Meanwhile back in Asgard…
"Milady!"
Frigga immediately drops her wringing hands and approaches the healer in few short steps. Much to her continuous dismay, the image of her son, half-naked, branded, chained and muzzled like a rabid animal as he lay heavily sedated on the soul forge table, tore at the core of her maternal heart. Only a cooling salve has been applied to the affected areas thus far while the healer determines what further damage the wrath of the Norns has wrought.
It was no guesswork on her part that it was their doing. The runes on each of Loki's limbs and torso spelled out the quest in grisly warning. It confirmed her suspicion that the expiration drew near and ignited a fear within her should Loki fail to begin his task, for her patrons do not issue them lightly. It was pure folly to delay the inevitable as she had bear witness far too many during her lifetime.
"What do you see, Astrid?"
The healer spared but a glance from her charge to note the clear distress voiced by the queen before she returns her attention back to the soul forge's interface. Though her words and tone may seem detached to those unused to her ways, the healer's eyes bespoke of compassion and warmth for her charge, "I have nursed him to health ever since he received his first cut from sword practice, though it has been a long while since my Prince has need of my aide…thus, I do not wish to alarm. There is recent evidence that he suffered greatly prior to the burns, milady."
Though it displeased her to remember the fondness Thor's accounting was on the 'Battle of New York', Frigga gave a quick nod in confirmation before she explained neatly, "Aye, Thor spoke of the mild manner scholar whom transfigured into a green beast and thrashed Loki most violently in order to subdue him."
At the time, Loki seemed none worse for wear, lest he hid it well out of spite and pride. It would not be the first or the last. Frigga wrings her hands together in further consternation, "Has he not healed properly since his retrieval from Midgard?"
Unfortunately, Astrid's reply did little to quell the tautness within her chest.
"Nay, 'twas not those injuries I speak of. I do not know how to word such atrocity, so as not to…very well, there are signs of dissection, milady."
A gasp escapes from the queen mother before she covers her mouth with a shaky hand as the onset of tears threaten to spill by what was left unsaid. How wrong she was to assume the depths of Loki's involvement with the Chitauri. Had she known when she scribed for his whereabouts that such horror was committed upon his person, no force could have prevented her to launch a rescue! Oh, what pain must he has suffered?
However, upon eying the firm press of the healer's lips, there was more unsettling things to be heard. Frigga takes a fortifying breath before nodding as she asked, "What else?"
The healer takes but a moment to produce the expanded image of the brand on Loki's wrist in illustration, "Twas nothing simple about the brands as I first thought. In fact, tis spreading and will consume all flesh and bones till nothings left."
A sob did escape Frigga then and she couldn't stop the helpless plea to her patrons, "Is this to be my son's fate? To writhe in pain until slow ember scorches him to ash and dust before my very eyes?"
As if in response to her plight, quick on the heels of the queen's lament Astrid attempts to sooth her worries, "All is not lost, milady. There is a binding spell weaved into the firebrand, six to be exact."
With a quick intake of breath as hope revives back in her eyes, Frigga steps closer to her dear friend and beseech the healer to continue, "Then the effects are reversible?"
"Aye, though not for long," the healer urged as she caught the resolute determination upon her majesty's eyes.
At the throne room, Odin All-father was attending one of many laborious reports from the quartermaster concerning the current state of affairs when several wards from the weapon's vault were triggered. With a growl of disgust curling his upper lip, the king dismisses his attendant then reaches out a hand to call forth Gungnir to materialize. In a flash of blinding white light, he appears before the opened doors of the weapons vault only to cause quite a stir with the sentinels standing guard. The Einherjars immediately stood at attention and saluted their king despite the twin set of confusion mirrored on their countenance.
The scowl on the All-father's face deepens further as wizened hands still with the grip strength of his youth, wields the legendary spear with a flourish as he charge in, inspiring the guards to follow suit. Odin was prepared for many things, even a reenactment of a scene not long ago. What he hadn't expected was the silhouette of his wife cast in shadows as she stood beside a column within the vault. His one eye narrowed as he signals the guards to close the doors and block the entry.
Though confusion still marred their brows, the sentinels did as they were told and stood to bear witness to the unprecedented event.
"Surrender, Loki. I shall not ask again."
"Tis good to see you, husband."
Odin grits his teeth upon hearing the familiar greeting under false guise, "You are no wife of mine, trickster. I knew it would take nothing but time for your schemes to be made apparent. Tis clever of you to use your own mother as means to escape your cell and bypass the Destroyer, however do not imagine this will stall my judgment. My mercy does not rein twice. For your transgression to steal from the weapons vault, I, Odin All-father hereby—"
"What do you think I have stolen?"
It irked the king further to hear the imposter's replicated amusement more so than the interruption.
"What?"
The unhurried atmosphere projected by the other did little to improve Odin's humor. It would seem the short duration in confinement was enough to lift Loki's unlikely passivity. Though the strategist within him knew it was unwise to listen to the dissent his son was sowing, Odin could not relent the nagging feeling therein lies the truth somehow.
"Of all the destructive relics my king has hoarded throughout the years, what possible use could I have with this?"
The figure departs from the shadows while Odin takes a step back in counterbalance. In reflex, the king raise Gungnir to fire at a moments notice until he saw what was held firmly within the grip of the imposter's hand. There, with the sharp tip pointed towards the floor, the gleam of metal shown on a blade he'd long forgotten. Wariness warred against curiosity, with the latter eventually succeed as the victor.
"What trickery is this?"
Loki may not be Frigga born but he most certainly picked up more than her tricks. It disturbed Odin by how much when his son spoke at ease with her visage, "This marks the first occasion you have raise a weapon upon me. Would you be judge and jury to rid of your queen? Ah, I see that I have captured your curiosity. Allow me to sustain it. I remember the story you have told me once upon a time. The Sword of Gram held by Sigurd himself, the first hero of Asgard. As Mjolnir is for Thor, so is this unto Loki."
Then with a flick of practice ease, the hand that wielded many a dagger swung the blade to test its weight and balance before it was held as if for presentation: a firm hand on the pommel whilst the sharp tip rest on the other palm.
"Is this not my birthright should I be worthy? If I am Loki, your wayward son?"
For some reason or other, this bold demonstration of defiance broke the last vestige of Odin's patience in playing Loki's game. He lashed out without thought, "Your birthright was to die! As a child; cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in you would not be here now to mock me so."
Alas, the mood now lost, said imposter flinches at the harsh words and sadden eyes most reminiscent of his wife, guise or not, tugs at his heartstring.
"Even to mine ears, they are too cruel for a child you once given love and guidance. Am I for the axe? Or shall I suffer Gram's test to prove that your suspicions are unfounded?"
It gave Odin a moment's pause as he second guessed Loki's motive. Gram's test was not to be taken likely for the cursed sword has a mind of its own, very much like Mjolnir. As it were, the more severe the lie, the deadlier the affect. Thus, when the palm upholding the tip formed a tight grip, the king held his breath in suspension. The sharpness was undeniable when immediately upon contact, crimson blood pooled at the edge and overflowed. The imposter's glamour proven to be no glamour at all, remains.
"I am Frigga Skadidottir, wife of Odin and mother to Thor and Loki. There, are you satisfied?"
Weariness sets in upon Odin's relief. It taxed his reserves to gauge the purpose of his wife to arrange such theatrics. He waves a hand for the guards to leave them be. They remain staring at each other until the clang of the closed doors confirms their privacy.
"My queen, what is the meaning of this? If you wish to present your case, a summoning would have suffice."
The contrition on her countenance lasted but a moment before Frigga pursed her lips and stated her cause, "Loki's injuries are grave and tis no counterfeit. He has but until the winter solstice to collect his mortals. If he fails, the Norns' curse upon him shall be irreversible."
Though this development was certainly new, Odin was more concern with the continuous loss of his wife's life blood at present, "Could you please release your hand from the blade? I believe you."