I was only doing my sworn duty to the throne, my queen."

"That may be," Frigga agrees, "but we never would have gotten him back if you hadn't."

000o000

"How is he?" Frigga asks, settling down on an empty chair beside Thor's cot and looking up at the head healer. Eir's lips are thinned together tightly as she works, but the aids have stopped running around in such a frantic manner, which Frigga is considering a good thing. But it's always hard to say for certain.

She reaches a hand out to grip Thor's hand beneath the protective dome of healing spells. Eir sighs and waves something away with sedir. "Not good, Your Majesty." She murmurs at last. "His health very poor."

Odin sighs, leaning against Gungnir heavily. He refuses to sit, no matter how much Frigga wordlessly tries to stare him down into doing so. He instead seems to believe that the longer he stands the faster Thor will recover. His frustration seems to have spawned from the fact that he, like her, has very little desire to interpret Eir's riddles.

"Eir." Odin's voice is flat.

The head healer sighs, brushing hair away from her eyes. "His leg is the worst injury. It's not recent. A few weeks, I'd assume, the bone fused together wrong, and it wasn't a clean break. It shattered. Bone fragments are wandering through his calf, it is a miracle the bone fused at all, let alone wrong."

And they'll have to re-break it in order to perform the surgery Thor needs, which could complicate the bone's ability to heal if they slip up.

"On top of that, there's heavy scar tissue here," Eir gestures to an area very near Thor's heart, and Frigga's hand tightens around her son's. "I believe he was stabbed."

Odin's aura darkens, but his face remains impassive as ever when she looks towards it.

"Beyond that is basic malnutrition and dehydration. A few bruises and three broken fingers. The only thing I'm concerned over is his leg." Eir admits with some reluctance. "It's been so long...I don't know what we can do for it. We might need to consider the possibility of amputation."

"No!" Frigga's voice is louder than she meant for it to be. She's on her feet, though she can't recall standing. "You're not taking my son's leg."

Eir shuts her eyes and sighs softly. "My queen—"

"He did not journey home, barely alive and coherent, only so we would take his leg." Frigga hisses. Protective rage inside of her insists she shoo the healers out and deal with this herself now, but reason dictates she do nothing, and let the masters do their work.

Odin rests a hand on her shoulder. "Frigga."

"No." She turns to him, snapping a hand out to point at their son accusingly. "You would have them perform this monstrosity—"

"I never said that I would condone it!" Odin starts to counter harshly. "You—"

Eir steps between the two of them, shoving them apart. "I said it was a possibility we should consider, not a given fact of life. Be still. If you will continue to rage like this, you should leave until we're finished."

Frigga exhales sharply, clenching her fists. Her sedir burns on the tips of her fingers, demanding release. She doesn't want to leave. She can't bare to have Thor out of her sight any time soon, knowing that she nearly lost him to Valhalla. Her ignorance nearly got him killed.

(May have gotten Loki killed.)

She clenches her jaw and takes a seat back on the chair again, wordless.

They don't take her son's leg. Not while she's there to watch them. The state is still undetermined, but Frigga refuses to consider the possibility of amputation, even after the surgery. Thor is still yet young. He'll heal. He always heals.

(He came back broken. He came back fragile. How can he be healed from that?)

000o000

"My queen? Lady Pettidottir wanted to know what you thought about her recent adjustments to the teaching program. She was suggesting that they move the progression of grammatical structures to an earlier age and was waiting for your approval..."

Frigga turns, looking back at the woman. Systra. This all seems trivial, but she doesn't have the luxury of being able to sit here and watch her son breathe while Asgard runs itself. Her husband may have the brunt of the political work, but keeping Asgard happy, healthy, and nurtured is her job. It's never felt like more of a burden.

It always does when Loki or Thor are injured and she's unable to tend to them.

Frigga bites back her initial response which is to admit that she honestly does not care what Lady Pettidottir wants. Her son is dying, and isn't that more important? Let the grammatical structure of the Agsardian native tongue suffer if it means she can remain by her son's bedside.

But that is a mother speaking, and not a queen.

And she is, however frustrating it may be at times, both.

"Tell her that I want to go over the details in person." Frigga says, waving a slight hand. Systra nods, scribbling something down into the tablet that she's holding. "When I read the report the first time, I was uncertain as to why she thought getting started earlier—rather than just improve our teaching style—was important. Tell her to prepare and argument for that."

Systra nods again.

Silence laps between them and it takes Frigga a long second before she sighs and looks up at the girl. "Is there something else you need?"

Systra hesitates and then lowers her tablet. "My lady...my sister was among the group that went to the Blodig Skog. Has she been located?"

Frigga blinks in surprise and then remembers that Systra is, indeed, Sif's older sister. The stark contrast of their appearances often makes her forget the two of them are related. On top of that, the two rarely mention one another from what she understands.

Frigga gives a low shake of her head. "No, I'm afraid. Only my son, Prince Tjan, and a member of his guard were found. The others remain shrouded from us."

Stolen.

Systra gnaws on her inner lip for a moment before flicking her gaze towards Thor's prone form. He hasn't awoken in the three days he's been here, and though Frigga knows this is normal after his body has seen such trauma, she can't help the panic coiling in her stomach. It insists that Thor will never awaken, or if he does that his leg will have to go.

Eir said that's the only time they can really make any final decisions: When Thor is conscious enough to tell him the state of the injury. They fused the damaged bone—what they could of it—back together, but at what cost?

"I see." Systra sounds anything but happy with this. "And what of the Prince?"

Frigga looks up from her son's face to the young woman's curious one. It's only natural that she'd wonder over what circumstances brought her son to such a state. This is Thor. He seems impervious to injury until something lays him flat. But the state of Thor's health is not something she's going to share so Systra will gossip.

Rumors have already sprouted.

When Odin finally gets the council together to discuss the truth, they should dissipate, but for now...it's best to leave things as they are. Carefully, she answers, "He is still sick. Systra, I'm afraid if you came here to gather canards—" the girl's expression flinches "—then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Thor is ill. Leave him to rest in peace."

"I meant no disrespect." Systra is quick to fumble out.

"That may be," Frigga agrees, but narrows her eyes, "but I have no further information to give you. Take what we discussed to Lady Pettidottir. As soon as our schedules can coincide, I'll discuss this grammar problem with her."

Systra nods, lips pursed and cheeks flushed with some embarrassment. She leaves a moment later, and Frigga remains by Thor's bedside and his to-still form.

000o000

There are few men that Frigga knows of who do not cower at the sight of her husband's wrath. Any living soul in their right mind would be pleading for mercy at the clear disapproval and anger sent towards them from Odin's aura, but Tjan does nothing but stare up at the wall. As he has been doing for days.

Eir said, when she was asked to look over the man and his guard member, that their minds are far afield. "Something has tainted with them. You know how dangerous mind-magic is without the Mind Stone. It's unpredictable, and it's deadly. They sold their souls to someone."

"Who, do you know?"

"Nay, my queen, I don't recognize the signature. I'm guessing you do not either if you're asking."

Insane. Unresponsive. A living corpse.

The terms seem far more applicable now that she's standing before them. Odin has taken the seat on the other side of the desk staring at Tjan's face with obvious heat. They have no idea the circumstances of why Thor was holding the two men under arrest, but Heimdall said that he was insistent on it when he staggered into Ju half delirious.

He must have a reason.

She trusts that he does, even if he won't awaken to tell them so.

It had taken days before parliament agreed to an interrogation, but this is nothing unusual. When things seem to matter the most politically, that's when they drag. Odin had insisted on doing the interrogation himself, which likely didn't add to council sallying forth.

"What is your name?" Odin seems to breathe and draws in his magical aura, likely unaware he was letting it dribble out so much until now. The hotter his rage burns, the easier it is for him to lose control.

Frigga tightens her grip around Gungnir and shifts so she's standing directly behind Odin's shoulder, staring at the foreign prince. Her nephew. This is hardly the young boy that she remembers running through the halls of the Vanir palace screaming at the top of his lungs with giggles and laughter as he chased his siblings.

It's a ghost.

The man's eyes stare forward. Unchanging.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?" Odin questions. He keeps his tone level, showing more control than she ever could right now. Her mind is buzzing with worry, split between her children. They still have no word of Loki or the Warriors Four.

The eye-witness account of the ambassador from Ju to explain what happened had said that they all entered the Blodig Skog one night after a daughter's recent capture and they did not return. "Few do, Your Majesty," the man had said, addressing her husband and then turned to her, "I'm sorry for your loss, my queen."

They have nothing to search for. The Blodig Skog is massive. It would take years, even with their resources, to tear the entire thing apart in search of the remains of the Warriors Four and her child. It would be easier to unweave the enchantments holding it together.

She wants to be doing something. She can't sit here idle while Loki could be dying and Thor is comatose, balancing on the edge of recovery or losing a limb.

Odin tries a few more questions and receives the same dull stare. His frustration is growing, she can sense it, and she grabs at his shoulder before he can do something drastic. He looks at her, but she gives no indication of what she's about to do. Breathing out slow and evenly, she rests her palms flat on the table and shifts until she's in Tjan's line of site.

"Nephew," she says softly. Imperceptible. "You have been lost for some time now. We need you to talk to us."

Tjan does nothing.

Frigga sighs, squeezing her eyes shut and wishes it wouldn't have to come to this. Mind magic is always testy without the Stone, she knows this, but she's desperate. What other choice is there? Wait around for Tjan to slip further into the madness? They'd have to capture the enchanter to release him unless she takes this risk. She leans across the desk and hears her husband make a noise of protest, perhaps her name, but her fingers have already touched the edge of Tjan's temples and she thrusts herself into his head—

—only to stumble into chaos.

She knows what broken minds look like. This is far beyond that. It's like wading through thick, black tar, but knowing that stuck along side you is sharp needles and shards of ice. It digs into her consciousness and hurts.

This was a mistake.

But it's too late now.

Wading further, she searches out what she came here for; Tjan's consciousness. He must have tucked it away somewhere (or its gone entirely, a soft voice in her head whispers, he could be lost to you and his family now). To be this blank and dead, he has to have hidden it. Sheltered it. If anything else, whoever took him would have had to thrust his resistance somewhere.

She dives deeper.

The second layer is simply dark with a few spotted lights she recognizes as memories. They're shrouded, covered in the earlier tar and thick magical locks. The mage's doing, then, to trap him here. Frigga moves further. Oddly enough, the deeper she goes, the more she hears a soft song. It grows stronger and more melodious when she draws closer.

It's hauntingly beautiful, but sad, and Frigga recognizes this almost once.

A siren.

Tjan has been taken by a siren. As soon as the thought has occurred, she feels foolish. Loki and Thor were hunting the creature known to them as the Weeping Siren. Although legends and titles rarely live up to the creatures themselves, it would appear that this beast does.

Norns curse it, this is far more complicated than she first thought it would be.

Frigga wades further, farther, knowing that she's straining her sedir, but looking for that small glimpse of her nephew inside this mess. It takes longer than she thought it would, but she spots the glimmering edge of where he's been stuffed or hid and grabs at it with the remaining reserves of her sedir and yanks.

She's shoved out of his head from the force as her sedir overpowers the creature's bonds. The splintering light casts away the darkness, and Frigga comes back to herself with a sharp inhale and a splitting headache. Her legs threaten to give, but Odin's warm hands catch her before she can fall and guide her to the chair he abandoned. She slumps, breathless, and gives him a nod of thanks.

His expression is cold.

Frigga can tell he did not approve of her her reckless actions in the slightest, but she doesn't care. If this can bring even a small part of Tjan to the surface, they'll have a better understanding of what happened. (A better chance at finding Loki.)

Her nephew releases a gasping sputter, shuddering and coughing, leaning over the side of the chair to spit up blood.

Frigga smirks slightly in relief, her throat burning with thirst. Tjan is here. This was well worth it.

Her nephew looks up at them with wide eyes. They lack proper lucidity—his mind is far afield—but there's something there. "Where…" his voice cracks, hoarse and broken. "Uncle? Why...I…" he swallows, "think I've done something terrible."

His gaze fidgets, locking to place for a moment like he's struggling to keep himself present. The mage's magic, Frigga suspects. It will take more than her clumsy attempt to set his mind right. She'd need more time if she were to do it alone, and a guide to keep her from tumbling into the darkness after him.

Odin breathes in deeply, resting his hands on the desk. "Tell me everything."

In a broken, stuttered voice, Tjan begins to speak. Frigga feels herself grow more horrified at every word that drops from his tongue.

000o000

If she'd been expecting something grand and melodramatic, as her sons can be prone to, she would have been radically disappointed by Thor's awakening ten days after his return. She was not, and is only relieved when her son's hand twitches before his face scrunches up and his eyes open half a sliver.

At seeing her leaning over him, his blue eyes fill with the briefest edge of relief.

She shifts further and takes one of his hands in between both of hers. "Thor?"

He sighs heavily and releases a soft groan. In a hoarse, but strong voice, he questions, "It...smells terrible here. Is that me?"

Frigga wants to both laugh and slap him over the head for the comment. It's not him. The healers had to clean him for fear of infection. Frigga spent hours de-tangling the mass of knots Thor's hair turned into, but despite her best efforts she had to resort to cutting some places out. He's likely smelling the cream that Eir rubbed all over his leg in an effort to coax the leg back into its proper alignment. Frigga remembers it being potent when she first got a whiff of it.

She's immune now, having spent far too much time in these rooms.

"No, love," she promises and gives his cold hand a quick squeeze. "Just Eir's medicine."

Thor blinks, squinting as if confused before he looks up at her again. "Why would Eir...oh, Norns!" Thor shoots bolt upright, nearly colliding foreheads with her. He throws off the thin blanket covering the lower half of his body and attempts to shove his way up to his feet.

Frigga grabs ahold of her surprise, shoves it down and snatches her son before he can make any progress in his attempt to stand. "Thor!" her voice is sharper than she intended. "Thor, stop it!"

"No, I have...have to—" Thor stumbles out, wiggling in her grip. "I need to find them! Mother!"

Frigga refuses to let him go, and feels strangely angry. "Thor, stop. You aren't well. You are not in the position be running around, you stupid child! Can you not feel your injuries?"

Thor stops, looks up at her. "No! I'm fine. I'm…" he looks down towards his feet and his eyes go wide as his face blanches with pain. "Oh."

He starts to slump and Frigga lets her grip lax. She doesn't let go completely, just in case, but she loosens her death grip on him. Thor whips his head towards her, something frantic in his gaze. "Mother—Mother, where is Loki? My friends? Please tell me that you found them. I need...I need them to...to…"

Frigga squeezes her eyes shut and sighs softly. "My son, the location of your brother still evades us."

She hates this.

She has no idea where her child is.

She lost him to the Blodig Skog. Any number of things could have claimed his soul and dragged him to Valhalla's doorsteps. Until she and Odin can know where to begin their search—can get the stupid parliament to agree to let them go personally—it will continue this way.

Thor makes a little strangled noise. She thinks it was a "no" that got caught in his throat. Forcing her eyes open and brushing hair away from his forehead, she draws a smile together. "Tell me what happened. The more we know the better."

Thor's story comes out reluctantly, carefully, and she knows that he'd editing parts as he goes along as if she needs the filter. It annoys her, but she says nothing, trying to keep him calm and waving of any healers. She should let them check him, but she doesn't want to know what will happen to his leg. Whether or not they really will be taking it this night. (He doesn't tell her how he broke it.)

Thor finishes with a hastily put together explanation about the decision to travel from Ju to Asgard, and she knows that he's lying. She doesn't push. She wants to, wants to reach into his head and rattle out all the secrets he's keeping until they fall out so she can parse them, but now is not the time for that. Thor is exhausted and confused.

She can't demand more from him. He needs comfort, not her worry. Instead, swallowing her fear in favor of his health, she presses a gentle kiss on his brow and allows Eir to at last come forward.

Thor is allowed to keep his leg. Scarcely. He may never walk properly again.

000o000

The information Tjan can give them is scattered and hardly coherent over weeks of interrogation. The peak of his lucidity was the first few minutes after she tore the mage's magic from his head and he'd bubbled up a confession for trying to murder Thor. (He stabbed him. Almost in the heart and only missed because he had resisted this Weeping Siren's call.) All they have now is scattered details about various children, the Weeping Siren's employment, and the admittance of the mass slaughter of the original squadron he brought with him.

And the possession of the Siren.

Weeks pass with this little information, and Frigga wants to tear out her hair in aggravation. Loki is still out there, still missing, and they can do nothing because Tjan's mind is a mess. An attempt to draw his guard from the retreated shadow was too much of a strain. He'd died shortly afterwards, and Frigga and Odin had returned him to his family with a formal letter of sympathies.

Thor takes his first hobbled steps out of the healing room, but they rely heavily on the cane he's been given and instructed to use at all times until the bone is stronger. It's not healing as it should after spending so much time in the wrong area and the thick lack of resources. She knows her boy is attempting to hide how much pain the wound brings him, but she can see through his facade with ease.

Thor retreats into himself, almost as silent and ethereal—like as Tjan is. It frightens her. He doesn't talk much, opting instead to spend long hours staring over maps of Vanaheim—her husband's map of the Blodig Skog is missing, and none of them know where it went, but Odin suspects Loki and Frigga grudgingly agreed with him—and scribble something down onto parchment.

If it's not that, he takes care of his friends' horses, or sits in Loki's room.

She doesn't know what happened to make him so sullen.

(Dreads to know how Loki will be, now that he's been exposed to the Blodig Skog's power for far longer than her firstborn ever was.)

000o000

Frigga's sister, Freya, arrives on Asgard a few short weeks later to collect her son. Tjan has been moved to the healing rooms, but there's still so many unknowns about his future. Eir believes that, given time, he'll heal, but one wrong move could send him spiraling backwards again. Unless they can kill the Weeping Siren, Tjan's state will remain much the same.

The Weeping Siren made a mess of his mind with her songs.

Freya is none to happy with this.

"Norns curse the wretched thing," Freya seethes, beginning to pace outside of the room Tjan has been assigned. She'd kept considerable control over her emotions inside the space, as Eir had instructed, and only embraced her child and listened to the half-stuttered words he'd said.

Her anger is obvious now, as Frigga had expected it would be. "She nearly killed my child." Freya hisses, clenching her fists. "Tjan has been working there for months. I haven't seen him since before he left. Why hadn't I...why did I wait?"

Why did they all?

Why did they put children in charge of dealing with this?

(They're of age. She knows that. All of them were, but it doesn't ease anything.)

Frigga sighs and shifts, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I know. You did what you thought was right, we all did." She promises. Freya makes a frantic noise in the back of her throat and looks up at her, eyes wide.

"That doesn't mean it was what needed to be done." She rests her head in her hands. "Oh, Frigga. We're now only beginning to understand the extent of what's been done. The Weeping Siren has been a nuisance for close to two centuries, but nothing…nothing like this. I should have dealt with it myself. Or sent a more advanced sedir-wielder to deal with it. We have contacts with the Light Elves…"

Frigga's head tips. "I thought...Tjan's report when he requested Asgard's aid said that the creature had only been active for five years in our time."

Freya shakes her head, rubbing at her face. "You know what a distorted concept time is between realms. What is months here could be decades on our home realm and vice versa."

It is a painful truth, no matter how much Frigga has valiantly been trying to ignore it for the last few weeks. They are not immortal, but being so close to the edge of Yggdistrial has given them an extended lifespan. Counting time is close to meaningless between realms.

Freya sighs heavily before looking up at her. "This creature has been stealing children for a lot longer than what my son told you. That doesn't mean she kept them, or...that they survived."

"Oh." Frigga squeezes her eyes shut.

"Tjan's mind is hardly the first one she's messed with." Freya bites on her lower lip, shaking her head. "It was just a nuisance at first. We couldn't even determine it was the same person until recently. Norns, I…" Freya glances back at the door. "I'm going to kill her. I don't care who catches her, execution is the only punishment Vanaheim will agree on."

Frigga privately agrees, but says nothing. They don't know the circumstances of this villain. They don't know if death is the best solution. If there's nothing left to save. Execution is not the solution to every problem, despite what the court believes.

She squeezes her sister's shoulder and offers a tired smile. Her voice holds more bitterness than she cares to admit. "I'm glad you get to take your child home and make your family whole again."

Frigga won't.

Because Loki is still missing.

(Are they ever going to find him?)

(What if they find him, and he's not alive? She doesn't want to send her child off to the stars.)

000o000

She can't find Thor.

She hates how much of a panic this sends her into, but she'd just been doing rounds to check on him, but no one has seen him and she has no idea where he is. She has no idea if he's alright, if something happened, if he was somehow claimed by the creature again, if, if, if—

Ifs do nothing.

Gathering her frazzled head together, she determines to first go to Heimdall, and if he hasn't seen her child, then Odin might have some luck with the All-Sight, but she doubts it. (She knows she's being pathetic. Overprotective. Stupid, but she can't help this. Smothering Thor has been the only way she's managed to keep herself sane. (It's been seven months. The search parties High Commander Tyr led returned empty handed. Again.))

She's both startled, and relieved when she dismounts from her stallion to see her son in the observatory. Both he and the gatekeeper are sitting on the dais where Hofund is used and their backs are to her. She knows that the gatekeeper is aware of her, but Thor seems oblivious. He's speaking quietly, that stupid cane he hates so much propped up by his feet.

"...and then there was this...thing." Thor lifts his hands as if trying to measure something. "About this big. And…" a heavy sigh, "you know how Tjan...his mind is unsettled, but he'd have these moments of lucidity sometimes. There was...nevermind. Anyway. We almost caught her, you know."

Frigga stills.

She shouldn't be listening. This is clearly only for Heimdall (why is her son talking to him!? Why does he not believe he could discuss this with her? She is his mother.), but Frigga can't get herself to move.

"The creature had come back with another child. A son. I'd almost managed to stop her, but she...didn't really appreciate that. She broke my leg with sedir. I…" Thor shudders visibly. "I didn't know that sedir could do that. It's stupid, because it's obvious now, but Loki hasn't ever crushed bone like that before. I think I'm...I am pathetic."

He's…

What?

(Afraid of sedir. Because of the damage the Weeping Siren did. Perhaps not afraid, but a great deal wearier.)

"You wandered on your own with two mad men for months." Heimdall's voice is cool. "Your leg must have pained you. I don't believe it foolish to have a healthy respect for the craft."

Thor sighs burying his head into his hands. "Norns. I hate this. Can you see them?"

"No."

"Have you ever been able to see them?"

"...No."

"You know what the stupidest part of this is?" Thor glances up at the gatekeeper. "I keep being afraid that the Weeping Siren will kill them, and then I remember that this is the Warriors and my brother. They'll have murdered each other long before any—ah!" Thor makes something dangerously close to a squeak as he stumbles up and away from the dais when he spots her in the corner of his eye.

Mjolnir is in one hand despite how clearly he looks like he's going to tip over.

Frigga feels frozen to the spot. As if she's been caught doing something she should not. (She is. She wasn't meant to hear this conversation, but she did. Because she couldn't turn around and give her son the privacy he wanted. If he'd wanted her to hear this, he would have talked to her. (Why didn't he want her to hear this? Why did he tell Heimdall?))

"Mother." Thor's red-rimmed eyes are wide. His arm drops, battle stance shifting into something calmer. "What are you doing here?"

Frigga untangles her tongue from the roof of her mouth. Forces words out before she tries to swallow them whole again. She doesn't stammer, though it feels like she should have. "I was looking for you, my son."

Thor blinks.

Heimdall twists around to look back at her, an eyebrow lifted just the slightest. She can see how unimpressed he is with her un-announcing her presence, and she feels slightly embarrassed. She should have just said something when she came close enough to the observatory. She hadn't. And now she has this entire mess to deal with.

Thor's lips press together and he glances for the briefest moment at Heimdall.

The look says more than anything he could have spoken would have.

Frigga bites back the sting and wonders when her sons stopped looking to her for support first. Thor clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable and attempting to break the tension before he takes a haggard step forward. He nearly tumbles and grabs at the edge of the dais. Frigga snaps from her thoughts and moves forward, snatching the crutch from where it was balanced and offers it out to her son.

Thor's lips are taut, but he doesn't lift out a hand to take it.

Frigga breathes out slowly and offers a reassuring smile, "My apologies. I hadn't meant to overhear your conversation." Thor blinks again, staring at her with wide eyes. He looks like a spooked cat. Will he say something?

As if overhearing her thoughts, Thor questions softly, "Did you want something?"

Frigga shakes her head, "No. I wasn't sure where you were. I...was worried." The extent of her panic is pathetic, thinking back on it. The Bifrost hadn't been activated, there are no other ways out of Asgard. Where would her son have gone?

"Oh."

Silence.

Frigga lifts the crutch out to him again further and Thor hesitantly reaches a hand out to take it from her. "Thor," Frigga keeps her voice steady, her posture calm though she feels like she's missing something. "You know you can talk to me, don't you?"

Thor's eyes flick to the crutch. His lips press together and he gives a wordless nod. "Yes. When you aren't occupied. You're...Loki is a priority. The realm is that, too, I understand. I'm not unwell, Mother. I just," another brief look towards Heimdall, "I'm adjusting."

And he should talk to her about that.

(Does he really believe that she wouldn't prioritize him? (Does Loki feel the same?))

"Of course." Frigga's smile is false. "Forgive me for the interruption. Thor, please let Captain Ullr know where you venture off to next time." She's turned and exited the observatory before he can come up with a response.

000o000

"Odin?"

The ceiling is dark above her head, but thoughts are spinning and she can't keep quiet anymore. She's been lying down for hours quiet and unable to stop the interaction at the observatory from spinning around her head. It keeps going on and on.

Yes. When you aren't occupied.

When you aren't occupied.

When you aren't—

"Mmm?" her husband makes the noise in the back of his throat. He either wasn't sleeping, too, or wasn't sleeping heavily. She's favoring the former.

Frigga sighs heavily and rolls onto one side so she's facing him. "I talked with Thor today."

Odin shifts to face her better. "And?"

She doesn't know how to phrase this. Where to begin. So she doesn't. Shakes her head and falls back against the mattress. "It's nothing."

"I daresay I disagree." Odin murmurs, "Frigga."

She sighs and then quietly bemoans. "I'm a terrible mother. I doubt there is another being in this universe that is failing more than I am. Thor didn't even want to talk to me. I rarely see our children. How am I supposed to nurture them if I don't even have my hands anywhere near the potter's clay? Where—?"

000o000

Frigga doesn't hear about Thor re-stepping into the training ring until a week has passed. A week. Thor had apparently wrangled most of the Einherjar into keeping it under wraps and, well impressive, it leaves her quietly seething.

She doesn't think she's thinking clearly, but she's not even sure she cares.

She tears across the training ground before she grabs her son's shoulder and drags him back a few feet. "What on the Nine are you doing here!?" she keeps herself from shouting, but it's hardly control.

Thor looks up at her, soaked in sweat and gripping the sword tight enough his knuckles are white. "I could ask you the same question."

"Are you insane?" Frigga demands. "Eir didn't give you permission to be walking without your crutch. Or a clearance for activity like this. You're going to damage yourself. Do you want this to be permanent?"

"Of course not!" Thor retorts. They're gaining an audience. Good. Maybe the humiliation of this will keep Thor indoors. "Norns, Mother. Don't coddle me. I'm of age."

A scowl slips over her features. "That means nothing."

"I know what I'm doing!"

"Asgard does not need a cripple for its king!"

Thor flinches back from that, eyes going wide. Breath explodes from his chest before his jaw grits and he lifts up a finger towards her face. "I am not a cripple. I'm going to find Loki and bring him back here. You can't stop me."

A laugh threatens to bubble out of her. She stops it on the tip of her tongue so it gurgles out as a derisive snort. A wave of hurt washes over his face. "Your brother has nothing to do with this. How are you going to help him if you can't walk?"

A figure comes to a stop on her left, slightly breathless. It's one of her husband's aids. "My queen—!"

She ignores him. Thor throws his sword on the earth and turns to face her properly. "Look. I'm standing. I'm fine. Are you happy? There's nothing wrong with me."

"Queen Frigga!"

Frigga shoves a finger against his shoulder and he staggers back a step, a wince whispering on the edges of his face. "Yes." She agrees dryly. "You are perfectly healed, aren't you?"

"My queen—"

Thor's nostrils flare. "I am—"

A hand grabs her shoulder and she whirls on the man, teeth set together. He draws back sharply, eyes wide with something close to fear as he sees her face. "What!?" she should be more patient. Draw herself together and act like she's not burning with frustration. She's spent too many long years on the throne to lose control so easily.

"The—the All-Father," he stammers out and then breathes a little easier and appends so quickly that his words begin to blur together. "the All-Father wanted to speak with you. He says it concerns Prince Loki. Something about the council finally agreed to let you seek him personally. High Commander Tyr's scouts found a magical anomaly in the forest, they think it might be the Weeping Siren."

Both she and Thor still.

Her words come to an all-impressive halt, tangling up in her throat. And then she grabs Thor's hand in anticipation and breathes out steadily, hardly daring to believe this. Doesn't know if she can. (It's been so long. So, so long.)

Loki.

Ten months, two weeks, one day.

Loki.

000o000

Two days later, they arrive on Vanaheim. Preparations—rushed as they were—took far longer than she hoped for. She would have loved to depart the day of, but she's more than Loki's mother. She's the queen. (Sometimes, oh, all so often, the title is a burden.) They needed to alert the Warriors Four's families, gather up the group and meet up with High Commander Tyr's group on Vanaheim.

He'd been scouting for months. The Blodig Skog has been laughing at his attempts, but with the use of the other (and final, Loki has their map—her foolish boy. What did he plan to do with it?) map, they'd been making slow progress. It had been a boon to her frustrations. At least they were doing something, even if it wasn't personally.

Tyr is almost certain he's found them.

They meet the High Commander in Ju. He's dirty, clearly exhausted and wet from the recent rainstorm, but gives a curt nod as they arrive. "Your Majesties," he says in greeting.

"Commander." Frigga answers in turn. She breathes out slowly, squeezes her eyes shut and reminds herself that this could be another dead end. She doesn't want it to be. (What if they arrive and there's nothing but the bones of her youngest? What if they're all dead? Everyone keeps insisting—)

Her hands itch with the urge to do something.

They have three weeks.

Three measly weeks.

They'll find him. All of them. She doesn't know what she'll do if they don't. The High Commander gives a slight dip of his head in Thor's direction—her son had insisted and though Frigga had at first adamantly refused, Odin had argued reason and smuggled him along. She'd been none to amused, but what can she do about it? Grab him by his ear and haul him back to Asgard? (She could, but that won't do anything but leave her eldest cross with her.)

"What do you have?" Odin demands, cutting the formalities to a stop.

The High Commander explains about his findings as Thor leaves with a few men to grab some supplies—she'd shoved him off to it, honestly. She'll explain their plan later, there's no need for Thor to go running off before they're reading to go. Tyr lifts up the map for them to look over and gestures to a large area inside the forest. It's strangely absent of trees. Abnormally so. "My men found this area a few days ago." Tyr explains. "From what they could see it was nothing but a field."

"But?" Odin presses.

"We could sense sedir off of it." Tyr answers, then tips his head, "More so than otherwise. It's thick. We're thinking it's a barrier. It's not much, I know, but it's better than what we had. My men touched it and it was solid."

A barrier, then, indeed. Built to keep things out. (And inside? Loki?) Frigga's lips press together and she narrows her eyes. "Why on the Nine did you look there? It's almost on the edge."

"I know." Tyr grunts in agreement. "But the scouts said they spotted smoke. They didn't see a fire, but it looked like something big had gone up in flames. That doesn't just put itself out in a place that dense with wood."

Hence, the anomaly.

"I'm assuming you have an attack plan." Odin's expression is blank, but she can see the relief in his eyes. It's reflected in the twisting anxiety slowly easing in her chest. This is something. It's more than what they'd had before.

Tyr nods. "Yes. I found a series of tunnels that lead underneath the barrier. They haven't been touched in centuries. We can use them to get inside the field and see what's on the other side."

Whether or not Loki and the Warriors Four are there.

She and her husband share a look. She resists the urge to grab at his hand in relief because lackadaisical is something she's played for centuries.

(Loki. Loki. Loki.)

000o000

Four days after entering the abyss of the tunnels is when they smash into the children. They'd still been a few days out from reaching that field, but Thor had insisted he was hearing something in the tunnels ("Voices. I heard them. I swear. There's someone else down here.") and they'd broken off to check the area.

Frigga would be a liar to admit she was expecting this.

There's more than a dozen of them, scrambling across the cave floor with wide eyes and frantic noises. A young boy at the front is holding a thick scroll of a paper and a lantern, a girl at his left. The collision has several of the Einherjar draw their weapons (she reaches for her short-sword, but stops herself just in time) and paranoia shoot up among the group.

"Help!" the boy at the front screeches, pointing behind them frantically. "She's coming!"

Frigga releases her sword and moves towards the boy, kneeling down in front of him. He's making sputtering noises that are supposed to pass for breath. He's panicking. Several of the other children are openly crying. Wait—

Children. In the middle of the Blodig Skog.

The Weeping Siren.

There's more than a dozen. The Weeping Siren has taken nineteen. Twenty-four, if she's counting her son and the Warriors Four as well. Hope bubbles up in her chest, but she stuffs it down because it will hurt if its wrong.

"Please!" the boy wheezes.

"My child," Frigga says as softly as she can and reaches out to grip his shoulders. He flinches back from her touch, breath constricting in his chest. The instinct seems ingrained in him, and something dark and cold coils inside her stomach. "You're safe. What has you so frightened?"

"She's coming!" the boy screeches, "She kills the others!"

"There's no one to save them!" another daughter wails. "Please! You have to save them!"

Who? Who is dying?

More children rouse with these protests and Frigga shares a frantic look with her husband. Odin kneels down next to her as she gently pulls the boy close to her and tries to shush him. "What do you have there?" Odin murmurs under his breath and reaches a hand out to gently take the paper from him.

It reeks of sedir. The frays of the paper are ingrained with golden flecks only those trained in the art would recognize. Her husband must have seen it. Eir and her aids are attempting to deal with the children's frantic crying and Thor is holding two of them close—is that Hogun's younger sister?—as the boy frantically sobs and moans against her.

"She kills them." He keeps repeating. "We're all going to die."

They need to move. To save whoever is in danger, but they can't just leave these children spooked and weeping.

Odin stills beside her suddenly. His entire posture seems to just jump into something stiff and she glances at him a word of question on her lips, but his one eye locked with hers. "Wife," he breathes and then lifts the parchment towards her.

Her breath catches.

Oh.

Oh Norns.

The map. The map of the Blodig Skog. Odin's, because they're borrowing the royal family's second copy and Tjan lost the first. There is no one else it could belong to. No one else that this son could have gotten it from.

Loki. Loki is near here. The words catch up with her and she realizes with a frantic feeling of panic that these children are bemoaning the death of the others. The Warriors Four and her son. They're down these tunnels. (She's so close. Oh, Norns, she's—)

Odin shoves to his feet. "Tyr, leave a portion of your men with the children." The High Commander turns to them, his expression clouded with confusion. Odin lifts up the map and Frigga sees Thor's eyes go wide from the corner of her gaze. "This came from my son."

At those words, the Aesir around her scramble. Frigga releases the son so she can gather herself. Within the next minute they're moving forward again. Pointed in the direction that the children came from and pointed them towards with wide eyes.

Frigga draws her sword and listens carefully beyond the tromping of the Aesir's feet for anything else. Some indication that they're getting closer. It takes a bit, but then she can pick out sounds of battle. Clashes of metal scattering, people grunting. She spots the edge of the flame—not flame, she corrects herself, gathering of half a dozen lanterns—before she sees anything else.

Her eyes adjust, and then widen.

The smell of blood hits her first. It's been split, and generously so. Laying near the lanterns is Sif, sprawled out across the ground and panting hard and fast with dulled eyes. Her hands are pressed against her stomach.

Laying against the wall is Fandral, his head bent at a strange angle with blood leaking down the side of his head, from his ear, Norns it's all over the side of his head.

Hogun is crumpled, in a similar state to Sif, but what catches her attention for the longest second is the sight of her son. He's pale and laying face down against the earth. Loki.

Loki. Loki. Loki.

He's here.

He's alive (is he?)

A tall, thin woman is swinging a sword towards Volstagg and the glint of metal against the light catches her attention. Beheading. She's preparing for a beheading. (She kills them.) Her hands raise, sedir tipping on the edges of her fingertips as she sees several of Tyr's archers raise their bows.

Thor beats them all. With a cry, he throws Mjolnir forward, lighting dancing off of the hilt and it smashes into the woman from the side. Tossing himself into the room with a loud war cry, Thor summons the hammer back to him, stumbling across the room.

Frigga doesn't hesitate. Tyr and his men throw themselves into the space without restraint, easily filling the area. Frigga follows after beside her husband and lifts her sword, prepared for a fight. She wants to spill blood. (Wants this to be over so she can tend to her youngest. None of this feels real. It's too convenient. Loki is there. Loki is—)

The Weeping Siren staggers upwards, letting out a few laughs despite how she's charred and smoking. (Good, a vindictive part of her snarls, hopefully Thor thought to do something permanent.) Her face is haunted, despite how its hidden behind long silver hair. It lacks youth, drawing her features together in a way that reminds Frigga rather of something pinched or sour.

"You waste your energy, Asgardians." The Weeping Siren snarls. Her voice is hoarser than Frigga had expected. For the title of siren, she'd thought it would be silky and soft, perhaps even youthful. The Weeping Siren sounds like she's been inhaling too much smoke. "This is a family matter, not one of the State."

Family matter!?

This is Frigga's family!

"You took my brother." Thor growls between his teeth.

Stole my child, a sour part of her whispers. Nearly took my son's leg. You have done nothing to warrant mercy.

The Weeping Siren hisses, "He's not your brother. Not anymore. He's my son now. And we've been very happy together, have we not, dearest?" She nudges Loki with the side of her boot pointedly, obviously expecting him to say something. Something inside Frigga's chest freezes, her gaze flicking to her son automatically.

Loki flinches away from the creature, clawing at the earth. He says nothing. Frigga wants to tear across the ground and gather him into her arms, but the Weeping Siren is in the way.

"My dear?" The Weeping Siren's voice is hard. Expectant. As if she can simply will Loki into doing what she wants.

"W-we h-have," Loki promises. His voice trembles. It's the first time she's heard it in months and her chest constricts at how much she doesn't recognize it, but how familiar it is all the same. (Loki. Loki. Loki.) The Siren leans down and caresses a hand through her son's dirty locks. Loki freezes, curling in on himself and lets out a strangled sort of noise in panic.

No.

She's not doing this any longer.

How DARE she touch him!

Frigga feels her mask slip, something dark and heated slipping across her features. She doesn't care. Let her expression burn something. She's going to tear this creature apart piece by glorious piece. Loki is terrified of her. Her son does not scare easily.

"Don't touch him!" Thor commands sharply, shifting some only to be grabbed by High Commander Tyr before he can do something drastic. (Stupid.) His weight is faltering again. He'd "forgotten" the crutch. His recent plan on recovery has been to ignore that he needs it entirely and it's been failing miserably. Frigga, focus.

"Shh." The Weeping Siren sings, looking towards Frigga's eldest. "You were not meant to survive that attack, but here you are. It's of no matter, we'll just have to do the killing a different way. Drop your weapons." The last three words are sung off-tune, but it doesn't matter. Frigga feels the power of the siren's words, laced thickly with sedir, wash across the space.

Several of the Einherjar are quick to follow the command, but it takes a repeat before the rest and her eldest follow. Frigga shakes her head softly, teeth gritting together. Alright, enough. She's seen plenty. The creature has shown off and looks rather proud and smug, but Frigga's not having this. The magic was alluring—this creature is powerful—but she and Odin don't move.

The creature begins to sing again and reaches for Loki's head, attempting to put him to sleep—oh, how her son flinches away from the creature like she'll burn him, what has this demon done to him?—and something in Frigga snaps.

It shatters all over the ground and takes any control she had with it. Her hand snaps up before she realizes what she's doing and she wraps sedir around the creature's neck and squeezes. The Weeping Siren's voice dies as she slowly lifts her hands up to claw at the invisible hand strangling her. Frigga is half-tempted to snap her neck here and now, but refrains.

The Siren won't suffer if Frigga gives her a quick death.

Frigga drags her away from her child with ease and feels the spell wash off of her men as she strides forward and takes the woman by her throat. She feels the eyes on the room settle on her back, but she doesn't care for the attention.

"Touch my son again and I'll do far worse than this." Frigga promises, offering a bitter grin, "You are powerful, and that's not a good thing for you," she leans towards the creature's face. "It means when I drain you dry of every lost drop of sedir you possess, it will hurt."

"You—" the Weeping Siren tries to say.

"Oh, shut up." Frigga waves her other hand in front of the beast and throws the woman into sleep forcefully. The Weeping Siren immediately slumps and Frigga releases a disgusted breath, turns, thrusting the creature towards the High Commander. "Restrain her, and be assured she won't awaken until I say so."

Tyr nods, glancing briefly in the direction of the injured and Frigga snaps back into focus.

Loki.

Jerking back to herself, she hears her husband take control of the situation—sees, from the corner of her eye as the family they managed to bring for the Warriors Four immediately move to their children—and shoves her way towards her son.

Frigga lands on her knees beside her youngest, sweeping her gaze up and down him with relief and a quiet assessment as to his health. He's thin. So much thinner than she ever remembers him being. He's never been able to keep weight in the way Thor has, but he's never been so brittle she's been afraid a small breeze would topple him. His bones stretch skin.

His eyes are shadowed heavily, hair a mess, and his face is hollow. But his eyes, so wide with pain and fear land on her. She sees his terror. Horror. The shadows that haunt both his skin and behind the irises. Knows that something awful has happened, even if she has no exact pinpoint as to what.

(What did that creature do?)

"Loki," she breathes, and reaches out to cup his face. A long gash is split over his nose and leading down towards his neck. It's jagged, as if something had jerked the weapon away from the wielder as they tried to slit his throat.

Frigga has a growing suspicion that that's exactly what happened if the state of the Warriors Four are anything to base her observations off of.

"Amma," Loki chokes, rasps, coughing harshly and reaching out for her. She takes his hand immediately, trying to smile with reassurance. It falls flat. His skin feels thin and waxy and it takes her a moment to realize that the ever-present allure of his sedir is depleted. Not missing completely, but so much weaker than she recalls it ever being. So often she feels like a candle compared to a roaring flame when it comes to his reserves and for that lack of the bonfire being there…

What happened?

"I'm here now, dearheart," she promises, shoving this observation to the side for later and leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his dirty forehead. Loki flinches beneath her touch and she hesitates, but pulls back and lifts her hand over the wound waving sedir over it to assess them. It's bleeding profusely.

If she does nothing, he'll bleed out.

"Amma," Loki repeats, and makes a strangled gurgling noise. Frigga's eyes widen with alarm before she grabs his shoulders and helps him sit up so he can throw up and spit blood from his throat. (Blood. Blood.) Sobs wrack his body when he's graduated to dry heaves and his to-thin face looks up at her, tears washing the dirt from his pale skin.

Her heart twists in her chest. "My son," she breathes and squeezes his hand harder.

She hears Thor land beside her before she sees him, but her eldest stares at Loki for a long second as if unsure what to do with himself. Loki's eyes lock onto him and he heaves, "brother" in a tone that's thick with relief and oddly pleading.

"Loki." Thor says and moves, hands flailing before they settle on gripping Loki's other hand. "Loki, oh Norns, I'm so sorry. I was looking for you, I promise, but I couldn't...I'm so sorry. You look awful. You're—blood. Blood. That's so much blood. Oh, All—Fathers, that's so much blood. Mother."

He turns to her at that, eyes wide.

Frigga does what she can, staying focused. Eir kneels down on Frigga's other side, lips pressed together and obviously thinking rapidly.

"Help." Loki breathes, coughing again. "Help. Something's...I'm…"

Loki's body trembles and he exhales a final time before he beings to seize and Loki's eyes roll back as he slumps against the ground, frame still twitching. Frigga's breath is snatched by her panic, held for ransom by it, and she can't get anything to come out. No.

No. No. No!

She did come this far only to lose her child to Valhalla when she was touching him. "No!" Frigga gasps. Eir shoves her out of the way and spreads her hands, spreading a wave of sedir across Loki's body. Loki's veins alight almost immediately as it sinks into his frame and Frigga shakes her head. "No."

Her hands are trembling.

Loki.

No.

He can't die!

Odin grabs at her shoulders when she attempts to move, squishing into the sudden mass of Eir's aids, and holds her against his chest. "Frigga." He breathes. "Frigga, stop. Let them work."

HOW CAN SHE!? Loki is—he was seizing. He wasn't breathing. Something went wrong. Something—Loki. No. Not her son. Not her child. Not—

Frigga shakes her head. Buries her head against her husband's chest and begins to sob. "No."

000o000

Frigga hardly remembers the journey from the tunnels back to Asgard. Eir managed to keep Loki alive, but he's not breathing on his own. Sedir is keeping up the basic functions of his body because he can't. An inquiry of Eir had only left the head healer thinning her lips and shaking her head murmuring, "it's not looking good."

Frigga doesn't want to look towards Loki's lax, almost-dead form, so she throws herself into caring for the children. She learns their names and memorizes their faces, offering condolences and smiles. She keeps a weathered eye on her youngest, but it's meaningless. Loki's condition doesn't change.

The Warriors Four are hardly better off. All of them are starved, thin, and bare bruises and evidence of mistreatment across their bodies. Sif's arm was recently broken, Hogun's leg is broken, Fandral's skull was cracked open and Volstagg took severe burns to his stomach. The latter lad refuses to let the healers put him under a sedative and hardly does anything but stare at his companions.

He's the only one among the older in this group that is still awake.

Haunted, and far off mentally, but awake.

Frigga knows she should race off to Asgard with her family and put the realm at ease, but the thought of having to watch Loki's practically-dead form breathe by only sedir draws a deep dread and discontent inside of her.

("I'm suspecting he was given high doses of Aetheitin." Eir said, "His sedir is almost drawn dry and his heart can't cope with the strain of pumping it again. I don't suspect he'll pull through. I'm sorry, Frigga.")

So she doesn't go with the group. She instructs Odin to tell her of any updates and puts herself to work by returning the children to their families. She's met with frantic voices and tears of gratitude as she works, but she feels strangely numb. Loki is almost dead. Should be dead. Her family is still not whole. (Brain dead, her husband's report from this morning had admitted with what was obvious reluctance. Eir has declared him brain dead and she suspects it is only going to deteriorate from here.) All they have is her youngest's breathing corpse.

The Weeping Siren did not leave little damage when she stole the children, and that, unfortunately, was often in the form of deaths. Frigga, with the aid of Freya, tracks down living relatives and gets them all as settled as she can. With nothing else to do, she returns to Asgard; to her family. Her sons.

When she sees them, Thor is at her youngest's bedside, anxiously scribbling down on blank paper as he traces something out. It's been some time since she saw him with a sketchbook and Frigga's gaze softens at the sight. All too often she forgets about this side of the eldest. Thor is so ready to throw himself into battle at a given notice and adores the hunt, it's all too easy to remember that he is a skilled artist.

Loki is laying on the mattress, limbs lax and laid out at his sides, Eir's protective, healing sedir spilled out around him. Frigga recognizes most of the spells and her lips thin with distaste. She sighs heavily and sees Thor stiffen slightly before she walks forward and rests a hand on the blond's hair.

"How do you fair, my son?" she asks quietly.

Thor's hands stop and he glances at her, then his brother, and then her again. "Sif woke up." He blurts. "She was frantic. She thought she was dead. Hogun tried to strangle the aid tasked to him. Fandral screamed and wept for mercy when Eir tried to run a few tests. Volstagg...is still sleeping, but, Mother, I dread to know what state of mind Loki will be in when he awakens."

When.

Not if.

Such confidence, even if misplaced. Thor has always been like that. Her heart clenches a little when she realizes she's given up believing Loki will recover.

She sits down on the mattress and frowns. "I don't know. The Weeping Siren did not withhold from leaving scars."

"There's talk that the Warriors are insane," Thor mutters, "I didn't think so. I don't want to think so."

Frigga's lips press together and she shifts to grip Thor's hand, "You have a good heart, my son," she promises. "However Loki returns to us, we will deal with it. He will be made hale and whole again."

And Frigga will be here to see it, because she's not going to leave her boys again. However much she may dread the unknowns of the future, leaving them to face it on their own will not help.

000o000

Frigga hears about Loki's escape from the healing quarters, rather than discover or see it for herself. "Hearing" might be too vague of a term, however. One of Eir's aids bursts into she and Odin's bedroom, blabbering out something about death, awakening, and Loki. It had been plenty of motivation for the two of them to get up.

She meets Eir in Loki's bedchamber. Her youngest is laid out on the mattress, alive and blessedly awake. She stops at the doorway, suddenly overcome with emotion strong enough to drive her to her knees. Her fingers grip the doorframe, eyes refusing to move from Loki's pale form.

He's propped up against pillows, a glass of something—it's not clear, so it can't be water, a tonic of some kind, she suspects—in his hands. It's not even half empty yet, which means Eir must have given it to him not a minute past. One of his hands is rubbing at his chest dully and though the movement is sluggish, it's there.

He's alive.

Brain activity.

He's alive.

Sif is sitting on the edge of the bed, the girl's dark hair pulled up into a messy bun. Frigga has no idea what she's doing here, or even how she got here. She was in the healing halls a few hours ago. It doesn't matter.

"Loki." Her voice whispered. Eir is fluttering around the bed, handing a clipboard to one of her aids. Frigga takes a step forward, exhaling stiffly. She swallows, but feels her face trembling with relieved tears. "Loki."

Her son looks up at her, his beautiful green eyes settling on her face. His expression softens, his stance slumping. His lips part like he wants to say something, but can't get the word out. He says nothing and Frigga sees Sif turn to look back at her, but she hardly gives the girl a second thought. Moving to her youngest, Frigga quickly crosses the distance them and envelopes him in a hug.

Loki tenses up in her arms, breath catching in his chest. Frigga's brow furrows some, but Loki rests his head against her shoulder a moment later, exhaling. Shaking off the observation, Frigga smiles softly and clenches her boy close before pressing a kiss on the crown of his head.

"Oh, my child," she whispers, drawing back and resting her hands on his shoulders. Odin shifts to lay his hand on top of hers and Loki's gaze lifts up to both of them, eyes wide. He seems hopelessly confused, and Frigga's heart clenches in her chest. What has that creature done to him?

Loki visibly swallows before attempting to form a smile. It's sloppy and falls flat of being sincere. "Father," he looks to her after and gives a slight dip of his head, biting sharply on his lower lip. Frigga's lips turn down as she recognizes that he's avoiding the word "mother". Strange. For what purpose? (She's heard, in brief, the mental trauma Eir has attributed to the survivors, but she'd hoped…)

"My prince," Eir says pointedly. Loki glances up at her. His eyes are wide. He looks down at the glass before looking up at her again. "You need to drink that. It will help with the pain."

Pain?

What pain?

Frigga glances towards Odin for answers, but he doesn't seem to have any more ideas than she does. Breathing out slowly through her nose, Frigga releases her son's shoulders and Loki slowly lifts the glass up to his mouth and tips it back. A shudder washes through his frame and he nearly spits the substance back up, but keeps it down.

Eir nods approvingly in the corner of Frigga's gaze, murmuring something to one of her three aids in the room. At the face Loki makes, Sif snorts quietly and jabs one of his bare feet with her finger. Frigga's brow furrows as she sees what a mess his feet are. It hadn't even occurred to her to check there when she did her brief analysis in that cave, but they're torn and bloody. Scabs have formed, but it's obvious that they were, at one point, nearly cut up to bone.

"Is it that good?" Sif questions dryly.

Loki makes a face at her, seeming more relaxed with the woman than Frigga has ever seen. Typically, they're at each other's throats; especially since the hair incident a few decades ago. Frigga would go so far to say that they're...comfortable. The word sounds off.

"Would you like to try some?" Loki counters, lifting the glass towards the shield-maiden.

Sif lifts up her hands, shaking her head. "No."

"Oh, but it—" Loki coughs sharply, wincing, and lifts a hand up to his mouth. When he pulls it away, his fingers are stained red. Frigga glances towards the head healer in concern, but the woman is already moving forward.

Eir lifts a hand out to grab Loki's hand and stare at the blood. "Ah. You're coughing up sedir."

Indeed. The blood is thicker than normal, and clumping into grains. Sedir. That can be both a good and bad thing, given the circumstances, it's a mixture of the two. Frigga relaxes an infinitesimal amount, moving forward and grabbing the woman's shoulder and asks quietly, "Eir, would it be possible to get a moment alone with him?"

Eir hums and then looks up at her, then Odin, leaning towards her to answer in an equally soft tone, "Of course. I'll give you ten, but Loki needs to sleep. He should be sleeping in the first place, but the lad refuses to take a sedative. He's very weak; keep him calm. He can't handle the stress of anything more extreme than that." Frigga nods. She has very little intentions to stress him in the first place, but she knows that Eir knows that. It's a gentle reminder to be careful. "And Frigga," Eir's voice drops further, "he's worse than the others. Don't do anything that will set him off."

He's worse off?

Eir moves and nudges Sif's shoulder. "Get up. You need to be laying down."

Both youth visibly tighten with discomfort. Sif looks up, "Eir," she starts carefully, ever so carefully, as if afraid of angering her, "please, I'd rather stay here with him."

"No." Eir says briskly. "The two of you will only distract one another. The prince needs rest. You need rest. Come on, girl, let's get you back to the healing wing before your body gives out completely." Sif visibly slumps, letting out a frustrated breath, but nonetheless hobbles up to her feet. She and Loki share a long look that seems to trade a thousand words before the shield-maiden, Eir, and the healer's aids are exiting the room.

The door laps shut behind them, drowning the room in a sudden silence.

Frigga's uncertain what to say. Her mouth has gone dry, leaving a horrible aftertaste. Loki taps his fingers against the glass, looking into the base. Surprisingly enough, it isn't her that finds something to break the silence with first, it's her husband, "My map of the Blodig Skog mysteriously disappeared before you left. Would you know something of this?"

Loki flinches, snapping his head up. "I—" he exhales, "I—yes. Yes. I took it. Before we left. I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to be an annoyance or a disturbance, but I thought that we'd only be gone for a few days, Father, not...not however long it's been instead and...Norns, I don't even know where it is. I thought I gave it to Li, but maybe—"

"Loki." Odin cuts in, shaking his head. "I said that not to criticize."

Loki blinks, his grip on the glass going lax. "What?"

Humor, perhaps, was her husband's intent. It fell flat. Frigga sighs sadly and takes a seat on the edge of the bed beside his feet, trying to remind herself that this is real. Loki stares at her with to-wide eyes. Frigga dithers for a moment longer before reaching a hand out to cup around her son's, but stops as Loki flinches back from her. She looks up towards his face, but he's not staring at her, the barest edge of a tic growing in his jaw.

Pulling her hands back and biting back hurt, she tries to smile. "I am glad that you returned to us. I was worried."

"How long were we gone?" Loki questions softly. "It feels like it's been an age."

Frigga sighs and glances towards Odin for a moment. "On Asgard it has been ten, close to eleven, months. On Vanaheim...far longer than that."

Loki doesn't look up from his lap. "Oh."

Frigga rubs her fingers together, trying to draw herself together. To understand what to do. She feels utterly helpless and she hates this. She should tread carefully, but she doesn't know how. "You seem...well." She tries.

Loki digs his fingers into the glass.

More silence.

"You must have questions." Frigga pushes. Nothing. "Your brother has been worried for you. We all have. Eir was certain you wouldn't pull through, but here you are. We feared the worst after we retrieved you. Your heart…it's a miracle you're here all together, my son—" Loki's breath hitches. She stops, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

What did she say?

She hadn't meant to cause him pain!

"My son?" Odin murmurs. "You're pale. Should we retrieve Eir? Your mother can—"

Loki throws the glass against the ground. It smashes into dozens of pieces, the remaining liquid spilling out onto the carpet. Making something close to a screech, he frantically attempts to get up to his feet, grabbing at the bedside table when his broken leg refuses to take weight.

He's standing on the glass.

What—what is going on?

"Loki!" she calls sharply, moving to her feet and reaching out to grab him and pull him back to the bed. He's visibly shuddering now, gripping at the wood like it's the only thing keeping him upright. It probably is.

Odin grabs her arm to stop her, giving a slight shake of his head. She jerks in his grip, pointedly glancing at their son. What is he doing? Loki needs to lay down! His heart nearly ruptured not an hour's past. He needs to be sitting still, doing nothing. His very life could depend on this!

"Stop it." Loki breathes, his back to them. "Please."

"Stop what?" Odin questions evenly. Frigga can't get her tongue to work.

"I can't...can't…" Loki's head dips for the briefest moment as if he's doing his best to calm himself down before he loses himself to his panic. Frigga's heart twists in her chest. Their son looks back at them, green eyes slightly glazed. "Is this real?"

Frigga's head tips. "Yes. Yes, Loki, this is real."

"I don't think so." Loki shakes his head. "I thought that the first time. The drugs Mother gives to keep us awake make us imagine this up," he gestures vaguely, "hallucinations. Dream-walking. I'm so tired. I can't do this anymore. Stop calling me son."

Hallucinations? What is he going on about?

Frigga digs her nails into her palms. "Loki...I didn't give you any drugs."

"Not you," Loki bites on the tip of his finger. "Mother. I know she's around here," he drops his voice to a whisper, "she's very angry with me."

"Loki, the Weeping Siren is of no threat to you." Frigga says firmly. "You're on Asgard. You're safe. You haven't been given any drugs. You're awake. This is real."

Loki sighs, releasing the bedside table and nearly topples to his knees. Odin catches him before Frigga can, slowly helping their youngest back to the bed. "Sleep," Odin instructs. "This will still be real when you wake up."

Loki shakes his head. "It's always gone in the morning."

000o000

"I don't even know what set him off," Frigga explains in frustration to Eir two days later, "one moment he was fine, the next he threw the glass and was ranting like a madman about being asleep. And drugs. He won't let me touch him. He won't talk about anything. He hasn't said a word since he woke up."

That was days ago. He hasn't slept since. Only stared at the wall blankly, as if life has simply been drained from him.

Eir sighs and sprinkles a bit of herbs into the water she's mixing. "I can only tell you the physical evidence of what the Weeping Siren has done." She says quietly, "I know that the others are a mess in their heads. The creature kept them captive and forced them to call her mother for months, Frigga. Not weeks. Not days. Close to a year. Be patient with him. I suspect this is only the first of many instances to follow."

Frigga leans back further into the chair and folds her arms across her chest, thinking. "Thor wants to see him. I don't know if I should let him yet. Neither one of them is the same person who left Asgard a year ago. It could make things worse."

Eir raises an eyebrow, looking back at her. "No. They're not. Keeping them apart isn't going to help anyone. If someone can get Loki to talk, it will be Thor."

Why can't it be her? Why is she so useless!?

Frigga bites at her lower lip with her teeth for a brief moment. Switching the topics entirely, she fumbles out, "My husband has begun the investigation into the creature's past. My sister is helping, they don't have much, but we at least have a name now."

"Hmm?"

"Rydat." Frigga answers. She rubs at her forehead, trying to push back the headache. "I wish I had more answers. I want to know what happened to the youth while they were in the woman's captivity, but no one is talking."

"No," Eir corrects distractedly. "You want Loki to talk. The others have spoken."

Frigga tenses and then sighs heavily, realizing she's lost this battle. "Yes. I'll find Thor."

000o000

Loki gasps in a near panting rhythm nearly three days later, eyes wide washed out and lips parted. "I can't." He whispers. Frigga stays herself and resists the urge to run her hand through his hair, remembering his reactions from earlier. The flinches, winces, strangled gasps. It stings, somewhere quiet and soft, that Loki won't let her touch him. Not Thor, not Odin. Her.

"It's alright Loki." She promises, picking at her palm anxiously. "Just try, no judgement if you fail. You need to sleep my child."

He hasn't since that first night. That was five days ago.

"You didn't...didn't…haven't..." Loki's arm twitches and Frigga's teeth snap together in heated anger. It may have been distorted mess, but she understands his meaning almost immediately. Frigga had talked with the Warriors Three privately, trying to gauge some sort of idea of what she needs to be prepared for. Frigga's hatred for the Weeping Siren, if possible, has only grown.

"No one is going to inject you tonight, Loki." Frigga says firmly. "You can go to bed."

The Weeping Siren is going to die. It will be something drawn out. Painful.

Aetheitin. Every night. Who—?

"I can't." Loki shakes his head with disagreement and Thor makes a little noise, shifting like he wants to move, but she pins him in place with a single look. The two of them have been spending long hours together, but Thor, and everyone else, has failed to get Loki to sleep.

Loki draws in a stiff breath before fresh tears spill down his face and he digs his fingers into his palms. "No. Please. Please, it will hurt so much more tomorrow if we don't do it today."

"Loki." Thor tries to get out, but his voice sounds like it's being squeezed between two hands.

"Please." Loki looks up at her, and Frigga realizes he's lost to some sort of wild fantasy. There will be no reasoning from this. She has to get a needle—a needle, something that Loki would avoid unless strictly necessary because he hates them and this creature—from Eir or nothing is going to get better.

The Weeping Siren has conditioned him like a dull hunting dog.

Frigga bites back a wave of anger that threatens to tear itself from her and breathes out slowly. Carefully. She turns, fingers lifting for teleportation. She has to grab a needle from Eir, filled with only water, and inject it into her son's arm before things get any better. Loki's still a sobbing mess, but he seems to calm at the sting somewhat. Frigga's teeth are pressed together so tightly her jaw is beginning to hurt. Loki's eyes still lack lucidity and Thor clambers up onto the mattress beside him, trying to ground him in the present.

Loki isn't coming.

He keeps rubbing at his forearms, whispering something under his breath. She's not close enough to overhear it, but Thor's expression is growing more distressed. He looks up at her helplessly, and Frigga wrestles with herself for a long few moments.

She doesn't want to do this.

Oh, Norns, she doesn't want to, but Loki isn't going to sleep if she doesn't. He needs to rest. Drugs will make it worse and inducing him to sleep with sedir isn't a panic she wants to force her son into. Hogun already caused a scene in the healing rooms when one of the aid's attempted to help him.

Frigga summons a loose pair of shackles and straps one end around her son's ankle and the other cuff to the bed frame. Loki stills immediately, short gasping breaths stopping as he exhales deeply. Frigga's ire only grows at this and she glances towards his face. It's white, but the creases of anxiety have eased somewhat. His eyes are closed.

He looks exhausted.

She had to chain her son to the bed.

(Do the others have this? They are so tempered by the beast's actions that they can't find peace without them?)

Thor looks flabbergasted and confused, eyes lifting up towards her as he shifts slightly to move closer to Loki. "Mo—" Thor stops, and rephrases, "—what are you doing? How is this supposed to help anything?"

"He needs it." Frigga manages to get out. Rage is burning the tip of her tongue. She wants to scream. Yell. Destroy. She needs to leave before she does something drastic and spooks either one of them. It won't help the circumstances in the slightest. "Keep watch over your brother, Thor." She demands and flicks the key to the shackle towards him.

Thor catches it without seeming to think on the action and tries to catch her gaze frantically. "Wait. Where are you going?" Thor sounds almost desperate.

She longs to stay and offer them both comfort, but she won't be of much use with her temper raging like this. She wants to break something. Wants to kill something. "To calm myself," she answers as evenly as she can. It still sounds like a drawn out growl. "I'll return shorty."

Loki's head lifts sluggishly up towards her over his shoulder, eyes red rimmed and confused.

Frigga digs her nails into her palms.

She hates all of this.

000o000

Her fury releases itself in the training room, which is where Odin finds her some hours later. She's drenched in sweat and bleeding from multiple lacerations, but she doesn't care. The simulations she's using are all artificial, but they still dig deep. Odin leans against the doorway, staring at her for a long moment.

Frigga switches off the program and throws her sword against the ground, turning to face him. "What?"

"It's the middle of the night."

"Fine observation." Frigga seethes, wiping blood from her face.

Odin waits patiently, watching as she goes through the motions of cleaning her weapon, wiping the worst of the blood from her clothing and skin, turning off lights. Jaw tight, she turns to her husband. Odin breathes out quietly. "What are you doing here, Frigga?"

"The Weeping Siren." She answers flatly. "I had to inject Loki with water because he wouldn't sleep." Odin's brow furrows. "He refused to calm down. Thor's with him, but I was only causing him more distress because I am his mother. Mother. I would not give up this calling for anything in the world, but I can't believe how much this...this siren corrupted it."

"You're angry." Odin notes.

"Of course I'm angry! What am I—!?"

"At yourself."

Frigga stops. Snaps her jaw shut and looks away from him. They know each other too well now. Have born too much as one for her to be able to hide anything from him. Odin sighs, "Frigga, you did and are doing all that you can. That's all that can be asked of you."

"My son is afraid of me." Frigga snaps. "I'm terrified of losing both of them again. I don't know what to do. I keep believing I'll wake up one morning and they won't be there anymore. I don't know what to do. I'm failing them."

"No." Odin shakes his head. "You'll learn. We both will. You've done all you can for now. You can rest."

"Can I?" Frigga counters, looking at him. "How do I bring them back? How do I bring life back into a ghost?"

"You don't. That's up to them. We can't change who they are or how what they did to survive their circumstances. You are the All-Mother, my queen. You bare the title of mother for all beyond our children. Loki will get better. Thor will heal. Our family will be whole again, you'll see to it."

Frigga glances away, her eyes wet. "I don't know how."

"Neither do I." Odin admits quietly, "But I have faith that you will. Come, we can check on our sons and then you will go to bed."

"We both will." She argues. "You have been awake for longer than I. It is the middle of the night. Court business can wait a moment longer."

Odin dips his head, a faint smile touching the edges of his lips. "Fair enough."

When they glance inside of Loki's quarters, their sons are asleep, breathing deeply and evenly. Both are at peace for the first time she can remember since before Vanaheim. The worry creases are gone, the exhaustion is still on their faces, but it isn't as heavy.

Odin rests a hand on her shoulder, and she lifts her hand to grip at his, relieved.

Breathing.

Loki's resting his head on top of Thor's shoulder, Thor's arm loosely wrapped around his shoulders. As it has been since they were children and shared a mattress, the blankets have been stolen largely by Thor, leaving only a sparse remnants for Loki's feet, as if in an afterthought.

"They are fine." Odin promises, his tone barely audible. "Our sons are well, wife."

Are they?

Frigga intertwines their fingers and murmurs softly, "They will be."

000o000

Things don't exactly look up from there, but Frigga counts her successes where she can and leaves the failures for later. Loki walks (staggers, Eir made progress with his leg, but Loki really should be laying down still) the halls like a ghost, Thor still avidly ignores the need for his crutch and she sees the two of them sticking to each other far more than they ever were before.

Sif and the Warriors Three are taken home for the brief respite until Rydat's trial, and Frigga allows herself to breathe.

Everything is almost over. Tomorrow the creature will receive her final judgement and then she can focus her attention solely on helping her sons and Asgard, ignoring the nagging worry in the back of her mind insisting that her children are at constant threat of being stolen again.

It's the night before the trial when Frigga finds the two of them in the training barracks, lazily smacking practice swords together. She has no idea whose decision this was—Thor, her mind immediately assures—but neither one of them are exactly in the position to be doing this.

She says nothing.

If it helps, it helps.

Frigga moves towards them, both stilling as they spot her before drawing back sharply and standing side-by-side. She doesn't miss how Thor leans heavily into his sword, but she only eyes it and smiles. "My so—" she stumbles over herself, remembering Loki won't let her call him that yet with panicking, "—children."

That didn't seem much better.

Frigga bites sharply on her tongue and inwardly releases a breath of annoyance. "What are you doing out here?"

Thor glances at the younger before giving an awkward smile. "Loki—" the raven-haired shoots him a scowl and Thor reiterates, "—I was going stir crazy. We weren't doing anything intense. You needn't be cross with us. I wouldn't hit Loki hard enough to cause permanent damage."

A lifted eyebrow from the younger, but he says nothing. Last year, he would have. So much has changed, but remained the same. He's still pale, sickly, and won't sleep, rubbing at his forearms dully and staring up at the ceiling. Frigga's tried to coax him, but the only way his mind has been appeased so far has been to inject him with the needle and the chains.

(She hates this.)

After learning about what the Weeping Siren did from the others—Loki has still said nothing— she's not in a hurry to push him outside of where he's comfortable.

"I'm not angry." She promises, resting a hand on her eldest's shoulder. "But it's getting late. You should both retire for the night. I foresee tomorrow being exhausting."

Both of them visibly darken at the reminder, Loki wrapping his arms around his chest. Thor's expression sets in a scowl, but they say nothing. Frigga bites on her inner lip and looks up for a moment, surprised to see both their guard where they're supposed to be. She would have thought they'd have shaken the men off by now.

Frigga squeezes her son's shoulder and offers Loki a reassuring smile when he glances towards her face.

It doesn't help. She hadn't expected it would.

000o000

The trial passes about as well as can be expected. Rydat remains quiet and impassive through the testimonies until her son steps forward. She would have preferred he spoke first, but the rules of the court dictate that those of higher rank go last.

Loki stumbles through a few words before the creature seems to breathe and life once again awakens in her skeletal frame. She's done very little since she was thrown into the cells. Hasn't even spoken.

Frigga barely remembers the exchange. Remembers that Rydat attempted to jump on her son and the feeling of the creature's throat beneath her fingers and the heated words slipping off her tongue, "You parade the title of a name you have not earned since you lost your mind. A mother is sacred, and you are wretched. I did not earn the title All-Mother by murder, kidnapping, torture, and fear. You will never understand what you have lost. What you have taken. And you are so far beyond pity I can't say I'm sorry for this. Your soul is going to rot, and I'm going to find great pleasure sending it there."

There's nothing left to save in this creature.

The best they can hope for is that the afterlife will give her clarity that can't be achieved here.

(She tried to harm her son, again, and Frigga is more than happy to see the beast killed.)

000o000

"Oh, Norns," Loki's voice is shaky, he's hardly breathing from where he collapsed into the chair of the small waiting room Frigga shoved him into as they wait for Parliament. His hands are shaking and he's collapsed forward, head between his knees.

Thor, sitting on his brother's side, attempts to rest a hand of reassurance on Loki's shoulder, but the younger violently draws back.

"Sorry." Thor whispers, pulling his hand away.

Loki shakes his head, gripping at his hair. He doesn't look up at them. "It's not you." He promises. "I am pathetic."

"You are not." Frigga counters sharply, "You were kept and tortured for months. What else were you expecting, my son?"

Loki glances up at her. Odin is standing on her other side, face blank, but hands tight with anger. He looks like he's trying to decide whether or not to storm out of the room and strangle the Weeping Siren himself. She and her husband have already cast their vote into parliament. It's up to them to decide what the creature's fate is, but she's not too worried as to what the final judgement will be.

Loki breathes out raggedly. "I can hear her in my head, still." He whispers. "She never shuts up."

Frigga breathes out at this admission and takes a seat on the other side of her youngest. "Loki." She says quietly.

"There was this one time that Fandral was sick—that was so long ago—and she gave me this...this drug to keep me awake. I hallucinated vividly for hours on end to stop me from sleeping, and I kept thinking of this. When the Aetheitin got worse, I began to lose reality again. I think...am I still there?" He looks up at her desperately.

Frigga's heart twists and she clenches her fists to stop herself from running a hand through his hair in reassurance. "My son," she says carefully, "this is very real."

"It doesn't...doesn't feel real." Loki whispers.

Thor casts a helpless glance at her. Odin sighs heavily before moving and leaning down so he's eye level with Loki. "My child, do you believe that I would ever lie to you?" Loki holds his gaze for a moment before giving a small shake of his head. Odin reaches a hand out and clasps one of Loki's. "Then take my word for this. You are awake. This is not a dream."

"How do I know that!?" Loki asks desperately, his eyes are wild and desperate. "Am I dead?"

Frigga shakes her head, wrapping a hand around his shoulders. Loki doesn't settle into her touch, but he doesn't draw away. "Child," she breathes out slowly, tries to come up with something to say that will help. "This is real."

"She tried to take me again." Loki murmurs, "Will you find me faster next time, Mother?"

Relief and sorrow crash into her at once. He called her mother. He chose to call her this, but how could he think that they'd ever let him be stolen again? Frigga presses a kiss to the crown of his head. "Oh, Loki," she breathes, "there will not be a next time."

000o000

The trial passes. The verdict is as Frigga expected: death. Having been given permission from Freya to take the execution into her own hands, the hours pass far to quickly before she's standing in the throne room. Thor is standing beside the throne, where her husband is seated, but her youngest is elsewhere. (With the Warriors Four, all of them having refused to be a witness.)

Frigga stands before the creature, watching her with steady eyes as the court rambles on about the sentence and so forth.

Finally, Frigga steps forward and Rydat's eyes settle on her for a long moment. Neither of them says anything for a time before, "I'll kill you." Rydat hisses, "You stole everything from me."

"You have had one foot in your grave since you touched my sons." Frigga promises, teeth set. Rydat looks up at her with a sneer, eyes hollow. The court shifts uncomfortably, but Frigga holds her ground. Battles wills with the creature.

Frigga remembers Thor hobbling into Asgard, half dead and unable to walk. (Can barely do so now.) Remembers Loki's inability to sleep without the injection. Knows that this creature nearly stole her sons. Mocked the title of mother, a precious gift.

Rydat's chin lifts. "You're too gentle. You won't touch me."

Oh, ha.

Frigga smirks, a bitter, twisted thing. She lifts her hand up and feels the sedir surge into her fingertips, the power build on her hands. Her husband gives a finalizing nod, something nasty in his eye. She knows it's directed to this—this thing and welcomes it.

She lifts her hand up.

She touches the Weeping Siren's head. It's not until her fingers make contact with her forehead that the creature seems to realize that Frigga wasn't jesting. Frigga breathes out slowly before grabbing at the warm drops of sedir and tugs.

The Weeping Siren screams—howls, pleads—until she doesn't. There's enough of her body left for someone to give a proper funeral to, but an executioner was unnecessary.

000o000

Frigga steps into the royal family's private dining room several weeks later. The area is shaded in the evening light, but she still recognizes the familiar blue walls with ease. The table is set, and her husband is already seated. So are her sons.

Thor is talking rapidly to Loki about something or another and Loki is nodding every now and then, offering a comment if it's necessary. The sight is familiar enough that it makes her stagger in the doorway somewhat. She breathes out slowly, looking between her family.

Her entire family.

"Mother?" Loki glances towards her, the conversation between her children lapsing to a halt. "Are you well?"

Frigga offers him a reassuring smile and steps into the space. "Yes." She answers honestly, taking her usual seat beside her husband who offers her a nod of acknowledgement. Her smile stretches to genuine as she drinks in this sight. How right it is.

Her family came home.

They're here. Everything will be fine.

Frigga meets her children's eyes and breathes in how wonderful this is to see them both here. Talking. Living. She waves a slight hand and then says, "Everything is fine. Hand me the salt, will you?"


Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following. Your enthusiasm for this story has been so wonderful to see.

You're all awesome! Love you all! Hugs! Until the next story. ;)

-LodestarJumper