Author's Note: It is what it is. Just a little snippet of what's going on in Frigga's mind while her darling little Loki is growing up. I've taken creative license with Norse mythology because I can. If you don't like it, just X out of it or hit the Back button. It's no big deal. And note now that this contains mentions of slash and male pregnancy, and if you don't like those, like I said, X out or hit the Back button. If you do like the story, review it. =3

Mother

When Loki was brought to her, wrapped in a torn remnant of her husband's cloak, weak and suffering and near death, Frigga loved him. He was perfect, her little angel, her baby, and she cherished him the moment Odin set him in her arms, the moment she peered down into his deep green eyes. Even when Odin revealed the infant to be a Frost Giant, a Jotun, she looked upon his blue flesh and his scarlet eyes and loved him still. She touched the delicate markings on his forehead and kissed them, not caring what he was, not caring whose son he had been. That no longer mattered. He was hers. And as the healers worked to nurse him back to health, she was there. She slept in the room he rested in, woke when he cried and rocked him back to sleep. Stayed up some nights just marveling over his fair yet dark beauty, combing her fingers through his dark hair. Losing herself in him. He was hers in every way. Her baby, her youngest son, and though she would never admit it aloud, her favored one.

He grew slower than the others, was quiet and reserved and weak in comparison, and he spent much of his childhood hiding behind her, clutching her skirts in his small fists. And she would smile and rest her hand atop his dark head, and he would look up at her and smile, and all in Asgard knew the queen loved her youngest despite the flaws all found in him. The servants would walk through the gardens and see her there with him, holding his hand as she told him about each type of bloom, tucking them into his hair until everywhere he went, adults and children alike commented on his floral scent.

His magic was his most unique and beautiful gift, and she found him only the best teachers so he would learn to utilize it to its fullest extent. When in a good mood, he would draw little birds in the air of sparkling greens and blues that took flight and disappeared in brilliant flickers of colors. Throw sparks all over the gardens until they glowed a thousand colors in the night air. When in a playful mood, he would make snakes appear under people's feet and make the wine in the goblets freeze until it plopped out in the domed shape of the cup. But in a bad mood, Loki never used his magic. He never used it to purposefully harm a person because Frigga ingrained it into him that harming people was wrong, and he took it to heart. His magic was playful or good. It was never the pain of another.

As he grew and noticed distinct changes in his body that the other young ones did not know, she took him aside and told him he was different. Special. While other boys could only father children, he had the unique gift of being able to carry them inside of him, and if he met a man he happened to fall in love with, he could share that gift with him. To her, her little Loki was special. It was not uncommon in the Frost Giants for some to be born able to sire and mother a child, but in Asgard, Loki was unique. And the thought of little green-eyed beauties in the palace moved her to tears. She had no daughters and no hope of them, but if Loki chose a man as his partner, he would experience the magical wonders of carrying a child, of having a life inside of him, and she would be there to help him. Comfort him. Provide him with the support he needed to make it to the birth of his child. And when it was time, she would hold his hand and wipe the sweat from his brow and encourage him.

She knew when Fandral the Dashing first began to show interest in Loki, saw the longing looks the devilish warrior sent across the dining table while Loki was quietly drawing little designs with his magic. Sending little birds fluttering across the table to amuse Thor, or filling his cup with rainbow-hued fish that swam about in the wine before disappearing. But Fandral adored Loki. It was there in the softness of his eyes when he stared at her baby, or the way he shyly brought Loki flowers while he was studying in the library or walking through the gardens. Never a word. Just a single flower, always perfectly bloomed and stripped of thorns, always deep in color and beautifully scented. Occasionally, she had been with Loki when Fandral appeared with a flower, and it amused her to see him blush and fidget as he passed Loki the flower. But her baby never thought much of it, just added the flower to a water-filled vase of them he had. Dozens would fill it by the end of a week, and by the time one died, there were six more to replace it. But she saw in Loki's eyes that he loved Thor more than anyone, and she mourned her little one's choice because she knew Thor would never truly love Loki back.

But when Loki reached adolescence and began to roam, she suspected, then knew, he was laying with men who would never love him and could never appreciate him. He came home ill after a little journey into another realm, and when she realized what it meant, she hurried him to the healer and made sure she was certain it was what she believed. And it was. Her youngest son was pregnant, carrying the child of some person, some thing, but Frigga never judged him. Because he was hers, and he needed her, and she was there to hold his hand and help him.

Loki gave birth to a beautiful daughter named Hel, pronouncing her name like the frozen chunks of water that sometimes fell from the sky when the weather was poor but they were still far from winter. And she was lovely. She had Loki's beautiful emerald eyes and dark hair, and she clung to him at every moment she woke to the time when she fell asleep. Perfection, just like him. But Odin declared the child not fit for Asgard and sent her to the father who had sired her, and Frigga, for that moment, hated her husband. Hated him and his favoritism towards Thor and the fact he could not understand he was ripping their family apart. She knew Loki visited his daughter often, but it was the thought of that sweet child without her mother that sent Loki spiraling into tears at nearly every spare moment. And like any good mother, Frigga was there to hold him. Her baby was a man, a mother, and his child had been ripped away from him by the man who was supposed to love him.

And it became a vicious cycle. Loki would mate with some man in another realm, become heavy with child, and have the child ripped away as soon as possible. His second child, a beautiful green-eyed boy with thick golden hair, was clearly half-Aesir but was sent away instead of being allowed to remain with Loki. Five children were taken from him, and it was a true miracle he was able to smile afterward. But Frigga saw in his eyes that he was breaking, and when Sleipnir was taken from his arms, still loudly crying, she saw in his eyes that he was broken. Odin stood and explained how it would help the children more to be raised among their own kind while she held her sobbing son in her arms and Thor stared at his feet, clearly not comfortable with the situation.

The light faded from Loki's eyes, and the charming young man, the loving mother, all faded away into the background to be replaced with anger and hatred. His silver tongue developed in defiance to his father's rules, and he used his magic to frighten people, to scare them away from him. And though Frigga knew it was wrong, she could not find it in herself to scold him because, in her heart of hearts, she understood the pain he was going through. How much it must have torn him apart to have his children taken from him again and again. Sent away to live with fathers who did not know of their existence. A Jotun by the name of Angrbooa. A horse shifted called Svaoilfari. A gender-shifting demon known as Sigyn. The golden-haired Fenrir was cast off with his sister and one of his brothers, to a father who had not sired him. And Loki wept for each of them, laid on his bed and sobbed, and Frigga laid his head on her lap and stroked his hair and promised him they would find his children.

And then Loki had let the Jotuns into Asgard, and though she did not understand why he had done such a thing, she saw the reason in his room late one night. After he had discovered what he truly was, after Odin had fallen into the Odinsleep, she had walked to Loki's room with the intent of telling him to go find his children, and he was not alone. Far from it. Curled against the pillows was Loki, his little Jormungandr held tight in his arms, his face buried in the soft dark hair, so much like his own. And she kissed them both and left them to rest, wondering where Hel and Fenrir were, if they were safe.

Thor returned home, and though Loki had lied to him, saying Odin was dead and that Thor was forbidden from returning home, Frigga could not despise him. When he fell into the hole he had ripped into the cosmos, she took it upon herself to protect his son from her husband and swore to Odin she would slit his throat in his sleep if he tried to remove Jormungandr from her care. She cared for the young boy until Loki was found and brought home to stand trial, and then the child was given to his mother, and they both waited in the dungeons. It was clear to her what would happen to them, her babies, her beloveds, and she refused to let it. And Thor, bless his heart, aided her in her task. With Mjolnir, he broke through the bars of Loki's cell and released his brother, and Loki disappeared with his child in his arms. And to her amusement, it was only weeks later when Fandral disappeared as well, leaving the Warriors Three as the Warriors Two. And she knew he would gladly lay down his sword for Loki Silvertongue, the boy he had loved for years, the man he still loved. And she loved Fandral for it and hoped against hope the two would find their way into each other's arms.

Because, when the time came, she had already decided she would find a way to Midgard, find a way to Loki's side, and she would aid him in finding his children. Would bring them all to his waiting arms and watch him prove himself the compassionate, loving, caring mother she knew he was. Because Odin and Thor had made a mistake in attacking him when he was already weakened by the pain of having his little ones taken from him. He may have been smaller and weaker than Thor, but there was nothing quite as vicious as a mother whose children were taken away.

She loved Odin, but she knew he would pay for hiding Loki's little ones throughout the realms. And, truthfully, she could not find the emotion needed to care. Her heart, her love, was focused on Midgard, on the slender, dark-haired child who had been laid in her arms, a foundling, cast away by his own father. Her child. Her baby. Her Loki. Her most beloved, beautiful son.