"I have been remiss," Loki was aware of her approach, this time. Sitting, as he had been on her first visit, cross-legged in the center of the cell's floor. "How has the queen fared in my absence?"

Watching him, she noted that he was no less hollow, no better rested. His manner was sharp, in a kind of forced politeness.

She remembered once, hearing raised voices and rounding the corner to find Thor storming away, leaving his brother with a look on his face – very like that he wore now – but fading to something more of sadness than of anger as Thor strode away.

He was a difficult one to be in conflict with. He turned everything in him to anger and used that as a weapon to drive off pursuit. Pursuit which he ought to have welcomed.

But he relied upon no one besides himself. It had ever been his way.

And, though she had had ample reason, she considered, she had not done much to aid him in that.

"Well enough," she answered him cordially, as though there were no bars between them. "Though, truth be told, my sons have caused me a great deal of worry as late."

"Mm," he turned his head away, unimpressed. "A common complaint."

She looked at him, at the rigid lines of his body. The tremor that worked slowly down his arms and into the hands that rested on his knees.

The bruises had vanished and she thought that in his state it could not have been any kind of glamour. He would need rest if he were to replenish any of his energy.

The cell looked very empty.

"I believed my son dead," she told him. "And when he came back to me, he would not let me help him."

Loki did not look at her, his voice heavy and bitter. "Perhaps he was better as you had thought him."

"Perhaps he thought he was."

"Perhaps he thought," Loki spat, eyes flashing, "he was many things."

"Loki," she drew nearer and crouched down to be on level with him. "Why will you not let me help you?"

He looked at her very levelly, "What would you have me do?" he asked.

"You know that already."

"And," he glanced quickly down, then back looking at her from under his brows, "you know my answer."

"I know what your father would say of your actions," she watched as his expression tightened, "and I have heard Thor. I would know from you what happened. I would know the truth, Loki."

For one long moment he looked at her. Then he smiled, "Well, perhaps when I feel you're adequately unprepared, I'll share that with you."

Looking down, Frigga sighed, "We never intended to keep it as secret from you forever."

"When?" he flipped his hands palm up on his knees. "When would you have told me?"

"What we did," she closed her eyes, summoning her strength, "we did for your good, Loki. You must understand that."

"For my good?"

"Loki," she pressed, "what you have done –"

He tipped his head to one side, his eyes hard like stone, "What I did," he said, slowly, his voice ragged. "I did," he tipped his chin toward her, "for your good."

His eyes glittered and he did not smile. "You must understand that."

She could only watch him, his eyes blank and flashing and his mouth set.

Finally, she whispered, "Don't make this harder on yourself."

He watched her, then nodded his head in understanding, and looked down. When he raised his head his eyes were guarded, but they did not threaten as they had. His mouth was tipped just a touch sarcastically. "I've made my choice."

And, rising, he made a move with his hand.

Her view of him faded as the illusion spread.