Chapter Text
The room hummed with the industry of gathered women. Frigga bent over her loom drawing comfort from the ebb and flow of conversation as it eddied around her. With infinite care, she set her shuttle to it’s work. The pattern had risen in her dreams the past three nights, clear as a vision. On the first day, she sketched it on paper, on the second she choose her thread with care and today, the third day, she would began the work. It would take a long time, the pattern was an intricate one and large. When it was finished, the tapestry would cover a marriage bed. Whose bed had not yet come to her and she did not trouble herself by wondering. Her visions were gauzy cloudy things at best and she let them keep their own council.
“Mama, what are you doing?” Thor emerged into the circle of women who clucked and scolded as the prince climbed into her lap.
She set down her shuttle to hug him and kiss his golden hair. He was too old to stay with women all day to be petted and cooed over. Even now, he should be tucked away with the first of many tutors learning his letters and numbers, but he had taken to slipping away when he grew bored or tired. How could she say no to the sweet honey smell of his hair and vibrant clinging warmth of his affection?
“I’m weaving a marriage blanket, my son.” She carded a hand through his disheveled hair. “Have you given your tutor a merry chase?”
“No.” He giggled, “He told me to tell you that there are horns playing.”
All the talk in the room ceased at once and they all strained for the noise. Too long had the men been at war, battling back the threat of Jotunheim. Too many women had retreated to cry the private tears of grief. They all longed for an end to it all, for good or ill.
“My lady, my lady!” A guard burst into the room, shattering the silence. “Odinking is victorious! Our army returns within the hour!”
“Does that mean Father is coming home?” Thor grinned and Frigga kissed one dimpled cheek.
“That is exactly what it means, my darling boy.” She jumped neatly to her feet, Thor wiggling in her arms. “A feast must be laid. Greta, go to the kitchens and tell them the news. Have them take up the last of the winter provisions, slaughter two cows and prepare as many kegs of good ale as they can. Dana and Joan, gather the maids and have them ready guest rooms. We’ll have to sleep several to a room, there’s no help for it.”
“Yes my lady!” Chorused the women even as she continued to issue orders.
“What about me?” Thor asked.
“You, dear boy, must have a bath and clean clothes.” She kissed him again before handing him off to an open armed maid. “See that he’s ready to be presented to his father.”
When the last order was issued, she retired to her bedroom. She shed her workaday dress and plucked a fine green velvet from the closet. There was no one left free to help her dress, so she did up her own laces and plaited her own hair. It reminded her of her long ago wedding night and the symmetry pleased her.
A gentle knock on the door interrupted her reverie. Her ladies often had such a timid knock that one strained to hear it, “Come!”
“Ah, how long have I missed this sight.”
“Husband!” She jumped from her chair and was in his arms before decorum and dignity caught up with her.
He had not taken the time to change from his armor and the cool metal of his breastplate cut into her even as they kissed. The press of his lips was the same as it ever had been, solid and reassuring.
“Wife.” He pulled away slowly, a broad smile creasing his careworn face. There were new wrinkles to his skin, more gray in his hair, but she loved him only more for it. “How have you fared?”
“Well.” She smiled back at him, warmed through and through. “And you have won the war.”
“Some will consider it a victory.” His face clouded, “It is a hard won compromise. I will tell you all later, but first there is something I must show you.”
“Of course, whatever you have need of.”
He went back to the door, glancing in either direction then signaled to a young guard, who carried a small bundle. Clearly uncomfortable, the young man delivered it into his king’s arms, before disappearing down the hall. When Odin turned to her, the world stilled. Cradled in his arms was a beautiful infant all pale skin and wide dark eyes.
“A child.” She breathed, instinctively reaching for the small body, “Where did it come from?”
“A spoil of war.” Odin said gravely, settling the blanketed babe in her arms. “Abandoned on the ice, wailing for his monstrous father. When I picked him up from his frozen cradle, he turned Aesir in my arms. He’s ours, my love, I know he is.”
“A Jotun child? Have you gone mad?” The small body was warm against her, but a chill entered her anyway. “This is no casual foundling! You cannot expect me-”
“He is our child, Frigga. No one knows from whence he came and no one ever shall.” Odin reached into the blanket, stroking a finger down the babe’s cheek. “He called to me across the battlefield. I have sensed the Norns’ hands in this. Heard their whispers.”
“You sense the Norns behind every rock and tree.” She sneered, arms rigid with anger. “You cannot expect me to lie to our people. Not about this...what if it grows into a giant tomorrow or next month or year! What will you say then?”
“He was abandoned for his size, can you not tell? No Jotun child is born so small. He is intended to us, Frigga. Just look at him.”
Out of long habit of obeying her husband, Frigga looked. He was a baby just like any other, small and helpless in her arms. Though his eyes were unusually fixed, taking in her face as though setting it to memory. She had always loved the smell of babies, all sweet milk and soft powders. Bending her head, she sniffed lightly.
The baby watched her with his liquid dark eyes as she caught not the smell of milk, but the exact crisp scent of the first frost of autumn that crept into her windowsill when she was a child. The memory was distant, faded to pleasant nostalgia. The baby sneezed and she pulled the blanket tighter around him.
“What does a Jotun child even eat?” She asked helplessly. “What happens to the line of secession?”
“He will take milk as any other child, I suspect.” Was he nervous? She had never known her husband to show the slightest sign of nerves, but now he fidgeted and stared at a point over her shoulder. “Thor will be my heir as always, but perhaps when they are older, the baby may have a fair chance of it. Why shouldn’t he?”
“ A Joutun on Asgard’s throne.” She swallowed hard, “Husband...”
“I am weary of war, wife.” He sat on the edge of her bed which had so often been their bed before he had put on his armor again. “Perhaps having him will help us in the long run, we cannot know. All I knew was that I wanted this child, wanted this son. That to hold him and see his skin run pale gave me a sense of peace I have not known in too many years.”
She stared down at the baby again. He yawned, reveling a tiny pink tongue and soft gums without even the first hint of a tooth. His eyes started to weigh closed, so clearly settled and comforted was he in her arms.
“He will need a name.” She said finally.
“I leave that for you to choose.” He patted the bed and she sat next to him, careful not to jostle the child. “We will tell people that he is our son. They need not know a single detail. We are the King and Queen of Asgard. Our word is truth.”
“You are my son.” She told the baby with all the conviction she could manage.
“You are my son.” Odin repeated, inviolable and heavy.
By the end of the day, their word was truth. The gossip passed quickly around the feast-hall and many toasts were drunk in the name of victory and the new, nameless prince of Asgard. When they were finally able to retire to bed, some thoughtful servant had unearthed Thor’s cradle from storage and set the baby inside it, next to Frigga’s bed.
“My son.” She said softly, kneeling next to the cradle. “Sleep well, prince of Asgard.”
And as she had for Thor when he was a baby, she sang blessings over the baby, weaving tight what little magic she had around him. Then she slipped beneath the blankets and clasped her husband close.
When she woke in the morning, it was to Thor’s laughter and Odin’s booming voice. She blinked sleep from her eyes and remembering, turned to the cradle. It was empty and her heart stuttered. Had her changeling child melted in the night? No...no that was foolishness. Slipping on a dressing gown, she followed the sounds of her family and found them out on the balcony, eating breakfast. Odin held the baby in one arm, picking at fresh baked bread with his free hand.
“Mama!” Thor waved at her from his place at the table, face already sticky with honey and lips wet with milk.
“Good morning, my darling.” She took her seat at the table. “How did you like your first feastday?”
“It was fun! I ate lots and Gregor told me a story about the war. And Father says that the baby is my brother, is that so?”
“It is so, little one, yes.” She raised an eyebrow at Odin who only shrugged. “What do you think of that?”
“He’s smaller than me.” He wrinkled his nose. “He should be the little one. I’m a big boy now.”
“So you are.” She agreed smoothly, even as something deep in her chest wrenched.
“What’s he called?” Thor stood on his chair to get a better look at the bundle. “Father said you were going to decide.”
“Names take time. Sit down, please.”
“They do not.” He declared, sitting down in a huff. “You said you knew my name when I was still in your stomach.”
“That was different.” She sighed, “You shouted your name to me in dreams. Your brother is a quieter sort. Eat your breakfast.”
He picked at the rest of his bread while Frigga and Odin made plans for the day. It would be a quiet family affair, a bit of breathing room before royal duties began again. They settled on a picnic in the far gardens, but not even the prospect of a romp cheered Thor from his sudden sulk. All through the preparations, his bath and the long sunny walk, his usual cheerfulness stayed away.
The baby remained quiet and calm. If it weren’t the occasional blink, Frigga would have thought him a doll. She held him tightly as Odin taught Thor a new game that involved far too much wrestling for her to be wholly comfortable. He was her first born, her beloved child and she was not yet ready to give him up to war games.
“Will you be a warrior?” She asked the baby, rocking him tenderly. “Or will you give your mother’s heart a well-deserved rest and stay quiet and thoughtful? Perhaps you’ll be a scholar instead. You look a little wise already.”
Thor roared as ferociously as he could and the baby sniffled. She braced herself, ready for the first long cry. Nothing came. Did Jotun babies never cry? But Odin had said that he only found the child by its wails. She scolded herself, wishing for tears when with Thor she had only prayed for them to stop. He was a good baby, best not to question why.
“Relent, my son.” Odin laughed, “We must end before thy mother she grows bored and leaves us.”
“You wouldn’t leave, would you Mama?” Thor barreled over, eager to correct his negligence. He stopped suddenly, seeing his usual place in her lap already taken. Gingerly, she juggled the baby so she could embrace both her sons at once.
“I would never leave you, dear one.” She rubbed his arm slowly. “Lay your head in my lap and I’ll sing to you while you sleep.”
“I’m not tired.” He protested, but under Odin’s watchful eye, he did as she bid.
“I wish there were more of you to go around.” Odin commented ruefully. “I should like to lay my head in your lap and listen to you sing.”
“Don’t be foolish, I have a shoulder still.”
So baby in her arms, first born in her lap and husband’s head on her shoulder, Frigga sang for a golden hour under the sun’s approving face. When she was sure her three men slept, she let her voice fade into silence.
Thor’s eyes shot open, blue and clear as the sky above them.
“Mother.” He intoned, not at all her son, but something elemental and pure. “He says that his name is Loki.”
And his eyes slid closed again, his body relaxed, wholly her little boy again.
“Oh sweet merciless mother.” She stared at the sleeping baby, who seemed to smile a little in his sleep. “What have we begun?”
It would be many many long years before she knew the answer to that question.