WHADDUP, TUMBLR, IT'S ME, YA BOY.
I know, I've been gone awhile.
I wrote you a little sumn-sumn. I hope you like it. I think you will. Let me know what you think.
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When Hela was born, Frigga was delighted. A daughter. A future queen to replace her husband when he finally faded away and became one with the universe again. Hela was a brilliant child, and took to the magic Frigga taught her like a duck to water. The queen mother saw in her the potential to rule with a steady hand, thoughtful and crafty.
But Odin saw Hela's power too. Frigga tried to protect her daughter from the measuring eye of the All-Father, because she knew, knew that Odin was going to wage war on the other realms and try to bend them to his will. He was warlike, stoic, a force to be reckoned with, and he was hungry to have more than Asgard under his iron fist. He saw slaughter as a necessary evil, amd felt nothing of the loss that Frigga felt for those other planets. He could be immeasurably cruel. Frigga was his wife, his queen, she dutifully loved and respected him in her way, but was always put out by her own lack of power to sway her husband away from the follies of war. She tried, so hard, to teach Hela better.
Unfortunately, Hela had inherited Odin's hunger as well as Frigga's knack for magic. She wanted to test the limits of her power over life and death, and soon Frigga found Hela spending more time at Odin's side. Whispering. Plotting. Fear started growing in Frigga's heart for her little girl, her daughter, the future ruler of Asgard. She pleaded with Hela not to go when Odin invited her on a raid for the first time. But Hela didn't listen. Maybe couldn't listen. She had been seduced by the calculating voice of the All-Father, the gifts of the great black wolf, and the hammer made from the burning heart of the star. Hela glowed in the light of being seen as worthy by her father, and Frigga felt her modicum of power being drained away even further.
So she sat in the palace, wringing her hands with worry as Odin rampaged through the nine realms, ever the aggressor, with Hela by his side using the magic of her mother to destroy any who stood in his way. Frigga was heartbroken by this, but not nearly so much as the day when Odin returned alone, missing an eye, the black wolf in chains with spear in its gaping, bloody maw, the hammer in his belt. Frigga's heart dropped as he told her of Hela's descent into apparent madness, her betrayal, and subsequent imprisonment. She cried every day for a year for the loss of her daughter, even as every painting of Hela in the palace was bricked over, erased, hidden, at Odin's behest. If he felt shame, it was for himself, and even when he tried to comfort his wife, it had an edge of selfishness to it.
Years later, Frigga gave birth to Thor, the sun-haired boy that Odin presented to the people as king, raising the squalling infant high as a crowd of onlookers roared approval. But on that day, Frigga felt only a deep well of sadness, an emptiness that was belied by her queenly posture and pasted on smile given to the subjects of the kingdom praising her child and bearing gifts at the altar of their future king.
Frigga despaired, because this time Odin saw to it that he was involved from the get-go. No more of Frigga's gentle teaching. This one was his, he proclaimed, to erase the mistakes he made with Hela, a son to raise as both warrior and king. Frigga could do nothing but agree, though her heart was bitter toward her husband. How could he dare to try to erase their daughter? How dare he use that foul hammer as a symbol of anything but inevitable destruction? What did Odin know of worthiness, or goodness, or justice?
Still, she loved the boy, and knew he would be king, so she played with her lovely, robust baby for two centuries. She taught him to read, to write, to speak like royalty. But not magic. Never magic. She told the wide-eyed baby the stories of Asgard, her heart aching as she skipped over the story of Thor's sister, her Hela. She clutched her baby to her breast for many nights when Odin went to Jotunheim to fight an insurgent force of frost giants, and half hoped the All-Father would never return.
But he did. And cradled in his arms, a child.
"To tend our future," Odin said, handing the baby over to Frigga. She was shocked, but not really surprised, that Odin should see the stolen son of Laufey as a bargaining chip for the future of Asgard.
She couldn't return him herself, lest she die on Jotunheim or at the hands of her own husband, so she took the baby from his arms. He looked up at her with eyes as blue as the waters of Asgard, chubby fists waving as he smiled up into her face. The weight in her heart was great and bitter, but she smiled down at the baby, her heart warming when he grasped one of her curls and laughed.
The boy grew, like her own son, quickly growing tall. He was quiet, thoughtful, curious, pale. Unlike Thor, he didn't seem to revel in stories of blood and glory, but listened with great attentiveness to Frigga when she set him to task. His hair was so dark, his face so pale, his eyes so blue. So much like Hela that it hurt her heart to look at him.
One day, Loki came to Frigga, tears in his eyes.
"What's the matter, my child?" She asked, cupping his face in her hands and wiping away tears.
"Thor," he said simply. "He pushes me down. I'm not as strong as him, and he says that I'll never be... be...."
Frigga smiled at him. A sudden decision was made as she looked at this boy that was hers, yet not hers. "Loki, let me show you something."
She put out her hand, and into it shimmered a small serpent, brilliantly green with a golden belly, its body coiling and its black tongue flicking in and out of its tiny mouth. Loki gasped, immediately reaching out to touch it. It faded into sparkles at his touch, and the child was enchanted, immediately firing off questions.
"How did you do that? Where did it go? Can I learn to do it? How come Thor -"
"Thor does not have the patience for magic," she said quietly, taking Loki's hand in hers. "But you do. You have the potential to control everything around you. To make others see everything you want, and nothing you don't. It is a power given to only the most dedicated, the focused, those willing to sacrifice everything for their art."
She squeezed his hand. "Now try. Focus."
Loki opened his hand and stared at his empty palm, his little brows coming together in concentration. For a few moments, nothing happened, and then... a shimmer. Green and gold, a fire of sparks. And then, for a brief few seconds, a serpent appeared in their palms. A static image, but it was enough.
Loki grinned and exclaimed, "Mother, I did it! Did you see? Teach me more!"
And for the first time in a long time, Frigga felt hopeful. No longer like a pawn in the All-Father's games, but an active participant in what was to come. A well placed ambition could steer the fate of Asgard away from the raw, conquering power Odin had planned for the eldest boy.
"I will teach you, Loki."
Loki brightened, his little face beaming with pleasure at the thought of learning and mastering something his brother could not. "Thank you, mother."
"It's my pleasure, my son," she replied quietly. "But know that all gifts come with a price. Mine have. So will yours. One day, you may be called upon to use these gifts for all of Asgard, and the price may be higher than you can comprehend. Your purpose will be glorious, and for that, your power must match your ambition."
The little boy's brow furrowed, unsure, thoughtful. Then he squared his shoulders and looked into her eyes, and Frigga saw the determination in them. The ambition. The drive. "I would sacrifice everything for the people of Asgard, if that becomes my glorious purpose."
You will have to, my son. The words were right behind her teeth to say, but she couldn't, wouldn't tell this beautiful child what his future held. Nor would she tell him what she knew this meant for her future. She would keep her secrets, as Odin kept his. Frigga smiled and cupped Loki's pale cheek in her hand. "Then let us begin."
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