Beneath

Chapter One Hundred Sixty – Cloth

For one brief moment equal parts wonderful and horrible, Loki lay in bed, looking around, believing the last nearly two years of his life had been a terrible and stunningly realistic dream. Then he saw the little gray figure and the empty vial on his bedside table and remembered he'd returned to Asgard and to his old chambers. None of it was a dream; he didn't recall having any dreams at all. He was really a Frost Giant, really the son of Laufey, really in exile from…everywhere. It wasn't all bad, though. There was Jane, and a very brief interlude when, at times, he'd been at peace.

At least he'd slept. And while he still looked forward to a normal full night's sleep at some point, he felt refreshed from the three restful hours he'd had. Over the next fifteen minutes he got up, took something closer to a proper if quick bath including washing and drying his hair, then padded out to his dressing room. There everything came to a halt. What he wore depended on what he planned to do today. Who he planned to be.

Yesterday he'd been in green, but rather informally attired. Green suggested his official, public persona, Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, second in line to the throne. Odin had not revoked his title, as far as he knew. But he was no longer in the line of succession and he no longer claimed Odin's name. These things, though, he suspected, were not widely known. If presenting himself as Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, second in line to the throne would be beneficial, then he could probably get away with doing it. But he would have to dress the part. If, on the other hand, presenting himself as independent, an outsider or even an outcast, then he could probably do that, too, though Thor following at his heels would complicate it. That situation called for entirely different clothing. He could always change the appearance of it with magic, but he would know what was real and what was not, and he always preferred to wear the real thing.

So he stood before his wall-length wardrobe full of clothing that had never been removed though he'd been thought dead, items cleaned, pressed, polished, oiled, without blood or cuts or tears or snow spew, at a loss.

He had to make a decision. And it wasn't about clothing.

He turned around and met his own gaze in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that covered the opposite wall. He turned away from that, too, lest he shower another floor with glass.

He sank into an oversized leather chair, rested his chin in his palm, rubbed a finger over his lip. This problem wasn't going to go away, no matter how much he avoided it or tried to pretend it didn't exist. Nadrith had a volatile populace at home, more so than Loki had known before, and especially more so after he had rallied them around this war. Pulling out now, with nothing to show for it but a story of Brokk's duplicity and ultimate allegiance to two unknown beings from some unknown place outside the Nine Realms, would mean disaster for his reign. Nadrith knew that, and was unwilling to accept the certainty of the consequences of opening Door One in order to avoid the many uncertainties somewhere behind Door Two. Loki could think of no means of making the danger waiting behind Door Two more certain, more immediate. If he could not make Door Two look worse, then he had to make Door One look better. That meant evidence that would discredit and disgrace Gullveig – Loki thought that part might actually be fun – and convincing Jotunheim's competing factions to voluntarily withdraw from the war, preferably with a smile on their cold blue lips.

Try as he might, he could think of only one course of action to achieve that objective with both certainty and speed. And he thought he might prefer to become Thanos's guest again rather than do it. He would definitely rather lurk about the South Pole being feared and despised, assuming they would for some reason let him lurk about. He would rather spend the next decade locked in a room with Thor listening to his earnest pleas about brotherhood. He could spend all day coming up with things he'd rather do than this, but none of them would bring about a favorable end to the war.

He sat up straighter, then stood. He returned to his wardrobe. Official, he thought. Green. But not overly formal. And not so much armor. He didn't want to look as though he was trying to intimidate – though he did want to look a little intimidating – nor did he want to look as though he was prepared for battle. To his underclothes he added a black tunic with a tall stiff neck and green hem, then a low-cut shirt of soft green wool, then dark brown leather pants into which he tucked the tunic and overshirt. Then came the complicated pieces. The breastplate, the vest that crisscrossed his chest in strips of brown leather and green wool and silver mail armor and hung to his knees, the leather straps that encircled his upper arms and held blades that at a casual glance looked like another form of mail armor, the thick leather bracers that fit snug to his forearms and had small gaps through which he pulled tufts of the green cotton – purely for style but then Loki appreciated style – and over it all a sleeveless ankle-length leather surcoat with a bit of stiffer leather protruding over his shoulders, giving them the appearance of greater breadth. He regarded himself in the mirror, smoothing down locks of ruffled hair while leaving it freer than the slicked-back straight style he'd last worn it in on Asgard. He decided that he looked good, with just the right balance of formality and practicality.

Back up at the front of his chambers, he pulled out a pair of boots – unmarred but slightly less perfect than his favorite pair had been – worked them on, then added lightly armored gaiters. He was ready. And judging by the snoring coming from his study, he could slip right out the door without Thor noticing. Instead, he went back through his chambers to the study, repositioned his desk chair a few feet away from the man lying on his back, boots still on, left arm dangling over the edge of the lounger and fingers nearly brushing the floor. Loki sat, thinking through all the ways he might once have woken Thor upon finding him like this. He did none of those, instead simply saying in a loud voice – Thor was a heavy sleeper – "Time to wake up." Thor snorted in a way that might have made Loki laugh under other circumstances, choking on his snore, then swung his legs to the floor and sat up, blanket pooling at his waist. "You look ridiculous."

"So do you," Thor said automatically, over a yawn. Then, as, he brushed a hand over his beard, he realized that Loki did not look ridiculous, but was instead impeccably dressed and groomed, though it was still completely dark outside. "I take it back."

"I don't. Where did you get that blanket?"

Thor looked down at it. "What's wrong with it?"

"It has smiling turtles on it, Thor."

"So it does." He hadn't noticed before, immersed in his thoughts in the darkened room, but had given it no thought. "It's your blanket. Why is it so ridiculous?"

"It's not my blanket."

"It was in your study."

"And do you know what has not been in my study? Me, Thor." Loki sighed as he looked about the room. He had otherwise avoided doing this, comparing the current state of these chambers to his memories, cataloguing its contents, whether everything was still there and in the same place, whether any of it had been moved out or rearranged by servants who were no longer concerned about the owner's reactions. Things did look more or less as he'd unexpectedly left them. "Perhaps Mother brought it down here. It's probably something from my childhood."

Thor nodded. "It was hard on her, losing you. On all of us."

"Let's not start down that road again. Would you get rid of the blanket? It's difficult to speak seriously when you're covered in grinning turtles."

"What is it?" Thor asked, balling up the blanket and setting it aside. "Have you come up with an idea?"

"Yes. But I'm going to need your help."

"You have it," Thor said, sitting up straighter, tensing to rise. "What do you need?"

"Yesterday you told me that you would be my key to open locked doors. Today, I need a key."

/


/

Conversations stopped and heads turned her way when Jane walked into the galley. She sighed and kept moving. She was a little late; dinner service was nearly over. When the others from the Science Lab had gone to the galley, she'd headed to the restroom to splash some water on her face and grab a few minutes to herself. A few minutes had turned into more like twenty. Walking into the Science Lab had been hard enough. Walking into the galley would be orders of magnitude harder. Jane was strong, made stronger by her time here, but her strength wasn't infinite. Neither was her cowardice, though, so with a glance at her watch she'd straightened up from where she'd been leaning over the sink staring at herself – tired face with dull hair up in a ponytail – put on a determined expression, and made her way straight to the galley.

Dinner was simple: a hearty tomato soup full of vegetables, one pot with beef in it and one without, a tray of freshly-made biscuits beside them. She couldn't help thinking how Loki would have hated the soup – she could hear him commenting on how everything in the soup had come from either a can or the freezer – and probably taken four biscuits. Cooking, she imagined, hadn't been much of a priority today, and the kitchen and its supplies and equipment had probably taken some damage, too.

"Hi, Perry," she said to the head chef, the only person there in the kitchen.

"Jane," he said coolly in response, staring at her for a moment over the large frying pan he was scraping at.

"So, uh, was there much damage in the kitchen?" she asked, ladling up some of the vegetarian soup and trying to act like everything was normal. She didn't know Perry well, but he'd always before been friendly toward her. He worked with Mari, though, who was absent.

"Not much," Perry answered, this time not even looking up.

"Oh. Okay. I'm glad." She took a biscuit. "Okay, then. See you later," she said, turning to find at least a dozen heads turning at the same time, having apparently been watching the exchange. Jane wasn't much of a blusher but she felt like her cheeks must be flaming red.

Her next problem was where to sit. The other scientists were all at the same long table with no empty chairs, but Carlo was getting up, and Austin was motioning at her to join them. Macy, though, was sitting alone at one of the little round tables, and also motioning her over. She'd already spent a few hours with the scientists, and felt okay with them even if moments of discomfort remained. She figured she should try to talk with as many people as she could, so she waved and mouthed a thanks toward the others and joined Macy.

They exchanged pleasantries that were only slightly awkward and Jane asked how the Greenhouse had fared; Macy told her there'd been very little damage.

"So…," Macy said, chasing a bit of carrot around the bottom of her otherwise empty bowl.

Jane waited, but she didn't continue. "Whatever you need to say, just say it, Macy. It's okay. I can take it."

"You said he had 'issues.'"

"Um-"

"That's all you ever said. 'Issues.' Jane, we live in a world where most guys are giant man-babies who don't know jack about responsibility or commitment or anything. They all have issues. Who doesn't? When you say 'issues' I think…he's got some OCD thing where he washes his hands twenty times a day, or he has credit card debts, or he struggles to stay on the wagon, or has some neurotic ex-wife, or a juvy arrest record…I don't know, anything. But not…not the invasion of New York. Not he's an alien. Not he's in the equivalent of jail right here at the Pole."

"Yeah, I'm-" Jane started, then grimaced when Macy cut her off again.

"I mean, how long were you going to let that go? I was trying to work up the nerve to make a move. I actually got him to dance with me yesterday. I don't think he's much of a dancer but man, I was about to just melt all over him, and I could tell he was really into it, with those bedroom eyes of his, and I-"

"What?" Jane asked, eyes wide.

"Sorry. Got lost in the memory. He just…" Macy finally dropped her spoon with a clatter and leaned her elbows on the table. "Would you have just let me totally fall for him?"

"Macy…" It was hard to concentrate. "Bedroom eyes"? Loki was "into it"? She knew he had danced with her – Loki himself had off-handedly mentioned it – and that was shocking enough, but "bedroom eyes"? When she'd mentioned Macy's interest in him before, his surprise had seemed genuine, and she'd never noticed him paying her any particular attention after that, either. Jane shifted uncomfortably and tried to refocus her thoughts; this was about Macy, not Loki. "I didn't think it was anything serious. I…I would've said more if I'd realized that you…had feelings for him."

Macy rolled her eyes. "I didn't have feelings for him. Not that kind of feelings anyway," Macy said with a sudden laugh, shaking her head. "I could have had feelings for him. All sorts of them. My sister always says I have a thing for bad boys. Guys with issues. I don't know. I can't help it. I like the dark, mysterious type."

Jane laughed, too, but it was mostly forced and felt painfully awkward. She couldn't tell if Macy was actually mad at her or not, and she couldn't stop herself from trying to picture Loki dancing with Macy and looking at her with bedroom eyes. It was a side of Loki she hadn't seen, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it.

"You let us make friends with him," Macy said, all laughter gone, and Jane knew she was mad. "You let us…be around him like he was really just another beaker. What if it had gone farther, Jane? Physically, or emotionally… It's not just me. Well, physically it might be just me. But it's…it's like you were in this conspiracy to get us involved with this guy who attacked our planet. You said knowing us was good for him, something like that. It's like you used us."

Jane sighed and sank further into her seat. She'd managed a bite or two in the beginning but the rest of her meal sat there ignored. In a way, Macy was right. "I never thought of it like that. I never meant it like that. I never wanted to hurt anybody. I was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. And I…I guess it didn't seem like people being friends with Loki was such a bad thing. I became friends with him, and maybe this sounds weird to you, but I'm really glad I did."

"You knew who you were making friends with."

"Not at first. I thought he was Lucas Cane, too."

"We're all lucky he didn't kill us, aren't we?" Macy asked, watching as a small cluster of people left the galley.

"He didn't come here to kill anybody. Macy, I swear to you, if I had for a moment thought we were in danger from him, I would have called Tony Stark."

"How would you know? He fooled all of us. He fooled the US Antarctic Program. Ken told me pulled up the copy of his passport and it all looked totally legit."

"We had an arrangement, Tony and I. I had to call him every week. If I missed a call, he'd know something was wrong. We had a danger code, in case…" Jane struggled for a moment to remember what the code was even for. "In case Loki was standing next to me when I made the call or something. But Loki wasn't going to attack unless somebody attacked him first."

"Yeah? So who attacked him first when he was wrecking up Manhattan?"

Jane sighed again, but she couldn't sink any lower into her chair without falling out of it. Metaphorically, in a way, Loki had been attacked first. But nobody on Earth had attacked him first, and nobody on Earth had deserved what happened. "I didn't know him then. But more importantly, he didn't know anyone on Earth then. He does now. And it's changed the way he thinks about us. About all of us. That's a good thing…isn't it?"

"I guess so," Macy said after a moment. "I just…I still can't believe you didn't say anything."

"I'm sorry," Jane said for what felt like the hundredth time and would probably be followed by hundreds more. The words felt inadequate, but they were all she had. Macy left Jane to her cold soup soon after, not in an angry huff but not with an abundance of friendliness either. Jane stared down at her tray wishing Loki was here – and knowing there wasn't even anyone here she could say that to. She really needed someone to talk to right now, and Loki was the only one who would understand.

/


/

Loki stood in his study, alone, while Thor availed himself of the facilities. Thor had agreed to the plan. Of course, Loki hadn't actually told him what he was agreeing to so it hadn't been that much of a challenge. "No door is closed for you, Loki, not with me at your side. You may go wherever you need to." Loki had thought about explaining further, but Thor hadn't pressed and Loki hadn't been in the mood for the battle that would follow. This way, when it came up again, he hoped it would be easier to convince Thor to bow to the inevitable. His eyes fell on the crumpled blanket, light green with brown big-headed turtles covering it in various poses, each with inexplicably broad happy smiles. He picked it up, rubbed the cloth between finger and thumb. He had no memory of it, but he couldn't imagine any reason it could have wound up here other than that it had been his at some point and his mother had dragged it out to reminisce. The material was in good condition, just a few thinner spots here and there; Asgardian products were generally made to last, but she had to have preserved it somehow for it to have lasted this long.

He heard Thor coming and headed out to the entryway to meet him, still holding the blanket.

"Taking it with you?" Thor teased, then wondered if he should perhaps not tease. Even without Loki's sensitivities, today was not really a day for teasing. They were, he suspected, going to Jotunheim, with Loki's talk of locked doors, and instead of the arrogant thrill it had filled him with the last time he'd done that, he'd gulped down a glass of warm water in Loki's bathroom, hoping it would calm his nervous stomach. Neither he nor Loki would be welcomed with smiles on Jotunheim, and as impressive as Loki had been with Nadrith, Nadrith was an old friend, someone they knew and, more or less, understood, from a realm that was different but not fundamentally so from their own. With the Frost Giants they had no shared memories of happier times, no mutual understanding, and if they shared any commonalities at all they didn't know each other enough to be aware of them.

"I'm returning it. I want to see Mother before we go," Loki said as they stepped outside the door. Placed atop the open-faced credenza against the wall by his door was a small stack of books. The sight of them brought a smile to Loki's face; they would probably give him the only moment of the day he might actually enjoy.

"You don't want them?" Thor asked, waiting for Loki, who was already moving toward the stairs, to reveal his jest.

"I'll come back for them. Upstairs first. Or you could hold on to them."

Thor shrugged slightly and picked them up, then caught up to Loki. "You're missing something."

Loki cast a glance over at Thor, uncertain what he was referring to.

"The torque," he said, brushing a hand over his chest, where Loki's torque would rest and where now he had only a brown leather breastplate. Something had seemed off, but it wasn't until he mentioned it that he'd realized what it was.

"I've never liked the weight," Loki said, and hoped Thor would leave it be. The torque he'd last used had been a gift from Odin upon his thousandth birthday, and while his chest did look a bit bare without it, its absence was deliberate.

Two floors up, Loki stopped in front of the massive double doors and the two Einherjar standing there – Huskol, whom Loki knew was now Chief Palace Einherjar, and a second man whom he did not know. "Is the queen in?" Loki asked.

"She is, my prince," Huskol answered.

Loki's gaze lingered on the man. He'd known Huskol by name before, but if the man had ever been hostile toward him he hadn't noticed it. Now he detected a hint of belligerence in Huskol's expression, and in the slight pause before using his title. The other guard stared impassively straight ahead with no expression to speak of, just as he should. Like furniture. If the furniture reviled him – and some pieces of it were better at concealing it than others – Loki supposed it didn't matter. He knocked, and ten seconds later the doors opened to him. "Wait here," Loki instructed Thor before entering and closing the doors behind him.

Thor stood there somewhat awkwardly, barred from his own parents' chambers by his brother without explanation. He turned his attention to Huskol. Thor, too, had caught the undercurrent of hostility toward Loki, and also that Loki had noticed. "Is there a problem, Huskol?"

"No, Your Majesty. All is quiet here," he answered promptly.

"Let me clarify: is there a problem with Loki?"

Huskol hesitated this time, though his voice was just as strong. "No, Your Majesty."

"I know the truth now, about how this war began, about who's behind it. Loki had nothing to do with it. I remember that you did not believe Loki started it; you were right. This war was instigated by someone beyond the Nine Realms, someone who is just as much Loki's enemy as the rest of Asgard's. He was never allied with the Dark Elves, either. Loki is now trying to find a way to convince the other realms to walk away from the war. I know that it's widely believed that Loki is to blame for this war and for the lives lost, in part or in whole, but I tell you that despite other wrongs he has done recently, he is innocent of this." Thor stepped closer, lowering his voice. The other guard would still hear, but this was the best Thor could do. "Jolgeir told me of your loss, Huskol. But do not let it interfere with your performance. Remember that Loki is your prince, and he is my brother."

Emotions played over Huskol's face, but quickly settled into determination. "I will not forget, Your Majesty. I beg your forgiveness."

/


/

"Loki? Is everything all right?" Frigga asked, hurrying through her chambers to the anteroom at the entrance.

"Yes," Loki answered, though it wasn't quite true. Frigga's hair hung loose in a bit of disarray down her back, and she wore a peach-colored nightgown. "I apologize for waking you."

"I wasn't asleep. I'd just gone to bed. And I'm so grateful that you're back, I will never complain about you calling me out of bed. What can I do for you?"

"Are you alone?"

"Your father is out fighting. The attacks usually lessen at night, but they rarely stop."

Loki nodded. "I…thought I would return this," he said, unclasping his hands from behind his back. "It must be yours?" He hadn't really thought about what he would say when he got here, and now he realized he had no idea what he wanted to say, or really even why he'd come. It wasn't because of the blanket. That had been a convenient excuse.

Frigga looked down at the pale green blanket Loki held out to her. "Oh…yes, thank you," she said, taking it from him. "I was…reminiscing one day, and took it down to your chambers. I was called away and I forgot it there. I kept meaning to go back for it but…" Loki, she thought, was barely listening, eyes cast aside, distant. He hadn't come here to return a childhood blanket. "What is it, dear one? You know it doesn't matter if you're ten or ten thousand, you can always talk to me about anything." She paused, waiting, but Loki still said nothing. She had thought that perhaps Loki had questions for her, or needed her assistance or insight on something, but his hesitation and especially the moisture gathering in his eyes told her that he simply needed his mother. "Loki?" she prompted.

"I talked to Nadrith," he began, since that was indeed where his current predicament began. "I convinced him that he was being used, and that ceasing the attacks on Asgard was in everyone's best interest including his own, and he agreed to use his influence to convince the other rulers to withdraw as well."

"That is…" Frigga had to take a moment to process what Loki had just said. One conversation with Nadrith and the war was over? "That is wonderful news. But…you don't look happy. What else?"

"There's a catch. Two, actually."

"All right. What are they?"

"Evidence that impugns Gullveig. Anything that will make Gullveig look bad in the context of the war. Nadrith needs to look good by comparison. Proof of the things he's already been told, and more. As much as possible. Can you help with gathering what we already know into some form of presentable package?"

"Yes, of course. I'll see to it immediately, as soon as we're done here. What is the second thing?"

"Jotunheim has to withdraw first."

Frigga drew in a slow breath. "That is indeed a catch. Do you have any ideas how to make that happen? The Jotuns are a stubborn, proud people."

"I have a solution. I'm going to go there and convince them to withdraw."

She nodded. Loki's eyes were dry now; no tears had fallen. His words suggested self-confidence and certainty, but no matter the events of the last couple of years, no matter the times when she'd failed to see just what was going on behind Loki's mask, she still knew her son, and she knew he was in emotional turmoil. "You will meet with the three leaders? You'll meet with Helblindi and Byleister?"

"I know of no way to avoid it."

"And now you know who they are to you. They aren't just any Jotuns."

Loki's expression hardened. "They are nothing to me. They are just any Jotuns. An accident of biology does not make them anything more."

"I suppose that's true. That doesn't mean it won't be difficult for you."

"The difficult part will be that I would rather kill them than talk to them."

Frigga frowned, but said nothing. Loki wasn't going to be talked out of his hatred, and he didn't need her judgement.

"You accepted a Frost Giant into Asgard's palace," Loki said abruptly. "Into your own home. Weren't you afraid?"

Frigga's frown quickly pulled into a smile, and even light laughter. "Loki, you were a baby. No, I can't say I was afraid."

"Odin said that the very first time I was laid down next to Thor I burned him. I injured your son."

She shook her head and reached out to grasp Loki's hand in hers, thankful that although he looked for a moment as though he were considering it, he did not pull away from her touch. "I was frightened then for Thor, because he was hurt and crying. But you didn't do it out of malice. You didn't even know you'd done it. All you did was touch him. And by the time I picked up Thor to take care of him, his crying had made you start crying. So, no, Loki, I wasn't afraid of you."

Frigga waited for a moment, but Loki remained silent, so she continued. "There was some nervousness, in the beginning. We didn't know anything about Jotun infants, Jotun children. I had never even seen a Jotun child before. We didn't know if there would be anything different about you, anything that you would need that we wouldn't know about, or anything that would be normal on Asgard that might be dangerous for you. I nursed you that first night; it was instinct for me, since Thor was still nursing some then, and looking at you, you looked like any other Aesir baby. But afterward I was terrified that I could have made you ill, because perhaps an Aesir mother's milk was harmful for Jotuns.

"The morning after your father brought you home, we sent for Eir. We explained everything to her, and she examined you closely and found she couldn't even detect any magic in your form. She said she would never have believed you were anything other than Aesir if we hadn't told her otherwise. I had her check on you constantly, four or five times a day that first week. But it was as though you'd never been born Jotun at all. Do you remember those growing pains you used to get?"

"How could I forget?" Loki said, though he hadn't thought of it in centuries. They'd been severe, coming on suddenly and sometimes leaving him essentially crippled until they passed.

"We never knew for certain, but we suspected they had something to do with your biological heritage. There were other things, too – your allergy to mila beans, the odd timing of your normal childhood illnesses, your delayed speech. We wondered about those things but we had no way to know whether they held any significance with regard to your underlying race. But none of that ever mattered. It wasn't long at all before we stopped thinking of you as our little boy from Jotunheim. You were simply our little boy. No less Aesir than any of us; no less our child than Thor. I was never afraid of you, Loki. You were the sweetest little boy any parent could ask for. Do you know what I feared instead? I feared losing you. I feared the parents who gave you up realizing their mistake and tracking you down and demanding your return. I feared them seeing you, and somehow recognizing something in you, and stealing you away from us. I don't think I stopped fearing that until you were nearly twenty. Odin didn't exactly have permission or any kind of legal right to take you. We would have had no legal standing to keep you."

"Considering they'd left me to die, an unlikely development," Loki said, trying to sift through early memories of his mother and recall any sign of special worry or concern for him. Instead his thoughts landed on something much more recent. "I told Jane that I was adopted. Months ago. It was a slip. She knew my birthday was on Victory Day, she knew how much I hated the Frost Giants…she developed a theory. She thought that the reason I hated them so much was that they had killed my biological parents. She thought my parents were war heroes, slain by the enemy. It's a nice theory, isn't it? Much nicer than the truth."

Frigga looked down at Loki's hand, still loosely in hers. All those years ago, she had thought this moment would come. And then she'd hoped it never would. But now, she thought, it was time. She gave his hand a squeeze, then let it go and stood. "Come with me," she said. "Bring the blanket."

Loki rose, uncertain where his mother was going or why, but unquestioning. He followed her from room to room, until they reached a little reading room close to the bedchambers. Loki vaguely remembered playing there as a child, but had been inside probably only a handful of times since. On display were numerous items of personal value, things Frigga had told him made her feel relaxed, a good environment for reading.

"I don't think I've ever shown you anything in here, have I?" Frigga asked, taking the blanket.

Loki shook his head. They stood in front of a chest-high narrow cabinet. He had never seen it opened. He'd asked about it before, and she'd told him it was private. It was also locked; he'd once tried to look in it when she wasn't around, but wasn't able to get past the lock.

"It's a keepsake chest, really, full of precious mementos of my sons' lives."

"And this is mine?"

"No, you and Thor are both in here. You're thinking of that one?" she asked, pointing to the opposite side of the room.

Loki nodded.

"That one holds mementos of my life separate from my children. I did have a life before I had you, you know. Even before I married," she said in a warm teasing voice.

"I know," Loki said, attempted annoyance coming out rather more sheepish than he intended.

Frigga pressed her palm to the solid wood door of the cabinet and it dissolved, bringing three large drawers into view. She opened the middle one, laughed in fondness, and pulled out a thin book to hand to Loki.

"What is this?" he asked, opening it. The question no longer needed an answer. "Loki Odinson," was written in poorly-formed childish letters on the page he opened to. "Writing my name was so special that you saved it – preserved it no less – all these years?" Asgardian materials were indeed made to last, but like the blanket he still held in his other hand, a regular piece of paper scribbled on by a child didn't last unblemished for a millennium on its own.

"It was the first time you'd written it. I have Thor's, too."

He flipped through the pages and found a drawing of a black-haired child, a yellow-haired child, a yellow-haired woman, a one-eyed man with brown-and-yellow-and-white hair, all of them smiling and holding hands, or what passed for hands in the drawing. This was how he'd seen the world then. "Mother, I don't need to see this. It was another lifetime."

"It was my lifetime, and your lifetime, exactly the same one as now. But this wasn't what I meant to show you; I saw it and got distracted. Here," she said, holding out her hand, into which Loki placed the book. "The blanket, too."

He handed it over and she refolded it and put it away in the second drawer. "I don't remember that blanket. I would've thought if you had kept one it would have been the Purple Serpent blanket."

Frigga laughed and briefly took Loki's hand again. "There wasn't enough left of that blanket to save. You loved the turtle one, too, you were just too young to remember it. I remember it, and that's what this chest is about."

He watched as she withdrew a small wooden box, about the size of the book he'd returned to her. That, too, required her palm to open, not even a false keyhole visible. Inside, he saw once she removed the top of the box and set it aside, was a piece of drab green cloth with a torn edge visible on top. He watched her take it out, handling it delicately, then set the box down and hold the cloth out to him over both her hands. "What is it?" he asked, uncertain if she meant him to take this, too. The look of it made him uneasy; the material looked rough and worn and frankly as though a rat had chewed on it – it didn't seem like something that would have been his, whether he remembered it or not.

"The only thing we have of yours from Jotunheim. Go on, take it. It won't bite. It's just cloth."

Loki stared at for a moment. Of course it wouldn't bite. That didn't mean he wanted to touch it. "I was dressed in this…rag?"

"Not dressed in it, no. You were loosely wrapped in it. Probably you'd been more tightly wrapped, but you'd squirmed your way free of it by the time Odin found you. And it's not a rag. It is torn, but it's sturdy cloth, a little rough for a baby, though I suppose not for a Jotun one. I've always thought it meant that someone there did care for you, in his own way. Your biological parents, or someone else who came across you."

Loki reached for the cloth, not taking it but rubbing it lightly between forefinger and thumb. It was rough, and heavy. Nothing like the turtle blanket his mother had put away a moment earlier. "Why did you want to show me this?" he asked, letting go of the odd material.

"You're going to have to deal with them now, Loki," Frigga answered, running a hand gently over the cloth – precious to her if not to Loki. "But you still see them as nothing more than soulless monsters. I don't claim any understanding of them, but I know they're more than that. Someone created you. And someone wrapped you in a green cloth. They're people, Loki. Treat them as such."

Over a long exhale Loki tried to consider her words. "Treat them as people." He'd never done that. He'd never thought of them as people. Her words echoed something similar Jane had said. Intellectually he knew the idea deserved more thought, but emotionally, he recoiled from it. A scrap of green cloth didn't really mean that much. A scrap of green cloth… "It's green," he said aloud, feeling stupid as soon as the words were out.

"So it is. You know, when I was at the South Pole, one of the workers there said that you'd told him that you wore green because I thought you looked good in it. You do look good in green – it does something rather enchanting to your eyes – but that's not why we chose it."

"My color is based on a scrap of ragged cloth?" he asked bitterly.

"Your color honors where you came from, something that we could never acknowledge. Until now."

Loki stared at the offending material. If he was supposed to be moved by this, he wasn't. A fresh anger simmered in him instead. Nearly all his life he'd been associated with green as his official color, a color he wore even now. And it had come from Jotunheim?

"I'm sorry, you know, for not doing more to try to change Aesir attitudes toward the Jotuns. And for all of the secrets, for keeping this from you," she said, boxing up the cloth and sealing it again, then returning it to the chest. "I know it was wrong. When it was decided that you wouldn't be trained to rule Jotunheim, which meant that you wouldn't have the separate lessons that would have led to your questions and in turn to us telling you the truth, I knew we should find another way to tell you. We talked about it, but we never did it."

"You mean Odin talked you out of it."

"No," Frigga said after a deep breath. "That's not what I mean."

"You said you wanted to tell me. You said there shouldn't be secrets in a family," Loki asserted. He'd spent large portions of that day in a daze, lost in his own thoughts, but those moments at Odin's side, ending with Gungnir in his hands, were emblazoned in his memory.

"Yes. I knew you needed to know. I knew that secrets have a way of coming out. But Odin only spoke aloud what was in my heart, too. That telling you would hurt you, and hurt you badly. I used to tell myself that there would come a right time, an appropriate time, a time when you would hear the truth and not be so hurt or angry or afraid or… But no such time ever came. Sometimes you must endure pain in order to stave off a much greater pain later on. I was…a coward, really. Afraid. Weak. Don't blame it on Odin, Loki, not him alone. We both wanted the best for you, and we both failed you in this. However awful it might have been at any previous point in your life, it couldn't have been worse than the way it happened. I laid awake so many nights wishing you'd come to me, or to both of us together. Your father has ever found talking with you a challenge, and he was on the verge of collapse… I can't help thinking how much pain and destruction might have been avoided, if perhaps you'd have found it easier to hear me, if perhaps Odin hadn't fallen to the Sleep and left you the throne at your most vulnerable…. 'If' is the cruelest word in existence."

Loki swallowed, gaze drawn to the tufts of green fabric pulled through his bracers, then sliding over to the chest, and down to its third drawer. He wasn't sure what he thought of the rest of what Frigga had said, but he knew the truth of the cruelty of if. He steadied himself and looked his mother in the eye. "I should go. And Mother, no one else needs to know that I'm going to Jotunheim."

"All right," she agreed. "Except for your father, of course, though I'm not sure when I'll see him next."

He stood there, making no move to go.

"You can do this. You were always the one with the gift for diplomacy."

Loki took a deep breath then nodded. This was going to take more than diplomacy, though. "I do love you, Mother."

"And I you," Frigga said, wrapping her hands around Loki's and kissing first one cheek then the other.

Loki squeezed her hands, then embraced her quickly but firmly, then made his way briskly toward the front door.

/


In case you didn't recognize what Loki is wearing, it's more or less what he had on when he went into the Weapons Vault to pick up the Ice Casket and see what happened, when Odin came in and told him the truth. I put a picture of that up on my Twitter (account uses the same name). There have also been a couple of new pieces of art related to Beneath, on Deviantart. If you go to the website you can find them under my account (same name again), in my favorites, and you can check out the artists' other stuff, too - they are "Servantatheart1" and "Subject24" on Deviantart.

Thanks to "meijiOrO" and "LingeringSentiments" for tracking down in a flash the place where Jane finds out about Loki having danced with Macy. It was one of those things that crops up where I have to do a continuity check but can't remember for sure where I wrote what I think I wrote, or even for certain that I wrote it versus just thinking about writing it! This thing is so long, it is a huge help to me when you guys can find something like that and I really appreciate it. I should come up with a nickname, because this is hardly the first time it's happened...The Beneath Brigade? :-)

Brief guest review responses: "Paige" - thank you! Glad to hear how much you're enjoying it. I hope it continues to satisfy. "fourdevils" - Thank you, and yes, feeling better! "Armand" - Ha, glad to give you a break, hope it did not negatively impact your exams! You could say you were studying Odinian justice...? As for the Jotun factions, anything's possible; Asgard is very ignorant about them. Guest (Dec. 4) - Thanks! Yeah, the word count must be ridiculously daunting. This one will indeed end...but it can keep you busy for quite a long time in the meantime, ha. As for Thor, yeah, he's really trying to do his part, and taking it seriously. The divide can't be crossed by Thor alone, though, so we'll see how all that goes. "Cathy S" - Thank you thank you, it's awesome to hear that you would follow me beyond Loki. Hopefully at some point I'll get that book written. "Maria Gia" - Thanks! You know, I can't remember that one specifically for certain, but that tells me that the reviewer was just joking. (Because if it was serious I'd remember it very clearly!) Yeah, family is first. My frustration is when I have two parents asleep in front of the blaring TV and I feel like I should still stay in the room though with nothing else going on I'd rather be writing and the blaring TV...and the snoring!...make that difficult, ha. Thank you for caring and for your warm thoughts! "K" - Thank you, hope you enjoyed it.

Ch. 161 previews: Loki continues with his plan while leaving Thor in the dark, but not everyone stays fully in the dark.

Excerpt:

"Explain yourself, Loki."

"I thought you said no door was closed to me."