Chapter 2 - A Golden Cage

How much Loki had changed . . .

Frigga hardly recognized him as the boy she had raised.

The boy who had been her son had been quiet and reserved, seemingly more content to read or keep to his studies rather than play as most children his age did. He had been a boy that had spent hours sitting beside her in her gardens, his face screwed up in intense concentration as she taught him new and complicated spells. He had been a child with easy laughter, his bright eyes gleaming with triumph when he mastered each and every incantation she challenged him with. His face had glowed with pride when she praised him for every achievement.

The boy she had raised had been so frail in the beginning. Frigga had not been ignorant of the constant tormenting and teasing Loki had had to endure . . . sometimes at the hands of his older brother. Though he had tried not to let it show, she could see how deeply their words pierced his confidence, how very much their words made him feel inferior. She had done what she could to assure him he was loved and wanted, but she had never been quite sure how much he had believed her.

And his body had been no less frail than his heart. Frigga remembered many long nights spent at Loki's bedside, nursing him through the illnesses that preyed upon him so often. She remembered how it tore at her heart, to see her brave little boy enduring pains and fevers she could not take away. He would cling tightly to her hand, calming only when she would sing to him, softly rubbing his back and promising him all would be well. It was only when his mother attended him that he would rest at all, as if he trusted that only she could rid him of his weaknesses.

Loki had grown out of such weaknesses long ago. Or at least he had tried to pretend that he had, choosing to cover his hurts with resentment and bitter sarcasm. But never with her. She had always been able to see beneath his illusions, and he in turn had always confided in her.

The man standing before her in that throne room, however . . . he was a complete stranger. Hardly recognizable as the same little boy she had raised.

When Thor had told her of Loki's exploits on Midgard, how he had led an army to subjugate that realm, Frigga had feared her little Loki was gone forever.

But she had had a glimpse of her boy - that frightened, desperate little boy - when she had gone to Midgard at Thor's request. Caught in the throes of the geas those monstrous Chitauri had placed on him, he had clung to her just as he had when he was a child. It had brought back such painful nostalgic memories to her mind that she had almost forgotten the circumstances leading to that moment.

If nothing else, it solidified one thing in Frigga's mind:

Loki could come back.

If only she could reach him somehow . . .

Six months passed.

It should not have felt as long as it did. After all, Loki had lived more than a thousand years in this universe. He had lived through the rise and fall of many an empire, fought in countless wars and witnessed monumental changes within the Nine Realms. Six months were nothing in comparison to a millennia of deeds.

But he had never spent six months within the dungeons of Asgard before.

They had brought him to his new home, deep under the streets of the city, immediately after his trial. He remembered looking on the cell with distain: two bare white walls, glaring, unnaturally-bright light (shadows were a luxury no prisoner should have, apparently) . . . and nothing else. He had been pushed unceremoniously inside, a golden haze closing up the wide openings behind him. He had known what to expect, of course, having been through these corridors with the All Father numerous times in his early manhood. But Loki had not been able to ignore the feeling of . . . vulnerability he had felt in that small space. He felt exposed, yet trapped, like a rare creature held on display within a golden cage.

And for six months that feeling lingered on.

Bare white walls.

Bright lights.

And nothing else.

Really, it was a miracle he had not gone mad before now.

The only thing that had broken up the monotony of prison life were the almost-daily visits from Frigga.

The queen had come to his cell every chance she could, and the days she could not come she sent gifts to him in the prison by way of the guards. Little by little, Loki's cell transformed into what could almost be considered a small furnished room - albeit a sparse one. It amused Loki a little that Frigga was taking so much trouble to see to a lowly prisoner - after all, no one else thought to make their presence known in the dungeons, or send him a gift of any kind. And he knew she could simply have conjured up a clone of herself to send down to the dungeons, rather than go in person. But she never did. She always came herself, spending several hours sitting with him, sometimes within the cell itself.

Deep down he was secretly grateful for her attention. It was proof that she, at least, had not completely abandoned him. But that small, childlike voice buried within him was drowned by the bitter shell of a man he had become.

Because if he gave admittance to that small voice, it would mean he was slowly but surely succumbing to the All Father's wishes.

And he would not - would not! - bend to Odin's will.

As the long months passed, Loki did not stay the sole occupant of the dungeons. In the wake of the Bifrost's destruction, the worlds of Yggdrasil had been thrown into chaos. As peace was restored throughout the Nine Realms, scores of prisoners were soon brought down to inhabit the dozens of empty cells. The handy-work of the Mighty Thor, no doubt; Loki wondered absent-mindedly what kinds of praise were being heaped upon the great imbecile now. At first he had taken a passing interest in the commotion; at the very least it broke up the dullness of his visit-less days. But after a time he became bored even with that.

The only thing left was to entertain himself with coming up with new, mocking remarks every time the prisoners were paraded by.

It was no different one morning near the end of those six long months, when a particularly raucous crowd was shoved through the narrow corridor beyond his cell.

He smirked, watching the marauders harassing the already-frustrated guards.

"Odin continues to send me new friends. How thoughtful."

"The books I sent. Do they not interest you?"

His attention was drawn back to Frigga, standing behind him near the second golden wall. He couldn't help the bemused smile he sent back at her.

"Is that how I am to wile away eternity - reading?"

Frigga sighed; they had been over this territory so many times.

"Your sentence is not eternal, Loki, you're well aware of this," she chided him. "But I have done everything in my power to make you more comfortable."

"Really?" Loki leaned forward against the armchair in front of him. "Does Odin share your concern? Does Thor? It must be so inconvenient to have them asking about me day and night."

Frigga's gaze hardened, her eyes taking on the glint of motherly steel he had seen so many times before.

"You know full-well it was your actions that brought you here."

"My actions," Loki repeated, beginning to pace the small cell impatiently. "What of your husband's actions? What of the lies he fed me my whole life? I find it almost amusing that no one speaks of the Golden King's faults."

"Your father-"

"HE'S NOT MY FATHER!" Loki screamed, whirling back to face her.

His heart tightened just the tiniest bit as he looked at her, a hurt expression etched deeply into her face. She shook her head slightly, her eyes unusually bright.

"Then am I not your mother?"

She tried to keep her voice steady, but Loki could hear the pleading tremble in her words, the plea to not reject the last person who really truly cared about him . . .

Vivid memories returned to his mind – frightening memories. Only a short time ago he had been lying in a Midgardian Healing Room, dying . . . slowly dying. But the words she had whispered to him then . . .

"Hush, child, it's alright . . . it's alright, I'm here now. There's nothing to fear any longer."

The pain he had felt . . . the paralyzing fear of a slow, agonizing death . . . he had called her Mother. That, at least, had not been a product of a delirious mind. He knew that now . . .

You're not.

The damning words died in his throat, and he looked away, cursing himself as his eyes pricked with unshed tears. He wanted to say it. He needed to say it. But he could not, could not, bring himself to.

Frigga laughed sadly, holding her hand against his cheek.

"Always so perceptive about everyone except yourself."

Loki shut his eyes and gently brushed her hand away from his face as he turned his back to her. There was a long moment of silence, in which Loki could almost see in his mind's eye the expression on his adoptive mother's face - a look of hurt with hope buried beneath. He had no desire to injure her in the least, but it could not be helped. He knew his rightful place now . . . and it was not with the family he had grown up with. He had no family. He had no place. His entire life had been a lie, carefully woven to keep him blinded to who and what he truly was.

And that was something he could never forgive them for.

Even Frigga.

The sooner everyone accepted that the better off they'd be.

After a moment or two, Loki broke the silence.

"You should return to the palace where you belong, All Mother. A prison is no place for a queen." He meant it to sound cold, but it sounded more mournful and resigned.

"A prison is no place for a prince, either," she replied gently.

"I am no prince, Your Highness, as you can plainly see," he answered mockingly. "It is time we both saw things for what they really are."

There was a pause, then he felt Frigga's hand on his shoulder.

"Someday, Loki, you will be forced to choose - to choose between what you believe to be true, and what is reality."

"I see them as one and the same."

"That is only because you are too blinded to see the truth as it actually is. But one day that truth will strip away every lie you have woven about yourself, and you will be left with nothing."

Loki did not reply, and after a moment or two he felt her hand fall from his shoulder. Soft footfalls told him Frigga had moved to one of the golden walls, away from him. A light dimming and the interruption of the constant soft humming said the queen had stepped beyond his golden prison bars. But the footfalls did not continue at once; out of the corner of his eye Loki saw Frigga stop and turn back to him.

"You may have given up on your family, Loki," she said softly. "You may have even given up on yourself. But we will never stop loving you. One day, I hope you will see that with your heart as well as your eyes."

Loki did not reply, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the wall before him. When he did not respond, the All Mother turned away once more, and her soft footfalls receded into the empty silence of the prison once more.

(Author's note: Sorry for the long delay guys! I don't really have a good excuse, except that newly-married life has been super busy. I'm hoping to keep up with this story on a regular basis. Anyway enough with the excuses! Hope you guys like this chapter! Please leave reviews - I love reading what you guys think!)