The moment Frigga had Malekith pinned beneath her, she counted the seconds, waiting for the other damn elf to attack.  Asgard needed time, and she would buy it, at its highest price. Â
   It all happened in a blur, Algrimâs hand at her throat as she denied the Elf King his information and he believed her.  The metal felt cold, a sharp frost plunging into her side despite the boiling of her blood.  A once fast heartbeat slowed, another bout of pain when he discarded her against the floor. Â
   And then she waited, using the last of her seidr to hear the roar of her sonâs voice, to feel Odinâs arms coil tentatively around her limp form.  She wanted to smile, and she did, beneath unmoving lips, thanking him for loving her for so many years.
   Then all fell silence, darkness shrouding her until it became pierced by stars, one by one restoring her vision.  Gungnirâs tap rang in her ears and she found herself walking, pale feet treading on a path of clouds to her new realm.  When her eyes fully adjusted, she found herself before a throne, stopped, and faced the other queen.
   âHello, Hel.â  She greeted the woman, a brief glance over her shoulder as she heard Valhallaâs call in the distance.
    Some days were worse than others, migraines plaguing the so-called queen of the dead, or other times itâd be a foul mood that plagued only her servants when her fatigue strained even her kindness. Yet today, she had not been under the strain of neither migraine nor capriciousness, but a nauseous sensation in the back of her throat that had seemed settled when she had resumed her duties after having a meal forced upon her.Â
    It had taken all but an hour for that sensation to return when she heard swift steps enter the hallways. Not swift in a way a childâs dancing steps would be, but rather the elegance of someone whoâd learned to thrive even with burdened shoulders out of necessity. Looking up, Hel paled and thought, no.Â
    How many times had she not quieted the minds of those who rebelled against the divisions of families, when wives could not be reunited with sons who died in battle? Glory was a hollow farce when one realized that it meant the separation on loved ones for all eternity till the days of whence it would all be over. Hel had accepted it long ago and often helped ease the same transitioning acceptance, but never had she felt so empathic with those who crumbled to the ground upon realizing the profound injustice.
    Yet she also ceased what would have been a terrible cry. She had not seen Frigga for what seemed like eons. She had been exiled from her halls at a young age, cursing Odin for his sentences, but she had none such accusations left for Frigga, who had always been dutifully affectionate. She had had no reasons for treating the queen with the same loathing she had once reserved for Odin. But to see her here, in her halls, unattended by Sleipnir, the dread filled Hel simultaneously with the realization.Â
    âAllmother.â The words were spoken too soon, hastied and marred with disbelief the way a soldierâs face would be in battle when met with a maze.Â
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