The shame in Odin's face the previous night was delicious, but even that image could encourage Loki to move from the floor on which he now lay. The excursions from yesterday's diabolical activities wreaked havoc on his body. Large amounts magic in such short periods of time could have leveled a sorcerer of lesser quality.

A dull pain sang in his lower back and he heard every note. The tips of his boots told him his legs were still there, though he could not really feel them. He knew he felt both nauseous and dizzy but was unsure which was causing what or whether they were independent symptoms. A reoccurring neck pain courtesy of being forced to sleep on the floor seemed to worsen all of these atrocities.

A nice long soak, followed by a massage from some pretty young thing would lull his muscles into sweet sedation, but for obvious reasons those were unavailable to him. He caught himself wishing for the bed in his cell.

His skin took on an eerie blue hue, as it often did in the after effect of such events. For years he just assumed this was his body's way of reacting to strong spells. Now he knew the blue hue did not speak for the physical condition of his body, but the depletion of magical energy holding up the strong illusion of pink flesh and Asgardian features.

From his position on the floor he could see Frigga's writing desk. He tried to avoid looking at it, but at this angle and his current unwillingness to move it was constantly out of the corner of his eye.

She would sit there after their lessons reading one of her books while little Loki snoozed peacefully in the chair opposite. The desk was bare and this bothered Loki. His memories told him that desk should have books on it.

He turned his right hand, palm down, in the direction of the desk and wiggled his fingers. A stack of well-worn books fizzed into existence. For some reason he was unsatisfied with them, another wiggle of fingers dismissed them. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out why they were so displeasing.

Frigga's face popped into his head, and at once he understood. It was not the books he missed, it was Frigga's ownership of them. He knew most of Frigga's books stolen from Odin's ancient collection. Odin gave her several but Frigga was unsatisfied and helped herself to her husband's collection from time to time without him knowing. Or perhaps he did know but was too scared to do anything about it.

The sound of a cracking book spine followed by turning of pages caught his ear. He opened one eye slowly to see exactly what he feared he would.

"Hello darling," Frigga greeted him while delicately turning over yellowing pages.

"Don't you 'hello darling' me," he grumbled. "You're not real, and neither is that book."

"Of course I'm not real. You overdid it yesterday, my love. Now you have trouble controlling your magic. You must…"

"Let it settle. I know." After several ungraceful attempts he managed to pull himself up into a standing position. His attention turned back to Frigga, who was still happily turning pages like it was her job. "Do you intend to read that or use it to make copious noise?"

"I'm shocked you can hear it over the crackling of your joints," she grimaced and mumbled, "You sound like your father."

"He's not my father," he said evenly. She opened her mouth to speak words from his memory, but he held up a hand silencing her, "No, you've said that line once; I will not allow it again."

She returned to her book, turning the pages faster and making more noise than before. As Loki made his way to the chair he pretended not to see her raised brows and set jaw. He slumped down into the chair and began to massage his neck. As he settled so did she. She stopped fussing with the pages and began gliding her eyes over the written words.

"I'm concerned about that neck of yours," she said not looking up. He had begun rolling it back and forth to try and loosen it up. He assured her it was fine, right before making a sickening crack. She pretended not to hear, but her satisfactory thin smile told him she did.

"Did you really have to torture that poor man?" She was referring to the man Egill, whom Loki framed for his chaos yesterday. "You've torn up their family Loki. That child will not have his father."

"Sounds like you disapprove."

"No one made out in that conundrum, not even you. You've still got bits of blood under your finger nails."

"It had to be done," he said, picking the mess out of his nails. "Besides the bastard tried to betray me."

"But you betrayed him."

"It's not really betrayal if it's planned out from the start." He flashed a proud smile.

She threw back a disapproving look. "Egill's role was improvised, which was why you didn't think his involvement all the way through."

"How so? Please enlighten me."

"For one you just assumed Odin would kill him, which as of now has not happened. Not only is he alive, but he still has his hands. Your secret is safe until someone gives him something to write with."

"I admit it was hasty," he mumbled, as he continued with his nails. The gore underneath proved difficult to scrape out completely. He deserted his mission out of frustration and clasped both hands on the arms of the chair. "I am having difficulties conceiving adequate schemes. My silver tongue has indeed turned to lead."

"It is intentional," she said plainly.

"Oh mother," he laughed, "I assure you it is not intentional. How do you even come to that conclusion?"

"I am not your mo..."

"No, I know. Do not say that, I know." She shut her mouth, and she returned to her book. He was having trouble remembering this figure before him was not real. Whatever she had to say came from him. He could easily dismiss her, but he was curious as to what his subconscious had to say.

At his silent instruction she lifted her head to speak. "You have no real desire to burn Asgard to the ground, or to even rule it. You want everything to go back to the way it was before you discovered your true lineage." She cocked her head slightly. "Or maybe you don't. You're remembering those days quite fondly at the moment." Frigga sighed and shifted a bit in the chair. "You're not sure what you want; you're a bit all over the place. You crave love and acceptance, and praise, but you are afraid usurping the throne will not bring those to you. It most certainly won't bring you any love from your brother or Odin, assuming he survives. You don't know what to do and it is driving you mad."

After a brief pause she returned to her book. Loki turned his attention to the floor, mulling her words over. He could not settle on if they were absurd or absolutely true.

"What are you reading?" he asked her.

"You know very well I am not actually reading," she said, pressing the page between thumb and forefinger.

He watched as her manicured hands skim the words on the page. After a while she brought them together above the book and wrung them, gripping the flesh tightly over her knuckles and accentuating her little blue veins. He watched as the muscles bugled and wrinkles creased, and how the light reflected off the curves of her finger nails. Then she made a steeple with her fingers, turned them inward, and crackled her knuckles. Finally, she pressed her palms flat down on either side the book briefly before curling the fingers up into fists.

"I used to lock my eyes to those hands, to try to capture their finesse and skill. All I do is mimic them."

"Nonsense, Loki," she spoke in a hushed tone. "You far exceeded my expectations in everything you did."

"Dear Odin would disagree," Loki argued. He swallowed hard out of habit and waited for Frigga's rebuttal but she just sighed and shook her head in a disapproving manor.

Why should he be so concerned about Odin's opinions of him now? The fool failed to protect his loving wife in a time of crisis. Always putting his precious Asgard ahead of the people he claimed to love. No doubt the true son of Odin followed in his father's footsteps, leaving his mother to defend herself. As a true warrior she could hold her own, but even warriors of the highest quality can be bested.

Frigga wondered over to the birdcage, her back was to Loki. Her words were cheerful and frivolous but Loki ignored them in favor of his much darker thoughts. In their brief time together Thor refused to elaborate on the events leading up to her death, revealing only that it had been by a lethal stab wound.

"Did you suffer?" he asked her, but all she did was give him a sympathetic smile. A red stain welled up under her breastplate, but her face remained calm. Another red blotch spread across her stomach, slowly creeping in a horizontal line. When it finally reached her side several smaller wounds popped open simultaneously on her lower back and upper abdomen. The blood flowed heavily, saturating the gold fabric. Loki followed the flow of blood to her knees, and then pulled his gaze to her face where he could see purple welts forming under her eyes. She gave no indication she even knew what was happening to her body.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked, voice cracking.

She coughed, spewing blood down the front of her. She wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand. "Should I be?" Her voice was simple and sweet, like the scarlet spittle on her hand was the most natural thing in the world.

"Yes, because I sent you your executioner!" he shouted the words like a dragon unleashing an inferno.

This sent her into a coughing fit, the blood pouring freely down her mouth and throat. Yet her expression was that of happiness and joy, flashing him a smile with red rimmed teeth.

"I am responsible for this!" he screamed rising from the chair to plant both hands on her shoulders. "I am a monster, a vile creature with a heart colder than the blackest pits of Jotunheim! You never saw me for what I really was! You sent me gifts and books and comforts for my prison cell instead of deserting me! You whisper encouragements and embrace me in love. I've hurt you, I am evil! You should not love me. I'm toxic. I burn everything in my path, good and bad. I...I..."

A familiar chill ran down his spine and he looked to see blue-grey claws clutching her shoulders. He collapsed to his knees, wrapping himself in her red and gold bloodstained skirts. He didn't want Frigga to see what he really looked like.

She embraced him, though he tried to pull away, eventually yielding to her strong hold. In the crook of her neck he whimpered incoherently. Frigga rubbed his shivering arms, stroked his dark curls, and gave the occasional kiss to his blue forehead. Loki had not been held like this since he was a child, and the familiar comfort settled him. His incoherent sobbing slowly turned into apologies. Pale pink skin replaced blue soon after.

"Talk to me." He looked up to see her face pristine and pretty, as were her clothes. "Am I really a monster?"

"Only because you feel you must be."

"That's not what I want to hear." he chuckled.

"No," she wiped his eyes with the pads of her fingers gently. "But I would not say anything else."

"Dear mother, you've not learnt anything from my little outburst." He let her go and stood up.

She remained on the floor. "Loki, I am not your mother. Your mother is dead."

"No, no you are not," he said, extending a hand. "But I always did have a talent for shaping convincing illusions."

"You did learn from the best, darling." She accepted his hand and pulled herself up.

Loki let her straighten out his jacket, adjust his collar, and tuck a loose black lock behind an ear. She looked him once over and gave an approving smile. She bit her lip, approval turning into worry. "Are you so sure this is the right answer?"

"Yes," he stared down at her. "What you've just said clicked everything into place."

"Loki…"

"No, it needs to be done. I've been afraid to kill Odin. I need to kill Odin."

"Loki that is not what I meant."

"I've been delaying my actions out of fear. I should just go and do it and deal with the actual consequences instead of worrying about what they might be."

"You're going to regret it, Loki."

"I will not, mother."

"You are emotionally and physically exhausted. Do you think it wise to act now?"

He ignored her question, opting instead to retrieve the dagger he had thrown at Munin a few days prior. It pulled out of the wall with ease and he hid it in his coat. Frigga watched him with a worried expression. Loki reminded himself that this was not Frigga, but her recoil to his actions turned his stomach.

"Do you really think you can?" she asked in a whisper.

"Oh, I don't know. He is getting up there in age." He gave her a cheeky smile as he made his way to the door. "Besides, you give me an idea." He kissed her on the cheek as he passed her.

"He'll see right through it," she warned.

"Then he'll kill me and I'll soon be talking to the real you." He gave her a wink and slammed the door behind him.