•Epilogue•

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Just had to add something to it! Think I was having withdrawal or something! XD

Anyway, thought I'd TRY to end it on a happy note and give Loki a happy, childhood memory.

Thank you all for the favourites and follows! You guys rule! XD

Hope you like!

Also: 'argr' - an Old Norse insult denoting effeminacy toward males that studied sorcery or seidr.

•The Memory•

•(Epilogue)•

"Now, no peeking, Loki; you promised."

Frigga's voice was stern but uttered no severity, as her radiant smile gleamed akin to the sunrise, which awoke the kingdom of Asgard.

Her slender hands curtained over the prying eyes of her youngest son; yes, Loki had promised not to peek but - most likely - with his little fingers crossed. She guided his fawn-like steps, as he staggered, aimlessly, in his temporary blindness.

Loki omitted an impish giggle, his gleeful laughter dancing amongst the golden halls of home. Curiosity sizzled, relentlessly, within his agile mind; what was this 'surprise' his mother spoke of?

He busied his thoughts with countless possibilities as to what that confounded 'surprise' might be: a pet, a new book or - hopefully, not - new training armour. The child was so enraptured within his untameable imagination, that he lost his already- clumsy footing and tripped, quite inelegantly, over his own boot.

Thankfully, Frigga's swift instinct caught him before he collided with the stone tiles; her attentive hands darted to his protruding ribs, to assist regaining his balance. She breathed a sigh of relief, as her son burst into another fit of infectious giggles:

"I'm closing my eyes! I promise, mother! I promise!"

He clenched his eyes shut, indignantly, deep-set creases teasing with his temples; he punctuated his expression with an exaggerated pout of his soft, plump lips. Frigga chuckled at his animated countenance and resumed guiding him towards the unknown.

"I almost fell, mother!" The young prince proclaimed, with an air of outrage. Frigga gave another tender laugh; her son's melodramatic tendencies never failed to amuse her.

"Yes, that's right, dear." She, playfully, mimicked a tone of shock as she guided Loki ever-nearer to the ornate, wooden door.

"It's an... unquestionably fortunate circumstance that you caught me, mother!"

Frigga shook her head in disbelief; she had not a clue how her son - a child, so young - acquired such sophisticated vocabulary. Loki's intellect - which was far beyond his years - shocked and - on occasions - even frightened her to realise.

"I'll always be here to catch you when you fall, my darling."

Her words were so tender and soft, yet were stated with cemented sincerity; her face swelled with love, as she gazed upon the Idun's apple of her hazel eyes.

Loki was her pride and joy.

She was well-aware of Loki's mischievous nature and cunning antics - as we're were the majority of the Æsir - but she willed herself to remain tolerate of him, to keep faith within his overwhelming potential.

He was so, ridiculously talented... and it pained her to see it.

Unfortunately, his expertise were considered unorthodox and unnatural, within their realm; his passion for sorcery was an inherent taboo within Asgardian society.

On countless occasions, she would catch such horrid whispers - whilst forced to bite her clever tongue - which depicted Loki as an "argr", mocking his effeminacy and elegance. Society would collectively sneer and predict - with such, insufferable arrogance - how Loki would grow up to disappoint Asgard, how he'd never be a worthy king. Of course, her veil of impassiveness - never bitter or biased - would not ever falter... but her blood would boil, beneath the surface, in secrecy.

She loved him, unconditionally, no matter what his traits, talents or heritage.

She knew he wasn't her son by blood... but she would always believe it.

"Are we there yet, mother?"

Frigga leapt from the depths of her reveries, as Loki's patience audibly withered. Frigga smirked and decided she would - finally - put him out of his misery: Loki detested waiting.

"Yes, sweetheart." She chimed, as she shuffled his scrawny form through the arched doorway. "Now, open your eyes."

Loki opened his eyes: they analysed the scene, deducted its content, then - filling with realisation - they widened and shone, swirling with delight and awe.

That 'confounded surprise' exceeded any of his initial expectations and wildest dreams;
it was beautiful.

Loki gasped in wonder, as he gaped at the opulent swirls of gold, twisting to form elegant curves and - in the midst of the grandiose - countless minute slithers of silver stings shone in the glorious light of morn.

It was love at first sight.

Loki extended a delicate hand, fingers twitching toward the strings with tentative curiosity. He plucked a few careless notes and his heart fluttered in response to their angelic purity, the peace they brought him. It was another form of magic, the music an entity of its own; he was in awe of it.

Frigga watched the scene play like the harp itself; the beauty of its innocence brought a bright, fresh smile to her gentle countenance. She felt a small 'clutching' sensation in her chest, when she spied the tears of joy sparkling to life in those large eyes of jade. She'd never seen him so happy.

Suddenly, he flung his scrawny form toward her, flinging his lanky arms around her slender waist, as he enveloped her in a grateful embrace. Frigga sleeked his silken tresses of black, as his deft fingers clung to the turquoise chiffon of her dress; it was as if he'd never let go.

"Thank you, mother. It is the epitome of beauty."

He lifted his head and met her gaze, his expression one of unadulterated adoration; she was truly his guardian angel. He was certain she'd remain so, for eternity... even when Valhalla claimed her, at last.

"It is wonderful." He breathed with content and buried his head into the embrace, once more, nuzzling her in a manner akin to a kitten.

"Well..." Frigga began, voice beginning to waver as tears of joy collected in her star-like eyes, "...it'll keep you out of mischief..." - she smirked, maliciously - "...for a while, at least."

Loki yelped, as her deft fingers darted like vipers to his abdomen. They busied themselves spindling and spidering, mercilessly, as Loki writhed and squirmed; he was hopelessly ticklish.

"No, no, mother! Hahahahaha! Please! St— Hehehe! Stop!"

He protested in vain - and failed to portray any severity through his words - when his cries were so, heavily interpreted with such blossoms of laughter.

It was a tableau composed by the angels; the golden light of morn streaming through the kingdom of gold, signalling a sunrise of new hope and possibility and sweet music filled the air... but not that formulated by a harp or any instrument, for that matter.

No, this was the song of a glorious, childhood memory; laughter of such purity and innocence, spreading sweet joy - like ancient sorcery - as each darling giggle echoed amongst the halls of the House of Odin.