What Might Have Been

Chapter XIII

Needle down, pull through, tauten thread, double check, needle up, pull through, tauten thread, double check, repeat. Tie knot, double knot, snip. Switch to blue thread. Frigga could not afford other thoughts. Steadying her hands was easy, it came with habit and the thousands of years of weaving. Each of her children had a handwoven quilt in their colors made by their mother. Loki was green and silver, Thor silver and red and Jane… Here Frigga smiled. She knitted the quilts when her boys were babes and chosen the colors for them. Jane, capable of speech and stubborn opinions, told Frigga what colors she wanted: 

Green and gold. 

Silver was the color of the royal family, thus it could always be seen on their person sometimes in small, subtle ways. A bit of jewelry, a shine of careful stitching so that the metallic fabric caught the light, a blatant sash, a head piece or glittering armor. Jane didn’t understand the political significance of it and while Odin did, they both agreed on the matter. No silver. Jane wanted a green and gold quilt. As what mothers and wives do, she ignored both of them. Jane got a green and gold quilt with a silver wolves loping along the borders in celtic knots. It was yet another thing Odin and Frigga disagreed on. 

Stubborn old man, Frigga thought as she wove.  

In the next room over the voices escalated into shouts again, vicious and petulant and seething rage. Thor and Odin would be red in the face, snarling at each other and demanding the other see reason, their reason. Neither was making any progress for the past three days. 

Three days of Loki shut away in his quarters, denying all visitors—herself, Odin, Thor, the servants—and responding savagely when any of them dare breech his barriers. Thor was the bravest, foolish to try as Frigga stood outside wringing her hands and straining to hear. Initially, the words were too subdued to distinguish but then the cracked whip sound of magic stung the door, wood splintering and Loki was shouting, Thor shouting back while a magical barrier kept her out. She could force her way in, use seiðr to force them into submission. But that was not her way, certainly not with her children. Instead she called to her boys, begged for entry and had to make do with Thor walking stiff and pale from Loki’s chambers, muttering darkly yet sadly under his breath. He gave no indication to his mother’s presence as he marched out of the hallway nor did Loki acknowledge her beyond a caustic glare and flinch when he thought she tried to touch him. The doors to his quarters slammed with finality. Her magical projection fizzled away.

The castle remained in lockdown, servants restricted to hidden passages between rooms that led to the kitchens and workplaces, Frigga to her quarters and Jane to hers. Frigga gleamed enough to deduce how the Jotunnheim talks went—poorly—but this was unheard of. And then Odin told her Loki knew. 

He knew.

Frigga’s heart broke. My boy. She should be with him, she should be there to answer questions and assuage his fears and doubts. She should be there to be his mother as he would always be her son. Odin, her king, forbade it. Frigga called him a fool and he, one eye fierce, denied the title. He was no fool; he was a king! And as a king he would protect his own until this potential Frost Giant threat was put to rest. 

Einherjar, the golden-clad soldiers worthy enough to protect and defend the castle, lined the hallways and stood sentry. Under no order but the king’s would they allow her out of her chambers.  Odin put them to good use. They round up the Frost Giants Odin did not slay and proceeded to acquire information from them—How long had they planned to attack the realm? Did they bring reinforcements? Where were the reinforcements?—but Heimdall warned of other Jotunns asking where their brethren were and Laufey, King of Jotunheim had questions. Tensions were building and knives unsheathed; the air weighted down with wary bloodlust and want of revenge on both sides. The soldiers claimed to see what happened in the throne room. Possessed or mad, a Frost Giant reached to attack their king; second prince of Asgard leapt to defend and the Jotunn cursed him with a spell; down went the second prince of Asgard, confined to his quarters and battling an enchantment threatening his sanity.