"Fear not, Mother," Thor laughed. "We will bide home no little time now. I think I've quite had my fill of travel."

"My Thor?" her brows rose mockingly, "Weary of adventure in the Realms?" But she smiled, glad to have him home and safe.

"Adventure no," he chuckled, "but travel fare and wander-weary companions?" he shook his head, "I look forward eagerly to the feasting this night."

She put a hand to the hard muscle of his shoulder. He smiled at her.

"Go and wash up," she said, "I must yet greet your brother."

Thor's face darkened. "You will find him weary and out of sorts, Mother," he cautioned, "He has not been himself these past days. It was of him, chiefly, that I spoke, just now."

A pulse of quick worry raced in her veins. "Has something happened to him?"

"Nothing more than befell the rest of us."

Gently she shook her head, "Nothing perhaps that was visible to you," she said. "You have not always been the most perceptive of companions, Dearest."

"He has even been a fickle creature, Mother," Thor pressed her hand, "Well-given to his moods." He closed the little space between them and planted a strong kiss on her forehead. It struck her how like his father he was, when his father had been young and had won her from her father's house. "Do not allow it to trouble you."

"I will allow it to trouble me," she said, "if it concerns one of my sons. Would you not have it so, Thor," she cupped his rough cheek in her palm, wondering that it had once been the face of her baby, "if it were you?"

"Well," he gave his sudden smile, "Yes. But it wouldn't be."

She laughed at him, "Get along with you."

He clasped her hand, and then he was gone, leaving her alone with her new worry for her younger son.

Quickly, she went to his door. It wasn't shut as she had expected it to be, so, she tapped on the doorframe.

"Yes?"

She could see him within. He stood with his back to the door, his head bowed as he worked at some thing spread on the table. He did not turn.

"Hello Loki," she came into the room.

"Oh," he said, "Hello Mother."

His voice was dismissive. She couldn't recall a reception this cold from him in all their years.

"How was your trip?" she asked, lightly, nearing him.

He did not look up, busy with his hands.

"Well enough."

"'Well enough?'" she laughed, "Is that all I am to hear?" she came up to the table beside him and leaned back against it, attempting to see his face.

She missed the way he had been when he was little.

"If you wish for a tale," he said, "ask Thor. He's full enough of them."

His tone was sharper, and she frowned. "Loki," she asked, "has something happened?"

He didn't answer her. He straightened from the table and turned all in one fluid motion, making for the door.

"What are you doing?"

He stopped, then faced her with his chin angled a little to one side, watching her, as though the question was one he couldn't follow.

But she didn't move and eventually he seemed to realize the question. He tipped a little forward on his feet with both brows raised and his mouth twisted towards a smirk.

"I'm leaving."

The word struck like a blow. "Leaving?"

He said it with finality. As though he were going away for good.

She found that she couldn't quite catch her breath. "Where?"

His brows furrowed, incredulous and amused. "Does it matter?"

She shook her head to clear it, "Where are you going, Loki?"

Anger flashed and surfaced in his eyes, "Away from here," he said. "This, place, holds no claim on me."

The way he spat the word burned her.

He saw it and his lips curved in a cruel arc as he lifted his chin, "Did you think I would need you forever?" He was coming toward her, and, stepping back, she met with the hard edge of the table. "That I would never one day come into my true birthright?"

"Loki," she whispered. This was not her boy. This was – Something terrible had – She searched his face for answer, "What has happened to you?"

He drew back from her then, so tall and cold as he looked down his nose at her, "Why should you care?" he scoffed, "Of all people."

As he said it, he turned his head away. He would not look at her as he spoke the words. Loki's power was in his voice, and in those moments, his eyes betrayed him.

There was a hurt there, fear and pain.

Seeing that, she straightened, gathering the strength of her position, her power over him. She loved him. Somewhere beneath this madness, beneath whatever it was that had happened to him, he knew that.

"I am your mother," she told him.

He was too close, then. Too cold. And very tall as he met her eyes.

"No," he said. "You're not."

With a cold shock Frigga woke into the dimness of the early morning. Her breast heaved unevenly. Mild wind lifted the sunset-colored curtains that barred her inner chamber in the summertime from the balcony without. She could see the balcony ledge through the thin billowing fabric and the orange and pink glow of the sunrise.

The wind lifted the damp curls on her forehead. She focused on that. On the breeze, on the smell of it. On the hard outline of the stone balcony outside. On the softness of the curtain.

Her hands were warm against her face.

In a sudden, impatient gesture she got out of her bed, snatched up her wrap and, pulling it about herself, she went out onto the balcony. She hugged herself against the breeze. She savored the wind that lifted the hair from her neck and tried to let it carry away the memory of that dream. The cold disavowal of her son.

Closing her eyes, she thought back. She dragged together everything she could of what she had seen, every word he had spoken.

Thor had seen in him madness, madness that had somehow vanished on his return to Asgard. In his eyes no longer was the glint that she had seen in her visions, brought to her by the Gatekeeper. The mad tilt to his mouth and the hungry grasping laugh were gone. Now he was tired, broken. Older and stronger than he had been when he fell, and striking out at all who offered him help.

Ever had he done so, when he had felt weak. Though with her, he would have allowed that defense to fall away. But now he no longer trusted her. She was every bit as culpable as Odin.

And as necessary as their deception had been, the manner of its revelation had been cruel.

They ought to have told him.

Drawing a slow breath, she recalled that she had ever thought such, ever since he had neared manhood. But Odin's reasoning held. She could not promise that her actions would have differed, had she known all that would follow. And besides all else, it was past. No amount of regret could alter it.

With a long exhale, she let it go. She drew her thoughts back to her son.

She felt the light of the rising sun warm on her upturned face.

This was not madness. This was frustration assuredly, confusion, hatred perhaps, but not madness.

On Earth, he had spoken often and disparagingly of freedom. Now he mocked the idea of choice. He refused to speak of the time he had been hidden from their sight.

Opening her eyes, Frigga remembered the men Loki had chosen, and the stone in his possession.

Tears sprang into her eyes.

"Oh, my son," she whispered.

Pressing her hands together, she held them to her lips and she closed her eyes.

It had been nearly a moon since Loki had returned home.

And they had so far to go.


Gratuitous dream-chapter. But I really liked the image. And also showing Frigga as being as lucid a dreamer as both her sons are.