This chapter was so. long. I cut it down from about 10k words - but even that was with several scenes taken out and put into the next chapter! This one remains at a hefty 7.5k, and there's about 4k worth of words already in the next one...

There ARE warnings for this chapter: see end notes.

Loki pushes the trial and executions back one day, and then another. Your first instinct is to worry, but you take care to remember his promise. It is no easy thing sentencing people to die; Thor had done so only twice in his tenure as king and you remember well the toll it had taken. For such a fearsome warrior he'd been a forgiving man - it had not been in his nature to sit and pick who would die and who would live. In fact, he'd spoken to you once of abolishing capital punishment in favour of prison sentences or exile - but Odin had put a stop to that.

Odin. The Allmother tells you they are both happy to see you and Loki on civil terms, but you doubt the old man cares. He's preoccupied with his second son of late, although he's still weaker than before. When you go to visit Loki, to check on how he is the day before the execution, the Allfather is already there.

You eye him as you round the table where Loki sits. Odin eyes you back. "I thought we could have lunch together," you say to your husband.

"We're very busy," Odin replies, though you had not been addressing him. "As you know, Loki has a decision of great importance to make."

You do your best not to glare at the old man - it's already been made, you think smugly. Instead you say, "I know. I'm only making sure he's eating." You turn back to Loki. His gaze flickers between you and his father. You lay a hand on his armoured shoulder. "I could have food sent to you, if it's easier?"

Loki nods, seeming distracted. "That would be much appreciated, thank you my dear."

His dear? Since when had you become his dear? You smile at him, a little out of sorts, and walk from the room. Behind you, Odin speaks, "Now Loki..."

That night you meet Loki in his chambers for dinner. He's withdrawn and pensive, even when you offer to bring Magni in. The child amuses Loki - something you're not sure what to make of - but it's better than the rivalry you'd feared your husband would view him with. "No," he says. His brow is furrowed. "I'm tired."

Soon enough the meal is completed in quietness, and then he disappears into the bathroom to undress. You wait your turn patiently.

When you've prepared for bed, plaiting your hair for sleep as is your habit, the chambers are dim. The fire crackles in the hearth and the curtains are drawn; Loki's already sitting on the mattress. You drift over to your side of the bed - it's a little cool in the room, and you remind yourself to have the servants build a stronger fire tomorrow.

"Do you have any blankets?" you ask Loki. He rises and goes to his armoire, reaching down. He pauses, hand outstretched, staring down at something. Then he closes the door and drops a thick woollen blanket on the bed. You mutter a thanks and spread it over yourself, settling down comfortably.

But while you're close to sleeping, Loki's lying straight and tense on his back. You glance at him. He's staring at the ceiling, face blank and unreadable. Hesitantly, you say his name, and his eyes move to you. Oddly, he reminds you of Thor - the restless silence, the look he takes on when he's struggling with something. You reach your hand across the space in the bed and slip your fingers gently over his. Loki pauses; then you feel his fingers, so much longer and stronger than your own, twist and curl around yours.

The next morning you rise with heaviness in your chest. Loki is already gone from bed. You go to the window, where the curtains gape slightly - parting them, you can see people milling about in the courtyard, hear noises as the execution stand is raised.

There are things you need to do; you think of Magni as you get ready, realising that you won't have time to see him until the day is over. You hope he's not upset by it, but it cannot be helped. The trials commence soon, and you need to visit Arik. When you do, it's clear he's anxious - there are rings around his eyes and his hair is scrumpled.

You'd stopped in the kitchens beforehand; concern grows in your stomach as the young man wolfs the bread and meat down. His hands shake when he drinks his mead.

"Don't choke," you remind him.

Arik slows his furious chewing. "Sorry, your Grace."

You shake your head. "It's alright." You wait until he swallows to tell him the news, "Your parents are here."

"They are?" Arik's face shines with relief, before clouding again. "Are they angry?"

"No," you assure him, "they're not angry, just worried for you." You glance around. Where is Haldier? "I'm bringing them to see you."

To your dismay, the boy looks horrified. "No," he says, "no, I don't want them to see me like this! They'll be so ashamed, so embarrassed of me-"

"Arik, they're not, I promise; they're worried for you. It will do your mother and father good to see you before the trial," you console him. He goes paler at the mention of the trial; it's but a matter of hours now, and you can barely imagine how he feels. But that's why you've arranged this little meeting - you want to comfort the family of your dearly missed friend.

He resumes eating, full of muted worry now, and you wait impatiently. Finally, Haldier appears, two figures hurrying after him and Arik jumps to his feet. "Mother! he cries, rushing to the barrier, "Father!"

His parents call out to him; the barrier comes down just in time to let them in and you step back quickly as they embrace their son. He's crying and apologising and begging them - they try to calm him, but their anxiety is evident. When they've began to speak, you intercede. "Arik." The family hush and turn to you. You step close so that you won't be overheard.

"I've spoken to the King," you inform them quietly. "He'll be exiled, but not executed."

His mother cries out in tearful relief, hugging the boy close to her. Ragi stands with an arm around them both. "You're sure? He'll be pardoned?" he asks. You nod - there's no way that Loki could have changed his mind, given his difficulty with the situation over the past days. "I'm sure," you tell him. "He gave me his word."

Slowly, Ragi nods. He looks wary, but relieved. "Thank you," he says, and his voice is choked.

Your hands are clasped on your lap tightly. The throne room is uneasily quiet - Harbard , Alaric, and Gunnhild had all roared with fury when their sentences had been passed. Harokin's trial had been the most trying; the man had many supporters and his reason - to avenge the murders of Thor and his companions - had only inflamed his popularity. He'd laughed when Loki had sentenced him to death.

The four whose trials have passed have been escorted to the dungeons to say a final farewell to their loved ones; but there is one more yet to come. The large doors creak open, and a skinny figure appears, flanked by two impassive guards. Arik comes to stand before Loki's throne, and you're proud to see he's steady on his feet. Behind you, Loki begins to speak.

"Arik, son of R-"

There's a gentle squeak as another door opens, and Loki pauses, his brow creasing. You follow his line of sight to see the Allfather crossing the room. Beside him a servants carries a chair - he darts up the steps and sets it on the dais beside Hlidskjalf. Your eyes follow Odin as he passes you to sit at his son's side.

A beat passes and then Loki proceeds. "Arik, son of Ragi - you are summoned here to today to answer for your crimes; treason against your king, aiding and abetting conspirators, and disturbing the peace. You are a citizen of Asgard?"

"Yes Sire."

"Squire to General Harokin?"

"Yes Sire."

"Do you deny the charges brought against you?"

"No Sire." Arik's voice trembles a little. You glance at Loki. He doesn't look at you.

Loki's voice is cool and neutral. "What have you to say for yourself?"

The chains around Arik's wrists clink as he shifts and takes a breath. "I..." His eyes fly to you, scared, and you nod imperceptibly with a tiny, encouraging lift to your lips. He takes another breath. "I've done wrong, Sir- Your Majesty. I know I have. I didn't think anyone was going to die, or that anybody was going to try and kill-"

Loki interrupts him, "Why don't you tell us from the start, how you came to be involved. Was this your idea?"

"No Sire!"

"But you were part of the orchestration?"

Arik's face pales. "Yes, Sire. I'm sorry Sire."

Loki's voice is a little less severe. "Go on."

This time the youth wastes no time in launching into his story. "After my sister - Lorelai - died, my parents left Asgard but I wanted to stay and find out who did it. I wanted to be a soldier too, and the Queen, she was my sister's friend, she asked my father if I could stay. They asked you Sire; you remember, if they could go and I could be here-"

"I remember."

"- and then I was a guard here in the Queens household; with you too Sire."

The Allfather's voice speaks, and his words fill you with irritation. It is not his place to intervene in the King's trial. "What did the Queen have you do while you were in her guard?"

Discreetly, you look towards Odin. He is watching the boy intently. Arik takes a moment before answering, a little confused. "Only things I was capable of doing, Allfather. I was to guard the Prince and the Queen, and take over for some of the guards when they needed a break. Mostly she let me train with the soldiers - I'm not one yet, but..." He trails off, and your chest tightens for him. He will never be a soldier now.

Loki speaks. "I know this. What happened to involve you in this treason?"

Arik rocks on his feet. "I was training, and my master - General Harokin said I had a natural talent for the sword, Sire. He asked to take me on and train me, and the Queen said yes, so I did."

"This is the same General Harokin who was sentenced today?"

"Yes Sire."

Loki is silent as a murmur goes up, and you smile at Arik encouragingly. All he had to do was tell the truth, and all would be well. Unsure, the youth continues. "I was there for some time and he asked me about my family, so I told him about my sister. I was still looking - I'm still looking, Sire, for who killed her - and he said he'd do his best to help. He said no Asgardian citizen should suffer so."

Another murmur, one of agreement. Loki gestures and he goes on. "Then after some time he said he'd heard a rumour Sire." Here, Arik hesitates. He begins to twist his hands anxiously, and you lean forward a little.

"Go on," you say softly. He looks at you with wide eyes, and you can see him begin to shake. "It's alright," you tell him. "The king just needs to know what happened." You glance at Loki, who nods silently. Odin frowns at you.

You hold his gaze. If he can intercede in the trial, then so can you - you are the Queen.

Arik takes a moment to gather himself and then begins again. "Master Harokin said that my sister was killed just after she's upset you... Sire. He said that many people had reason to believe you'd killed her in anger, for embarrassing you and spreading lies." His voice breaks with tears, "Lorelai wasn't a liar, she wasn't bad. She just..." He looks down and his shoulders shake.

"We are not here to talk about your sister," Loki says. "I understand you're grieving, but this trial is about you."

The boy nods miserably, bringing his chained hands up to wipe his cheeks. "I'm sorry Sire." Loki waits as he sniffles, and you're proud of him for being patient. "So, Master Harokin said it was probably you - and I said we didn't know, because it was a very large accusation to make, but he said there was a way we could find out. He said that there were others who had family who... you had... you know. And he let me have meals sometimes with him and Alaric and Gunnhild, and Harbard was there too."

You look to your husband. Loki's eyes meet yours, and he looks unsettled.

"And they said that if they could get you alone and make you tell them the truth, then we would all know what was happening. I just wanted to know who killed my sister, Sire, I didn't want to-"

"How were you involved in the plot?" Odin interrupts him.

Arik answers him quickly. "Because I was in your household guard, they said I could help them to reach you. So when you all went on your procession, with the horses, they said that if I could let go of the horse, because it's a wild thing Sire, then it would distract people long enough for them to question you."

"And how did you think they'd question me, Arik?" Loki sounds exasperated and you send the boy a gentle look.

"I don't know!" The young man is wretched. "I thought they might hit you a bit, but you're a warrior and I've seen you fight - I didn't think they wanted to kill you, or that they could, and I had no idea that anyone was going to try and hurt the Prince or the Queen-"

"But they did, Arik," Loki says calmly. "Do you understand how serious this was? That your actions almost led to the deaths of the entire royal family?"

Arik shakes again. "I know Sire, I know. I'm in the wrong."

Before Loki can reply Odin's voice comes, imperious and loud. "You're not merely in the wrong - you're a traitor to your king and your country. You knew that your master wanted to harm the King in some way and you still agreed to it. Cowardly, you try to hide your crimes behind the excuse of other men." You whip your head round to the Allfather with a venomous glare.

"I'm sorry," Arik's crying, "I'm sorry! I didn't think, I didn't know they wanted to- I was stupid-"

You swallow, and behind you, Loki sighs deeply. He sounds frustrated. "Alright, stop that. There's no need for tears."

Arik immediately tries to stop crying, "I'm sorry, Sire."

"Still," Odin's voice is cold. "You cannot deny that you have committed treason."

"No, Allfather, I do not deny it. I just wanted-"

"Your wants count for nothing. Your actions are despicable, and-"

"Father," Loki interrupts. "Enough. The trial is over." Your eyes widen and you look between your husband and father-in-law. Below you, Arik watches with his mouth agape. Loki rises, and you automatically rise with him. "Go back to your cell; I will make a decision presently."

The boy looks to you in terror, and you do your best to reassure him with your eyes before he's led out of the room. All around you, the court talks furiously.

You catch Loki's sleeve as he descends the steps - behind him, Odin pauses, and you stare at him hardly until he continues on his way. Loki's face is tense and you can detect discomfort in his eyes. "Loki..."

"I need to think," he interrupts you. He pinches his nose tiredly, and takes a breath. "I need to sit and think, and have a bloody drink." He drops his hand and sighs, "You should go and get ready. The executions will be soon."

"Loki," you move closer to him, hand still on his sleeve, "you promised..."

"I know," he says. Behind him, Odin calls him imperiously and the sound makes your blood boil. But he remembers, you think with relief, he remembers his promise. "Go," Loki says to you, quietly. "Go and get ready."

Reluctantly, you let go of him and watch as he descends the steps. As he crosses the room to the adjoining council chamber, Odin marches behind him.

Public state affairs require more ceremony than usual; you are dressed in rich velvet and thick furs as befits the season. A string of jewels are tied around your throat and a heavy golden girdle rests on your hips. Atop your head rests a golden band studded with tiny amethysts and sapphires.

From your window you can see the execution stand has been raised and finished; around it citizens have began to congregate. The sky is light and grey with winter frost, and though no snow has yet appeared, you know you will be grateful for your warm furs when you are sat outside. Your thoughts turn to those in the dungeon. Though you've no love nor much sympathy for most of them, the thoughts of their families - the loved ones who will be left alone, causes your heart to be heavy.

You think of Arik, in the dark with his parents. Thank the Norns, you think, that Loki remembers his promise. Despite all he has done, you trust him in this. You have no choice. That alone is what keeps you from feeling overly dismal about the proceedings.

Still, you won't relax until Arik is officially pardoned, and you're impatient to have it happen. The hour that passes is long and dragging, and then finally, you are escorted down through the palace out to the ground, where the crowds wait.

To your surprise Odin is already sat on the podium, in the chair next to Loki's right. As you join him and take your seat on Loki's left, you study him. His face is placid. "Allfather," you say, "Where is Frigga?"

"Inside. You know she finds such affairs trying."

It's true; Frigga has never liked trials and executions. You continue, "I am surprised to find you here in such harsh weather. Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"It appears I have rested enough," Odin replies. There's something, an accusatory inflection in his voice that makes you bristle, and you sit back in your seat silently, waiting. As you do, the line of prisoners filter out, gated in by the Einherjar. You catch Arik's red hair in the middle of them.

Your fingers drum against the arms of your chair uncomfortably. It's cold and you can only imagine how the boy must be feeling. You wish your husband would hurry.

Finally, Loki appears - you feel him brush against the back of your chair and the muttering crowd goes quiet. On the stage, the condemned watch him. Harbard's eyes are full of hate, as are Gunnhild's. Her brother seems nervous, though he stands tall and unapologetic and asks for no mercy. Beside him, Harokin looks almost bored - cocky, you think with annoyance. The man had no regard for anyone; not even a youth desperate for answers. Had it not been for him, Arik would be removed from this mess. The thought inflames you.

Arik stands next to his master, and though he's a young man he seems much smaller when stood next to fit and seasoned soldiers. You smile at him gently, and mouth, 'soon.' He nods shakily and swallows, staring down at his feet.

Beside you, Loki sits, expression grim. You reach over and lay your hand on his wrist. He flexes his hand away from you, and you draw back, a little stung. But your hurt wanes - it is a trying time, and you can't blame him for being on edge. The first name is read out and you move your eyes forward.

"Lord Harbard. You are accused of treason against His Majesty; including attempted murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy. By the King's will, you are found guilty. If you've any last words, say them now."

Harbard is nudged forward; he elbows the guards back with a bitter sneer. "Aye, guilty. And I've no remorse for it," he states loudly. Loki's hands curl into fists. The man raises his shackled hands in Loki's direction. "There sits the man who murdered my daughter!" He bellows. "And I will never apologise nor bend my knee to him. He's no King of mine."

With that, he drops to his knees and throws back his head. "Come on then!" Sif's father roars, and the axe is swung up and down and a cry goes up as his head hits the stage, metres away from his body. The action makes you recoil; but you are a Queen and well versed in how to contain yourself, so you only inhale deeply.

Loki's face is hard and he stares ahead with determined green eyes as Gunnhild Volstaggsdottir is called forward. The same words are repeated, and she says nothing, only spits in Loki's direction before primly lowering herself to her knees. The axe slices through the air and through her flesh, and her head rolls. You inhale again, but do not recoil.

Alaric is called; like his sister, he says nothing, only goes to his knees and accepts his fate with stony silence. Another swing, another death, and you close your eyes. Blood leaks across the small stage. It drips slowly onto the ground and people move away from the dark puddle that forms.

Then Harokin's name is called. He steps forward, that same relaxed expression on his face. "Come now Loki, be reasonable," he says and the crowd stirs. You glance at your husband, who stares back at the cocky Asgardian. The general continues, "We both know killing me does you no good. I'm an excellent general - I've served Asgard well, and will continue to do so."

"You should have thought of Asgard before you tried to murder me," Loki says coldly.

Harokin's eyes harden. "My men will not stand for this," he says. "You know as well as I how loyal soldiers are."

Loki lets out a short laugh. "Loyalty," he replies, with dry amusement. "Is a fickle concept to your mind, I think."

The general stands still, as though he's only just realising his fate. You shift in your seat as anger and horror dawn on his face. "I never killed any brother of mine," Harokin's voice proclaims angrily. You take a breath. "And I will serve no man who kills his kin. The only King I know is King Thor, and you are nothing but a-"

Loki gestures, and you gasp as Harokin's eyes bulge before his head is severed. His body crashes to the wooden floor, and blood flicks out into the crowd, who cry out. Arik stands wide eyed and shaking, and as his master's dead body is dragged offstage, you turn to your husband.

He doesn't look at you, and you glance quickly at the boy before reaching forward. "Loki," you whisper. It's time, and you can't watch any more.

His mouth tightens, and you hear Arik's name being read out.

"Loki," you say again, louder, tugging his forearm, and the people closest to the royal podium stir.

"Silence," Odin snaps and your eyes grow wide. He promised, you think with horror, he promised. Loki's gaze moves downwards, so that he doesn't have to watch. Your mouth is dry and panic wells in your throat - Arik is on his knees, and you say Loki's name once more, pleading, angry; and then you hear a meaty thud and a cry from the crowd and you hear what must be the cries of Lorelai's parents.

And through it all Loki says nothing and does nothing, and you realise with horror that he hasn't kept his word. Perhaps he never intended to at all.

You drop your hold from him as though he's made of poison. You can't look at the stage, can't bear to see; you're eyes are wet and betrayed, and you stand quickly and quietly, and leave immediately.

The ground flies under your feet as you stride back into the palace, back to your rooms - Frigga is in her solar with the door ajar, and she calls you as you pass but you don't stop. You're too angry, and you begin to cry - with rage and betrayal and sadness for your failure. You'd promised his parents; you'd sworn it would all be well.

Loki has made a liar of you.

And so suddenly it's clear to you; the man who you had resigned yourself to live with, to eat with, to sleep beside, never changed, never would change, and you were an idiot for thinking otherwise. The door to your chamber slams with a jarring noise, and you rip the cloak from your shoulders. Aching, raw rage wells inside you and you think awful, violent thoughts - you think of your husband, of how Loki must have smashed his face to pulp, how he must have sliced Fandral and Sif open from belly to brains, and how all of that had been done with those long pale hands. Hands which you'd let touch you and caress you and even hold your son.

You feel sick, and you go to the bathroom to empty your stomach of what little contents there were. Bile and vomit pour from your body, and in its wake it leaves nothing but hot, burning hatred.

Loki does not try to approach you for days and you're thankful for it, if only because you're unsure of your reaction if he did.

Lorelai's parents are gone - you had tried to seek them out, to apologise, to ask if there was anything you could do for them, but they had not wanted to speak to you and by nightfall they had departed Asgard with their son's body. You understand. How could they bear to look at you when all you'd given them was false hope?

In your dreams you see Arik and Lorelai, and Thor, and Sif, and Fandral and Hogun, and Volstagg, and your father, and they are all dead and disappointed. More than once you wake from terrible nightmares in which their deaths replay over and over. Each night fuels your hate and your rage, and your days are spent with your son as you try in vain to forget them.

You take to riding in the forest every morning and evening - sometimes you take Magni with you, and you find a little peace in the moments when he comes across something that delights him. You go into the market with guards; you buy oatcakes and honey-bread, and give generously to the poor and merchants alike. It's selfish at heart; an excuse for you to feel better about yourself, but they smile and thank you and it makes you feel better all the same.

The young man who offers you a yuletide wreath has red hair, and your hands tremble when you accept his gift.

A week passes, and there's a feast to celebrate Loki's triumph over treachery. You have no intention of attending, until Odin makes it clear that it's expected of you. He doesn't relent when you argue back with him furiously - there's something about the old man that you hate almost as much as your husband, something smug and insufferable.

You go to the feast, but you're late and you silently resolve to leave at the earliest opportunity. The hall is full and merry; people are so fickle, you think bitterly, so easily distracted. It's grotesque. Golden braziers glow around the room, granting the air a cosy warmth but you sit stiffly and stone-faced. Loki is sat at his usual place, and your seat beside him is empty. Just resting your eyes on that black hair angers you, and you ask Frigga if she'll sit by you.

"Of course, dearest," she acquiesces, gliding over to you. You sit in the chair next to your own, and she pauses before sitting at Loki's side. Your husband's eyes dart over and then back again. He says nothing to you.

Frigga involves you in conversation before the din from the hall lowers, and Odin stands. You watch the Allfather as he begins to speak. Frigga is smiling, and you say quietly, "The Allfather is recovering his spirits."

"Yes," she murmurs. "He is almost well again." The news makes your lip curl.

"... my son," Odin is saying warmly. His hand rests on Loki's shoulder and you glare. "I confess, as any Father, I worried about how such a position may befit him. But," he raises his mead, "I am happy to say we may always rely on Loki to do the right thing - to not falter, when faced with hard choices. To listen to wise council," your teeth grind, "and to make me proud!"

There's a cheer and the clashing of cups, thought you know the people cheer more for Odin then they do for Loki. Despite his father's words, Loki's face is unmoved - he shakes his head when a servants offers him a drink, and snaps at another when they put the wrong food on his plate.

With the speeches done, you rise swiftly from your seat. Frigga looks up at you in surprise, "Where are you going?" she questions, and Loki's head turns towards you.

"I-"

"Sit," Odin says, and you glare at him with such force that your head feels light.

"I've made an appearance, I've done my duty," you snap. "I'm going to bed." And before anyone can argue, you brush out of the hall.

In your chambers, Magni is being dressed for bed by his nursemaids. You dismiss them and get him ready yourself. He's fond of being read to, and now that his teething has started to wane it's the easiest method for putting him to sleep. The small boy cuddles into you, a thumb in his mouth as youtuck him into the bed and open the book of tales which are his favourite.

You look down at his beloved head and pull him close. Your son will never be so cruel, you think as you begin to read.

Some pages later, and a noise comes from your lounge. Magni stirs, unhappy to have your attention directed away from him. You pet him and give him the book, "Mama will be right back," you promise him with a kiss, "see how much you can read by yourself."

He looks restless, but does as he's told and you sneak out of the room, closing the door over quietly.

Loki stands by your fireplace, watching the orange flames. The sight of him sets your teeth on edge. When you say nothing, he speaks. "You left the feast early."

"Obviously." His eyes flicker to you and back. His expression is unreadable. "I'm very tired," you snap. "Can you leave?"

He turns to you slowly, one hand rubbing the other. "It's the first night of the week," he says.

"So?"

Loki's shoulders are tense. "So, you normally spend this evening in my chambers. Will you-"

"No."

The bluntness of your answer seems to knock him back; he takes a breath. "Are you going to sulk every time you don't get your way?" he asks you sharply.

"My way?" Your voice rises and you force it back down to a normal level. "You killed a boy Loki - little more than a child. You promised me you wouldn't and then you did it anyway, and you think I'm sulking because I haven't got my way?" He shifts uncomfortably at your words. Annoyingly, there is moisture in your eyes and you blink it away furiously. "How could you?"

"You heard him, he was guilty," Loki says, voice fast. "What else could I have done?"

"You could have pardoned him! Like you said you would!"

Loki's hands curl into fists and his tongue flicks out over his lips. "There's no saying he wouldn't have tried it again - boys of that age are easily guided by their emotions."

You shake your head. "He wouldn't have," you reply angrily, "we both know that. He wasn't even trying to kill anyone in the first place!"

"He was blinded by grief and affection for his family! What if his father had said he had the right idea? Whose to say he wouldn't have tried again, and succeeded?"

"You're such a fucking hypocrite-"

"How?" Loki demands, sharp as glass.

Your voice rises. "I knew you when you were his age! If someone had been murdered - if something had happened to someone you would want answers, you'd have pursued them for as long as it took! There was nothing - nothing, you would not have done for your family!" Loki shifts minutely, his fingers curling; a tiny movement, but you know him well enough to notice. You pause, eyes filled with tears. "Loki." He says nothing, and your heart races. "It was him, wasn't it?" you breathe, "Odin told you to do it, and you did... Why?"

Still, your husband says nothing, only looks away. You raise your voice, angrier than ever before. Wise council and making Odin proud? You could have slapped yourself for not seeing it sooner. "Why Loki? What did he say to you this time? How did he manipulate you into-"

"Nobody manipulates me into anything," Loki spits. His eyes are furious. "Have you considered that I wanted the boy dead, that I believe he deserved his fate?"

Each word fills you with revulsion. You shake your head in disgust, "No. You're lying."

He leans towards you, continuing, "Well I did. I hated him for trying to take my life, and I hated him for his disobedience, and I wanted him dead, do you understand?"

"That's a disgu-"

"Mama?"

Instantly, the shouting stops and you both freeze. Turning, you can see Magni's small silhouette peering around the door. He's sucking his thumb, eyes wide, and there's a large colourful book clutched in his free hand. You step away from Loki, and move towards your son, "Magni, darling." It takes effort to keep your voice from shaking, "What have I told you about going to bed? You have to stay there."

He continues to suck on his thumb, lifting the book and waving it at you. "'ook!"

You accept it from him, ushering him back towards the door. "I know, I'll be in to read to you now." You touch his cheek, "Go on, go back to bed and wait, and I'll be there soon, I promise." He watches you suspiciously as you urge him gently back into his room, before toddling off to do as he's told.

You close the door over quietly. Heavy silence hangs in the space between yourself and Loki. Taking a breath to compose yourself, you turn back to him. He doesn't meet your eyes. "I want you to leave," you say as calmly as you're able.

Loki speaks your name slowly, and you can already feel the shame seeping from him. You hold up a hand. "It's fine." Your voice is sharp. "It's my own fault for thinking you were a better man than you are. After all, I shouldn't have expected anything else from the man who murdered his brother."

He meets your eyes then, and he looks shaken. Loki opens his mouth and closes it again, continuing to stand there. Voice shaking, you repeat yourself. "Please leave."

Slowly but surely, your guilt and sorrow abate. In their wake they leave anger - you have so much anger in you now. But it is not solely directed at Loki. The Allfather sweeps the halls of Asgard's palace, often against Frigga's wishes. He is regaining his strength and spirit, and with it his influence. Your husband has noticed it too; Loki's mood darkens further the more his father appears, and it becomes commonplace to hear them quarrelling in the halls.

It does not escape your attention that Loki begins to display an open dislike - almost an aversion to his father. Too little too late, you think coldly.

Still, with each day it becomes clearer to you that Odin's machinations had led to Arik's death, though it was Loki who made the final judgement. It will not do, you decide when finally your head is clear of mourning for the boy. You cannot stand being married to a man who can commit such actions; but if Loki is the serpent's body then Odin is its head. So it is that one evening, you ask Haldier to join you for a ride in the woods outside the city.

You ride fast and hard, revelling in the exertion. It's good for your soul to get away from the palace - distance brings everything into focus. When at last you're deep in the heart of the forests, you climb from your horse.

"My Queen?" Haldier asks as you begin to pick your way through the trees off the path.

"There's mistletoe here," you tell him lightly. "I want some for my chambers."

As the good soldier he is, he follows you at a distance, keeping within hearing range. But as you'd hoped, he's not particularly interested in helping you pick petals; he veers off and finds a spot by a tree to pull out his sword and test its edge. You keep him in the corner of your eye as you wander, humming lightly and plucking random leaves from the ground. You prick your fingertip on the edge of a holly-leaf and hiss as blood beads on your skin.

But then you find it; the thing you'd come for.

Asgard's libraries are dense and large and contain books and scripture on all matter of topics; from comedies to doctrines to novels to anthologies, there is plenty of information at hand. You lean down, brushing frost away from the small green berries that hide under a lid of leaves. Finding a book on poisons - then finding one that was not so rare nor so deadly, had been shockingly easy when you knew where to look.

Haldier is still inspecting his sword. You collect several handfuls of the berries, stuffing them deep into the pockets of your cloak, and then hastily pick more mistletoe to fill your arms before turning back.

"All done!" you call brightly.

He nods, unsuspecting, and you hurry back to the horses. As you ride back to the palace, the berries are a comforting weight against your hip, and you smile at people as you pass by. Once you're back at the palace, you wish Haldier a good night and dismiss him.

All the way through the palace you think. How can you get the Allfather alone? You don't want to accidentally harm anyone else. And how would you get a chance to crush the berries, contain the juice, and slip the toxins into his drink without notice? It was a slow-acting poison you had picked; there was no need to rouse suspicion. But that meant you'd need to get it to him several times without raising alarm.

A chill goes down your spine. Were you truly going to do this? This was not the woman your mother had raised or that Thor had married.

Yes, you think to yourself with grim resolve. Yes.

And as you enter your rooms, and your eyes land on your crying son, you realise exactly how.

"Who's precious? Who's a darling? Yes, you!"

A smile touches your lips as Frigga coos over Magni, who shrieks his newfound words at her. "Cat!" he cries, and she laughs.

"He's a bright boy," the Allmother comments warmly, playing happily with her grandson. You hum in agreement, smiling down as your blonde toddler sits entranced by the little seidhr-tricks Frigga provides for him.

"I know you've been busy of late," you say to her, smoothing the folds of your gown. "And Magni has missed you."

She smiles. "And I him."

As they continue to amuse eachother, you glance across the solar to where Odin sits at his desk. He's writing something and paying no attention to the scene across the room. There's a goblet beside his papers, and not too far from it a tray on which sits a jug of mead and water, and a few crystal glasses. Your eyes linger for a moment, before you return your attention to the Allmother, who asks you if Magni has begun to read yet.

"I suppose he's very young," she concedes when you tell her he's not. "Still, perhaps regular storytelling may encourage him later."

"He does enjoy being read to," you reply, "in fact, we could make an arrangement of it. Two or three times a week, I could bring him here and you could read to him if you like? He does so love the sound of your voice."

Delighted, Frigga agrees, as you imagined she would. "Which nights are best, dear?" she asks you.

"I'm sure we can sort that by ear; I know you get tired, and besides, we're only down the hall."

The Allmother smiles at you again, and you almost feel bad for the intentions behind your kindness. "Wonderful," she says, and goes back to amusing Magni. As she tickles her grandson, and marvels at his golden hair, you wonder if she remembers playing with another small boy who was loud and golden. The thought brings pain to your chest.

You cannot think of Thor now. Without a doubt, he would disagree with your actions. But he's not here, and so you must fend for yourself. Pushing yourself into action, you rise from the floor and gesture across the room. "May I have some water?"

"Of course dear, you don't need to ask," Frigga answers without looking up.

Thanking her, you drift towards the tray which rests beside Odin's desk. He ignores you as you quietly lift the water jug and pour yourself a glass. Your fingers shake a little and you quickly set the glass back down. "Water, Allfather?" You're careful to infuse just the right amount of detachment into your tone - he will certainly suspect you if you suddenly attend his every need.

"None," he says gruffly, still writing.

You scramble for something to say - as you catch sight of Frigga, you ask again. "And the Allmother; would she like some mead perhaps?"

"No mead - it upsets her stomach." His voice is short and he glances at you critically with his one good eye. "You left the victory feast early last week."

Blood pounds in your ears and you nod. "It seemed a little grotesque," you say sharply, "celebrating executions."

He snorts. "And here I thought you had a spine. Don't pull such dramatics in future." His eye is cold, "I don't want my grandson picking up any bad habits from you."

Whatever hesitation had been holding you back is snuffed out. Odin turns back to his writing, once again uninterested in your existence, and you shuffle the small bottle from your sleeve. Under the pretense of refilling your glass, you pinch the top of the dropper - deep inky liquid fills it and as you reach your hand for the handle of the water jug, you squeeze it into the mead jug.

The black jet swirls into the sweet mead momentarily, then fades as it dissolves, swallowed up by the honey-coloured liquid.

One large dose in a single jar should be enough for some nights. Concealing the stopper in your hand, you place the water jug back down and glide away, sipping your clean water.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: death, execution, mild gore.

I'm starting to think poison is becoming a theme of this story: Reader's poisoned by her grief (and dislikes), Loki's poisoned by envy, Odin's poisoning his son's actions, and now there's ACTUAL poisoning going on! My literature professors would be proud.
We're back to angst for Reader/Loki and the next chapter gets into the nitty-gritty parts of jealousy and suspicion, and it is a fun read!