Disclaimer: I own nothing

So, Loki still misses Meeka and Frigga. Can he live with the pain, or will it cripple him?

Sit back and find out!

Love always,

Avoline

Loki watched his son spar with the warriors. He was almost grown now, and still had not noticed the absence of a mother. He was Loki made over, minus a few details that only Loki and a select few knew about. At only a hair shorter than his father, Miekall was just as skilled at magic and had a tongue just as silver. He was physically stronger, and skilled with a blade.

Yet he had one trait that reminded Loki of Meeka perfectly.

"Watch over your shoulder," Fandral instructed as he attempted to attack from behind. But the young prince blocked his attack with ease. He spun and took Volstragg's legs from beneath him before blocking Mjolnir with Borjin, the sword of kings. A smirk formed on Loki's lips as he continued to watch his son basically win.

"Don't hurt your uncle Thor," he instructed from the side with a laugh. "You two are about the same size, despite your young age."

He is only about sixteen in human years.

The younger man laughed as he shoved the taller blond to the ground. Loki was proud of the man his son was becoming. He was proud of the strength and cunning the boy possessed, and just as proud of the strength of the boy's magic. He had already proven to be a wise young man, and a valuable warrior. He was everything Asgard needed in a king.

And Loki was almost ashamed to say he was ready to hand the throne over.

It was all becoming too much. Dealing with everything, and yet dealing with it alone. Sure, he had his advisers and friends, but he needed his queen. He needed her there to keep the heartache and pain and self loathing at bay. He needed to hold her at night and know that someone so pure and perfect loved him. He needed her voice to chase away his doubt.

He had tried to love another. Oh, he had tried. But it felt like a betrayal to Meeka, and his heart ached at the idea. Miekall was not without plenty of mother figures, but Loki feared the day that he would ask where his mother was. And the tired king was not sure if he could handle telling the prince the truth.

Would the boy blame himself? Would he fall into a deep depression? Would he wish himself dead in exchange for his mother's life? Loki knew he would have to explain how, as badly as he missed Meeka, there was nothing he would trade for his son, and nothing he would not give up for his son. It was a bittersweet situation, but he would not change anything.

The only trade he would make would be his life for his queen.

"You seem troubled, Loki," a voice stated. He turned to see Sif approaching him while Mikka ran to join the spar. "Thinking about your queen again?" He nodded.

"One day Miekall will ask about his mother," he explained. "I do not know what to tell him. No combination of words will stop him from feeling as though it is his fault she is gone. And I cannot bring myself to cause him such guilt." Her hand rested on his arm.

"He will understand," she soothed. "He will know that you love him, and you would not change anything if it meant giving him up." He took a deep breath.

"If I could give my life in exchange for hers, I would," he confessed.

"Anyone would," she murmured. "Especially those in love."

He stood on the balcony, pondering Sif's words. Would she sacrifice herself to safe Fandral? He was sure the blond would die before allowing anyone to harm her. Loki could see it in his friend's eyes. Fandral was one who loved with all he had, and so did Sif. Loki never imagined himself to be like them, but he was. His life ended when she took her last breath. He merely existed for his son's sake.

"Father?"

He turned to see Miekall standing a few feet away, a questioning look in his eye. Loki knew what the young prince was going to ask, and it pained him to know the time had already come. He had hoped he would have a few more centuries to formulate an answer that wouldn't make the boy feel like a burden.

But now, he would simply have to give him the truth.

"I know what you are about to ask, son," he began. "And the answer isn't an easy answer to give. Before I answer you, please know that I love you. Nothing could ever change that." The boy nodded.

"I know, Father," he answered. "And I am sure this will not be easy for either of us." Loki smiled at his son's wise words.

Sif was more observant than he had thought. She could tell that Miekall would understand. How, he'll never know. But for now, he could be proud of the young man the prince was becoming. And he could feel good knowing that Asgard's future king would be both wise and strong.

"Miekall, your mother died giving birth to you," he explained. "The healers did all they could to save her, but even with everything Asgard has to offer, they could not save her. She was a Midgardian, like your Aunt Jane. I do not know why she had to leave us, but she gave me the greatest gift before she left." He saw his offspring swallow, tears lining the young eyes.

"Me," the boy whispered. Loki nodded.

"You were named for her brother, whom I did not get to meet," he continued. "And while many may say you look like me, I see your mother every time I look at you."

Miekall's violet gaze met Loki's, and the older man felt his broken heart crack just a little more. They were her eyes looking at him, right down to the same shade. It took him back to the day he first saw Meeka, her nose in a book. It took him back to the small house, the little white car, and the dog who became his constant companion. It took him back to the book store and borrowed clothes and sleeping on what she called an "air mattress."

All of those moments lead to this. It lead to him being a widowed father who wouldn't change anything. Loki wasn't sure if he would be talking with his son if even the smallest detail were changed. He missed his queen, but if having her meant not having his son, he would do it all over again.

Because the best thing he ever did was standing before him.

"Do you miss her," Miekall questioned quietly. Loki nodded.

"Every day," he replied. "Some days are worse than others. Some nights the pain is unbearable. But if I had to choose between you and her, I know, in my heart, I would choose you. You are my son, and I love you."

That night, his dreams were of Meeka and his own mother, both telling him that they were proud of him and his son.