The Asgardian solders were dropping like flies as they attempted to keep the prisoners in their cells. Loki leafed through a book, a smirk on his face as he caught a glimpse of scarlet fabric from the corner of his eye. Thor had a knack of showing up too late. Loki didn't look at Thor, Thor didn't look at Loki, and frankly, neither of them really cared.

Loki turned another page as the chaos outside continued. He paused when he saw a letter tucked neatly in between the pages. The body of an Asgardian warrior smacked against the side of Loki's cell as the trickster held the letter in his slender hands. He gazed at his name, written with a gentle, loving hand. No doubt the letter was from his not-mother.

Closing the book, Loki flipped the letter over in his hand. He knew how it would start. "My dearest Loki…" that's how Frigga started every letter she'd ever written to him. Breaking the seal, Loki's mind drifted involuntarily to their last confrontation.

"Your Father-"

"He's not my Father!"

"Then am I not your Mother?"

"You're… not."

Loki pushed the image of Frigga's tearful eyes from his mind. Opening the letter, the sight of the familiar writing on the page made a lump of emotion rise in his throat. He shoved the letter back into the book. He'd read it later, after all, he had all eternity.

Most of the prisoners had been detained, and the soldiers that could be spared had left, but the noise of battle could still be heard from above.

"Your Mother is dead."

The words rang through his head, over and over, tearing him apart. "She's dead," Loki gave a start at the sound of his own voice. "She's dead because I didn't protect her."

He wasn't there to protect her, and Thor had shown up too late.

Loki's energy was completely spent. He had yelled, fumed, shouted, and raged until he was slumped against the wall, his cell in ruins. The furniture was charred, broken and scattered. Loki didn't look any better himself, bloody, torn clothes, disheveled hair.

She was dead.

Frigga, his beautiful, loving mother who had taught him his magic, who encouraged and loved him unconditionally. Frigga, who had wiped away his tears and comforted him whenever he had a nightmare, healed his cuts and bruises, told him bedtime stories and tucked him in at night. She was gone.

A devastated scream tore itself from Loki's parched, sore throat, the horrible sound echoing through the prison. His fell back against the wall taking several ragged breaths as tears began to flood his emerald eyes. Would he get to go to the funeral? Would he ever get to say a proper good-bye?

Then his eyes came to rest on the letter. It was right next to him, the only thing that seemed untouched by his raging. Loki reached for it slowly, gently unfolded it and began to read:

My dearest Loki,

You said that I wasn't your mother, but I'm afraid that I must disagree. You have been my pride and joy throughout so many years and I will never be ashamed to call you my son. I am so sorry for all the grief we have caused you that led to your actions. But remember, Loki, always remember that I love you dearly.

Loki just sat there, imagining Frigga's living hand affectionately writing, declaring her love for her way-ward son. But the letter didn't end there. No, there was one more part, one more part that Loki read slowly, carefully.

Though he doesn't show it very well, Thor loves you too. You may not believe this or even want to believe it, but you two do need each other. I feel that there will come a day when Thor will need your help, Loki. Please help him, my son, for me. Do it for me.

Your loving mother,

Frigga.