audreyii_fic said: dammit i just wanna write some mama!frigga and y'all can't stop me YOLO BITCHEZ
Wherein Frigga checks on her sons, Darcy introduces Thor to Jägermeister, Loki and Jane get a proper bed, and Audrey answers her own prompt. Because reasons. (Drama/Romance. PG.)
Frigga, wife of Odin, mistress of mages, Queen of the Realm Eternal, does not take a horse down the Rainbow Bridge this night. The walk is long, but she needs the time. She needs the air.
She needs many things.
She needs strength, to rule in place of the All-Father until he awakens. She needs wisdom, to guide the Aesir through this time of upheavals. She needs patience, to end this struggle with Jotunheim before it has the chance to begin.
And right now, more than anything else, she needs her children.
Heimdall is waiting at the gates of the Bifrost, as ever he has, as ever he will. "My Queen," he rumbles, nodding respectfully. "How fares the King?"
"Unchanged," she says curtly. (Frigga longs for him — no matter how many times her husband falls to the Odinsleep, she never stops longing — but she still would not take back a single word that fell from her lips as he collapsed at her feet. And when he awakens, she'll have still more words for him. Men and elves and gods have died for less than what he has done.) "I will see them, Heimdall."
"As my Queen commands." There is not the smallest pause in the Gatekeeper's voice. The liege orders, and Heimdall obeys. Even when the order is a discomfiting one.
But then, those who cannot use magic will always be discomfited by its use.
"Are they well?" she asks, stepping up to where the greatsword Hofund locks together the crossroads of the realms.
"That is not for me to judge, my Queen."
"Are they safe, then?"
"Yes. I have sworn to alert you if ever they are not."
"Just so." She cannot undo the All-Father's last command — not yet. As distasteful as it is, negotiations must take place if they are to avert the horrors of war; those negotiations will pass more easily if the Frost Giants know Thor Odinson to be in exile for his crimes. And Loki…
…Frigga would not allow Loki within a thousand leagues of Laufey for all the power in all the realms.
So her sons cannot come home yet.
Unless Heimdall sees them in peril.
If he does, worlds will shatter before the might of her magic and the steel of her blade.
"Loki first," she says, placing her hand upon Hofund's hilt.
"I suggest we begin with Prince Thor, my Queen."
Frigga glances at Heimdall. His expression reveals nothing — but he would not have spoken without cause. "So be it," she says. Her grip tightens. "I am ready."
And Heimdall — he of the Unending Watch — opens his mind.
When Thor appears before her, sitting in a mortal tavern, powerless but hale and whole, half the tightness in Frigga's heart eases.
She did not doubt that Heimdall know had her sons been in danger, but there is no comparison to seeing her child with her own eyes.
Or as close to her own eyes as she can manage. Her power does not interact perfectly with Heimdall's vision, but it will do for now. She will bear witness through him and be… if not content, then at least temporarily placated.
Thor says something to the mortal woman across the table, and then smiles. She cannot hear his words. But Frigga knows her son, and she knows his smiles, and this is a good one. An honest, genuine, sweet one.
So few now remember how very sweet her eldest can be.
Frigga loves her children beyond all things, but she is not blind to what they are becoming. She has watched Thor's courage explode into hot-headed recklessness; she has watched Loki's envy harden into resentment and spite. It happened as slowly and relentlessly as a glacier carving a valley between mountains. By the time the damage was clear, Frigga knew not how to repair it.
But they are her sons.
And all that damage does not feel so irreparable anymore, not now, not as a tavern wench places two drinks before Thor and his companion. The glasses are miniscule and contain a red liquid that nearly glows; Frigga feels a twinge of alarm that Thor is about to consume poison. Her son appears to have the same concern, for he frowns at the offering and says something clearly derogatory.
The woman answers with a discourteous, dismissive, disrespectful gesture.
And Frigga watches in amazement as her son and this mortal in the strange hat drink simultaneously. Thor makes the same face he would as a child when forced to eat something other than roasted goat. While he grimaces, the mortal reaches over to pluck a fingerful of food from his plate, and pops it in her mouth without any sign of questioning her own impudence.
And Thor?
Thor, God of Thunder, Crown Prince of Asgard, future King of the Aesir and the Realm Eternal?
Thor laughs.
It is the laugh of his youth, untainted by arrogance and battlelust. Frigga does not need to hear it to recognize it.
He motions to the tavern wench, and Frigga can see the word Another! form on his lips.
The mortal woman sticks her thumbs up in the air in response.
"That woman," Frigga says once her consciousness has returned to the Bifrost. "I wish to have her name."
"She is called Darcy Lewis of Midgard, my Queen."
"And she is— is she— no." Frigga stops herself with a shake of her head. "No. It is unimportant."
It is very important, but nevertheless, she will not inquire. Her sons are men grown, and she will see them again soon. She will ask Thor of this Darcy Lewis then, and what sort of creature she is. Frigga is not overly fond of mortals — how can one be so, when they flame and fade in mere heartbeats? — but a human who can bring smiles without swagger? Who so casually dismisses the great Thor and earns his laughter in response? Frigga will take the time to know of her.
But she will ask instead of spy.
However great the temptation to do so.
She had hoped her children would be together, but miracles are rare even amongst the gods. "Now Loki," she tells Heimdall.
The Gatekeeper hesitates a second time. "My Queen," he says, "if I may—"
"You may not. Show me my son."
Frigga realizes her mistake at once.
And she would have retreated instantly, had it not been for the expression on Loki's face.
If she has fretted for her elder child, she has been sick with worry for her younger. A warrior without strength is crippled, but a mage without magic is worse than blind, and her son, her son, her son who went to Jotunheim and may have seen, may have learned, only to be exiled before it could be explained…
It was at these accusations that Odin collapsed before her rage. He should not have banished her children.
But here is her youngest, and he is… well.
Heimdall's stalling thankfully spared her (and, unknowingly, Loki himself) the embarrassment of the worst, but in what appears to be some class of Midgardian inn, a nude woman lies on her stomach on dingy sheets. She wears the unmistakable flush of satiation.
She says a word — his name on her lips — and Loki, who still rests half atop her, responds by brushing her hair from the back of her neck. He places a kiss against the exposed skin.
The mortal's head is turned away; she cannot see the tell-tale signs of Loki's easing. She does not witness the softening of those lines in his face that have only ever grown sharper. Even if she did she would not understand the significance.
This smiling human woman cannot know what it means that Loki of Asgard, his brow resting upon her shoulder blade, breathes deep.
Frigga does not stay to witness more, of course. Thirty seconds was far more than enough. "I offer you my apology," she says to Heimdall as soon as she is able, "for dismissing your caution. I will not do so in the future."
Heimdall only bows his head in acknowledgement.
"My son's lover. Who is she?"
"Jane Foster of Midgard, my Queen."
Frigga nods. "My children are… managing," she says.
"They search for Asgard," replies Heimdall, answering her unasked question. "They long for their powers. They long for their home."
"When they are together — how are they? You may speak freely."
"I have not seen them in such accord in many years, my Queen. Though they are not… without conflict."
"I would be alarmed to hear otherwise." Frigga stares out into the void, where the branches of Yggdrasil beckon. Her sons belong here, in the Realm Eternal, her brave eldest upon the throne and her clever youngest at his right hand. It is not Frigga's destiny to rule. She should bring them back as soon as circumstances allow.
But she thinks of the kindness in Thor's face, and the softening in Loki's. She thinks of what seemed irreparable. She thinks of Midgard mending what Asgard could not.
"Are there orders, my Queen?"
In her anger, in her grief, she had forgotten that there is always a purpose to everything Odin does.
Frigga turns away from the stars. "Alert me if my children are in danger," she says. "And open the Bifrost to no one — no one — until I say otherwise."
"Yes, my Queen."
Her sons' fates are in their own hands.
And perhaps that is where it is meant to be.