1963-09-15 - Mother Knows Best
Summary: Frigga tries to reconcile her wayward son to his father. Whoops.
Related: The Selfish One
Theme Song: None
thor louis 


The depths of the Asgardian dungeons are not as one might imagine for a place to restrain the villainous and rebellious. It is, indeed, deep beneath the great golden castle that soars high above… yet it too would be considered a thing of splendour amongst other realms. It is cut from the side of the mountain, otherworldly stone hewn in precise lines and utter craftsmanship that one would imagine they were created by machine less a man… or a god. The stone is dark and etched with a latticework of runes, yet still seem to glow with the haze of arcane empowerment. There are no bars, though there are barriers… yet the only place within all of Asgard more difficult to gain entry would be the great relic crypt even further within the ground.

Inside the furthest cell, on display with the fourth wall seemingly open, resides the Prince. He sets quill to paper even as he rests on his chair leaning over a small writing desk. Oh it is a prison, yet it is appointed quite well considering. There are fine furnishings, though poor for Asgardian standards. There is a bed, a chest of drawers, a table, a bookcase… all for the comfort of this particular prisoner.

For a moment the trickster god lifts up the piece of paper, considering it as he lightly waves it in the air, letting the ink dry as he cocks an eye at it with a contemplative glance. A small 'hm' comes from him. The sound echoing down the hall faintly only to remind him of his solitary confinement deep beneath the castle and alone for now.

*

A lone figure walks the corridor of this particular section. There is no fear, no need for guard. The cells are sealed against any possible break by any creature or god, and has been such a place for millennia. This figure, this proud woman walks with eye neither to the left nor to the right of her, but instead, her gaze is set forward into that short distance.

When Frigga does arrive, she looks at her son there, behind that invisible wall, separated from her. Her lips press together tightly before she waves a hand, bringing that barrier between them down before she takes a step closer.

"Loki." She knows full well that he knows she's here.. probably sensed her presence long before she reached the end of the line of cells. She shakes her head slowly and exhales in a sigh, "I had so hoped for that feast, you know."

*

As he had been considering the piece of paper in his hand, that god of mischief had a wry smile. So proud of himself for some reason, so amused at some potential foolishness. It's that half smile one sees when he knows he's being oh so clever and indulging in the essence of who he is, and who he wishes to be. Yet at the first touch of her presence enters his awareness, the first hint of approach with that subtle scuff of a shoe or the intake of a breath… it chases that expression away.

Gone is the smugness, gone the jovial amusement at what chaos could come forth from but a touch of quill to paper. And suddenly he is but the young prince again. And when she appears the ashamed or rueful smile that comes forth is brought from a better place, from a better man perhaps. "Mother."

The paper is crushed in hand and tossed to the side, falling and bursting into a brief flash of light that heralds its disappearance. He gains his feet, but keeps the shield of the table between them for now. To protect him from such inconvenient hindrance as emotion and sentiment. He turns his head to the side, then back and his smile broadens like a mask set nicely into place.

"Oh I am sure there will be some occasion in the near future. Warm tidings often follow ill, at such a pace is Asgard."

*

Just the sight of him both does her heart good and breaks it all in the same moment. Eyes are lifted as he stands just a touch higher before Frigga waves a hand once again, and a slight stairway appears for her to climb and join him in that spare cell. "If one was to listen to gossip, the next feast would be for your brother and his bride." Her smile holds a bit of wry humour; something shared with her most clever of sons.

"But, I will believe that when I see it. See him. Here."

Frigga sees that bit of furniture between them; a shield. Barrier. She doesn't make mention of it, but she is more than certain that he knows that she is quite aware of it's position, and why. "You and your father are very much alike, Loki. Both stubborn. You are so smart, but you still haven't learned how to see through him to actually listen to what he is saying." A sigh exits and her head dips as she takes one, two steps to the side, bypassing that bit of furniture between them.

"You were right, you know. About the Muspell. He so desperately wants his sons home, that I'm not even certain he was aware he was doing it. But now, he sees that it's gotten out of control.. but his pride, and yours, has you here." Frigga gestures with a single hand, but she doesn't really need to. Her head cants as she looks earnestly to him, almost pleading. "Please.. apologize to your father. He needs your help, and your brother's."

*

"I shall join you in your trepidation," Loki step to the side as she ascends, just close enough in case propriety would demand he aid her in her climb, though she assuredly needs no such help. Yet one green and black gloved hand rests light upon the surface of that table, as if it were some anchor to be held to and ensure him as to his place. "If he has settled so then that should please father, moreso should she be of proper rank for the offspring that shall wear his crown."

Then she makes mention of the All-Father and the words shared between them. His smile shifts lighter, genuine as he murmurs quietly. "We are a family of pride, mother. How would we spend our years if not holding such dark sentiment so near our hearts?" She draws closer and he makes no effort to retreat. Though his gaze shifts to the side as if she were too bright to set his gaze upon.

"Mother…"

He holds up a hand as if to stay her. But then he step to the side and away towards the corner near the barrier. A quick dash and he could be 'free'. A rushed spell. A moment of infamy and he could be gone. Yet he stays there in his bound domain, imprisoned yes… yet a lord wherever he so chooses to stand.

"You think I hear not the words behind his own. You think I am ignorant to the entirety of such… sentiment? Of what emotion does grasp at him?" He furrows his brow, then turn back to face her. "It is not that I do not hear. I understand. Perhaps more than he even imagines I do. Yet I also recognize he makes that _choice_ to speak as he must and to enact what must be done for the realm."

A pause, then he says quietly. "We know each other, mother. Yet still. We are creatures of our nature."

*

Frigga makes a soft sound in her throat; a 'hrmf' of a laugh. "Your brother has his eye cast on those he can't ever have at his side and ignores those he can. I despair of ever seeing either of you properly wed and happy in it." Much less grandchildren!

It is true; she did leave the force field down. There is nothing that could keep Loki from simply disappearing; blinking into nothingness, leaving his mother behind. Nothing that could stay his hand. All this, Frigga knows, and yet she obviously trusts her son. His honour, his affections to both her and Asgard.

She huffs softly soon after and holds out a hand, "I wish one of you would actually kindle a flame so there is at least a little light in this darkness of pride and anger. Once where your father could possibly say 'I am proud of you', or you could possibly find it in you to say, 'I am sorry for my hasty words'." But she also knows neither will happen, or that is her full belief, and she continues, "So instead, if falls upon me for both conversations, one to the other. And it wearies me, Loki. Your father is set in his ways, and you are following his path."

Her head turns slightly, and her chin drops a touch before, "Then if you understand it, why do you continue to vex him? He's said what he can, what he is capable of saying. That isn't fair, you know." Frigga exhales softly in a sigh, and continues, "Will you please convince Thor to come home? Your father truly does need both of you with him."

*

"Properly wed." At that his lip curves and he shakes his head, stepping back away from the edge of the cell and walking towards her to accept her hand, holding it up in one of his own as if he were paying honor to her upon a visit to court. Yet they are not in the great hall.

"Mother…" For a time it seems like he might speak to the 'why' of such difficulties between father, and son, and adopted son. He again shakes his head as he step away, hand sliding from her own as he walks towards the hearth, resting an arm upon the mantle as he lightly kindles the flame in the fireplace to life. Just small gestures of fingertips as if playing a lyre, each movement causing the fire to flicker higher and cast them both in the yellowish glow.

"Should I do as father wished of Amora? Cast some hex upon Thor and rob him of his freedom? Who am I to rob from him his self to what? To salve father's fears?" His brow furrows, perhaps at a choice of his own words, a choice that makes him frown.

Looking back to her he spreads his hands even as the flames die down. "All I can do is to place them both near enough to each other that they in turn will be able to speak. Beyond that even my craft is wanting. To push for something beyond that… would do ill to not only them… but Asgard."

*

The propriety, the courtliness of the taking of her hand tells her more than words could. And then it's gone, and he's gone. It isn't lost upon her that his sarcasm takes many forms; that fire. Just as she asked.. and a frown forms to look at it before she looks back at her son.

"No. I have asked what I wished of you. Of both of you. If not for yourselves, if not for your father, and if not for me, then for Asgard. Having her princes home and yet unreconciled with their father is better than having them absent."

The flames settle, pulling some of that glow away, and Frigga's gaze moves back to it. "It is your choice, Loki," is whispered. "You can grow the fire or you can smother it, bringing that darkness once again. It's easy to hide there, in that shadow.. and all the time I've spent to make sure you shared that light is for naught."

The Queen turns away now, a step on the path towards her conjured stairs. "This arrangement isn't to be permanent. Even in his present state, your father isn't as horrible as some may believe."

*

Folding his arms over his chest, it's clear that Loki is drawing into himself, gathering his strength as he furrows his brow and looks to her even as she steps away. The corner of his mouth is drawn between his lips, worried at for a moment as he listens to her words and turns them over in his mind. A moment passes as she makes her descent.

"Whatever passes, mother… know that I will forever be loyal to Asgard."

He holds his gaze upon her and waits til he hears those footsteps again upon the floor, the scuffing of shoes, then the distant noise of the guards snapping to attention and the doors swinging open. It's only a handful of moments after that Loki turns away. His jaw sets as he takes a deep breath, eyes limned by the flickering of the flames beside him.

And then, as if the very fire offended him, he extends a hand and crushes it into a fist, extinguishing the flame utterly.

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