Frigga has been sitting at the window for two days straight, numbly staring out over the city. She has not moved. Her handmaidens have tried to ply her with her favorite desserts and drinks, but their efforts have been in vain.
How can they expect her to do anything after the loss of her son?
She doesn't want to picture Loki falling off the shattered bridge, his hand slipping off of Gungnir and following the rest of him into the void, but the only other option is to replay her husband's words over and over again in her head.
Frigga, my love...I don't know how to tell you this.
What's the matter? she had asked frantically. Are Loki and Thor all right? What became of their fighting?
Thor destroyed the Bifrost to prevent Loki from using it to destroy Jotunheim, and Loki...Loki fell off the bridge when it broke. He was trying to hold onto Gungnir, but he couldn't. I'm so sorry, Frigga.
Frigga closes her eyes in pain. The loss of her son...how could she even begin to describe it? It was like the sun, the stars, and the moon had been wiped from her world, leaving nothing but the cold, empty night.
Still, it's possible that Loki could have survived the fall, isn't it? Gods are resilient, and her little boy is a determined one. He will find a way to survive, Frigga reassures herself.
Imagining the other possibility was too much. It is why, though Odin has officially declared the death of Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard, there was nothing in the way of an actual funeral. There was the obligatory mourning period of two weeks, when all citizens were required to wear black, but in Asgardian customs there cannot be a funeral without a body.
Frigga holds onto this lack of evidence as a shred of hope that her son might still be alive.
Thor wants a funeral.
He insists that Loki deserves to take his rightful place in Valhalla, and points out to his parents that according to ancient laws, a funeral to send the deceased to the afterlife is possible if no corpse can be recovered. Besides, if the proper respects are not paid, it is almost impossible for the spirit to find their way to Valhalla.
So the family of three holds a funeral for their lost son. They place some of his favorite belongings on a boat: a few books, some armor, a pair of daggers, and his helmet that was recovered from the bridge's ruins.
The boat is sent out along the canal, the streets lined with Asgard's people come to pay their respects to the fallen prince. Frigga notices the atmosphere, though: they are not truly sad. Beyond a general regret for the loss of life, most of them are indifferent to Loki's death. At least they wear black and carry lanterns to show some decency instead of gossiping about his supposed malevolence and lies as they did during his lifetime.
One of the guards fires a flaming arrow. It glides through the star-speckled sky before coming down onto Loki's boat, setting it aflame in an instant.
As her son's most precious belongings shrivel down to ash, Frigga is suddenly struck by all the things she should have done differently for her younger son.
She should have spoken to her husband. Made sure he treated both children with equal respect and fairness.
She should have told Loki he was adopted. When he was ready; not too early and not too late.
She should have told Odin to give Loki's opinions and feelings more consideration, instead of brushing them aside.
She should have supported Loki more during his brief regency, instead of abandoning him to hover over Odin.
She should have done more to let Loki know how much he mattered despite his heritage. No matter what, he was still their son, their brother, their prince.
Illuminated by lanterns, absent of the fleet of boats that accompanies a monarch's funeral, Loki's little boat plunges over the edge of the waterfall, down into the abyss.
Frigga cries out her son's name, reaching out desperately towards the burning boat. She collapses against her husband's side, weeping for all the things that might have been done differently, that might have saved her little boy.
But it doesn't matter how hard she wishes. Nothing will change the fact that Loki will never know how much his family loved him.
Frigga is in her chambers, rereading one of Loki's favorite books, when Thor comes barging in, slamming the door behind her. (She is subconsciously aware that she doesn't even have the energy to scold him for slamming doors, something that has always been an issue with him.)
"Thor, darling? What's the matter?"
"I have something I must tell you, Mother," he whispers in a hoarse and broken voice.
Frigga has clearly failed her younger son. She cannot fail her older. "You can tell me anything, darling."
Thor crumples to his knees, twisting his fists in her skirt. "It's my fault Loki's dead. I'm sorry, you have no idea how sorry I am—"
Frigga is bewildered. "Thor, you have nothing to apologize for. Loki's death came from his own mistakes and pure tragic coincidence. You had no choice but to destroy the Bifrost."
"No, Mother," Thor wails in a muffled voice from burying his head in her lap. "I should have chosen my words better. I should have kept him from letting go of Gungnir."
"Letting go? Darling, Loki fell. He couldn't hold on; he slipped." Frigga's voice cracks, speaking of her son's death, but she pushes through. "You are not to blame."
"He—he slipped? Is that what Father told you?" Thor lifts his head, tears streaking down his face. "No, Loki let go. I destroyed the bridge, and the explosion blasted us into the air. Father grabbed my leg before we could both fall. I was holding onto one end of Gungnir, and Loki was holding onto the other."
"Yes, that's what your father said."
"Did he say what happened next? Loki saw Father, and he cried that he could have done it. He could have done it for him, and for all of us."
"What?" Frigga whispered. She didn't think it was possible for her heart to break any more than it already had.
"Father said, 'No, Loki.' I saw what Loki was about to do, and I begged him not to, but he..." Another tear slips from Thor's eye. "He let go. I'm so sorry, Mother, I'm so sorry, I should have saved him..." Thor breaks down in another wave of sobs.
Frigga strokes her son's hair to calm him down, but she can barely think.
Her son. Their son. Hanging above a galactic void, begging his father for understanding. For compassion. Trying to explain his desperation and good intentions. After a lifetime of favoritism against him, was one moment of empathy too much to ask?
"Odin!" Frigga yells, marching into the throne room.
Her husband startles. "My dear, what's the matter?"
"Explain to me," she seethes, "why you did not tell me that Loki let go of the spear!"
Odin bows his head, seeing the lack of wisdom in continuing to lie to his wife. "I did not want to hurt you further."
"From what Thor tells me, you hurt Loki plenty!"
He winces. "I could not have stopped him."
Tears prick Frigga's eyes. "Yes. Yes, you could have. You could have showed him kindness and understanding instead of leaving him like that..." she trails off as her voice cracks. "Odin, he was your son! Your son, and all you could think to do was deny him any acceptance again and again!"
"That is not true."
"YES, IT IS!" Frigga screams. Very rarely does she lose her temper, but she is no longer a composed queen. She is a grieving mother, furious at the loss of her son. "How can you ever justify this?!"
"Loki was not innocent. He tried to destroy Jotunheim out of pure pettiness."
"Pure pettiness born from his parents' mistakes," Frigga says coldly. "Yours in particular."
"I know that I have a role in this, wife, but at the end of the day, Loki's actions were his own choices. He was of clear mind when he made them," Odin says, adopting the demeanor of an apathetic monarch judging a criminal.
"Clear mind?" Frigga scoffs. "Loki was thrown onto a throne in the middle of a war. He had nothing remotely resembling the support system usually offered to a new ruler, no preparation or order. His ascent to kingship was hectic at best. And to top it all off, he had just discovered he was the son of the king ruling the realm he is at war with! A realm so often disparaged and put down by his brother and friends that it would be a miracle if he didn't hate himself after discovering that. Explain to me how he could be of clear mind!"
Odin's posture stiffens even more. "You want him to be judged fairly, then? Any other man or woman in his place would be found guilty of TREASON and punished accordingly!"
Frigga can hardly believe what she is hearing from her husband's lips. "You would have your own son executed?!"
"He let frost giants into Asgard's vault and took the throne for himself when his brother was banished for retaliating against the invasion! Then he tried to destroy an entire realm! Wherever he goes, there is only war, ruin, and death."
"YOU banished Thor! Not anyone else, you! Then you fell into the Odinsleep at the worst possible time, an event which Loki could not have predicted. And let us not forget the ruin you wrought upon the Nine Realms for far lesser slights!"
"That was when I was a young, foolish conqueror. New to the throne," Odin retorts.
"Loki was far newer to the throne than you were when you tried to wipe Muspellheim away," Frigga snaps back at him. "Enough of this, Odin. I want nothing less than a full apology from you."
How will she ever forgive her husband for all his mistakes?
Loki's absence is like a hole in Frigga's heart. In the Asgardian sense of time, it has not been very long since Loki fell from the Bifrost, yet it feels like a thousand years.
Every morning, she wakes up, and for a moment, she forgets. She forgets the loss, and expects another day of Loki bickering with Thor and pranking Sif and the Warriors Three. She expects to hear complaining about his mischief and tricks while trying not to laugh.
And then she remembers his death. It all comes rushing back in a fraction of a second: the funeral, the sleepless, grieving nights, Thor weeping in her arms, confronting her husband about his failures.
Sometimes more comes rushing back as well; Loki's life flashes before her eyes. She remembers holding him for the first time, meeting those bright fiery Jotun eyes with her own grayish-blue ones. She remembers teaching him magic, showing him how to shapeshift and make fireworks from nothing. She remembers giving him lessons in history and politics, notcing with pride how skilled he was at both.
And every time, it breaks her heart, over and over again.
But Frigga has no choice but to move on. She has to, for her remaining son, who is mourning as well. She has to find a way to make peace with her husband, so they can do the right thing for their people, whose lives still pass by even though her world has come to a crashing standstill.
Frigga also knows that Loki would not want her to sink into the depths of her grief. He would want her to get up and continue even though his absence has crippled her.
So she will. She will force herself to move on. But Frigga will never forget her son.
