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Frigga, Queen of Asgard (bamfqueen) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2013-12-06 00:52:00

Entry tags:

frigga, loki

Who: Queen Frigga and OPEN
What: Look what the storm blew in? SHE DIDN'T DO IT!
When: Evening of the fifth
Where: Middle of the city in the middle of the destruction. She's used to it.
Warnings: TBD but doubtful any

Midgard. Her senses made it clear that the place she'd found herself in was Midgard. But how? And why? The last thing she'd remembered was the searing pain of the blade through her. If there was an afterlife, she was relatively certain it wasn't held on a planet in a realm so far from her own. So entirely distant.

The machinery was familiar from her meditations, watching Thor and Loki both on their visits to Earth. That didn't make it any more comforting. She still wasn't entirely sure what it all was or how it worked. Everything was so loud and ugly and dirty and already she missed the tranquil beauty of her home and the comforts of her palace.

Still. Frigga hadn't ruled as queen for years without some understanding of how to adjust to a difficult situation. Her only regret was the lack of a weapon. That would help her comfort levels considerably. She looked around, trying to judge the people around her. Tucking herself into a dark corner, the lady of Asgard sent a projection of herself out into the world to listen and learn and observe. If anyone were to hurt her or make an attack on her life, it wouldn't be her they'd be hurting. She'd already suffered one death and though she wasn't certain one could be killed a second time, Frigga wasn't going to take her chances.

There seemed to be ruins. But this wasn't the city of New York. She listened through her projection. A storm. A large storm had blown through the city. She should help. If only she were more sure of herself, she would. Maybe then, she could. But confusion fought with compassion and she wasn't even sure where she stood. Quite literally.

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subtletrick
2013-12-07 02:53 am UTC (link)

A trap, then, he thought; her words were enough for Loki’s entire demeanor to shift, his expression and posture going from shock to something colder, as everything that might have been hope drained out of him, replaced instead by anger and something that might have been hurt, but it was hard to be certain, buried as it was under the steel-edged fury boiling in him. This was not Frigga. At best, this was someone else with his mother’s face - another “facetwin”, one who dressed similarly, perhaps, but still not the same woman. At worst, when this shape was dropped away, it would be Lucifer standing there, infuriating smirk and attitude of satisfaction at this small victory he had managed to claim.

“It seems not, doesn’t it?”

His anger at this - at whoever it was claiming his mother’s shape, at Lucifer for his games, at himself for falling for this trick and daring to hope - slotted easily into place with the rest of his frustration and fury, that which had been building for quite some time now, and the half-shake, half-nod of his head as he took to pacing, not going nearer but never walking away, was easy, loose. As though he feared no retaliation; as if he had no room for fear left. “Very clever, though. Well done. You should be commended for your efforts.” As he spoke and as he paced, Loki wove a shell of himself, slipping from it and into the space between, keeping the connection to guide the copy’s movements and its words, to observe without being observed, to prepare; he did not wish to destroy something that wore his mother’s shape, but he was fairly sure (frighteningly sure) it would not be as difficult as he had perhaps expected.

The shape made sense; even Lucifer was likely, by now, to have seen the films, to have figured out what would have set Loki on edge and rattled him. So, yes, the image of his mother, standing here in Lawrence - that made sense. What he did not understand was how he had managed to sense her presence for a fleeting moment. Lucifer should not have been able to do that - if for no reason other than he would not have known what to simulate. How could he have? Frigga was not here, and even if she were, Lucifer’s sense of her was very likely to be completely different from Loki’s, having grown up with her, learned from her, spent time focused on the brilliant spark that was his mother’s magic.

How had he managed this?

“I will admit, I had expected you to carry the facade a bit longer,” his tone was somewhere between conversational and ice, sharpness in the edges of the words, and an even, comfortable flow to them. As if this was normal. As if this degree is anger was not new to him. "To... lure me into a trap..." The copy stopped moving, standing in front of her, hands folded behind his back, and his voice dropped to a growl, “If this is a trap, then spring it."

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bamfqueen
2013-12-07 04:51 pm UTC (link)

For a brief moment, it was confusion that took over Frigga's gentle features. That was hardly where she'd intended this to go. But she knew, now, that this was no trick. At least, not on someone else's part. That demeanor, the defensive nature... That was definitely, without question, her youngest son. He was still so angry. So hurt. And despite her own hurt towards him, every maternal instinct in her longed to hold him and comfort him. To tell him the monsters in the stories Odin fed the boys weren't real, that he and Thor were protected and she'd care for them both.

Only so many of those monsters were real, and Loki had seen his share of them. Found out a part of him even was one. And there was nothing she could do to shield him.

Her face finally fell, settling into something resembling remorse. He thought he'd been trapped just as much as she'd feared. To not be biologically hers, he was too much like her for his own good sometimes. She knew, even then, even as his anger was slowly unleashed, that even if he tore himself from her for good, she'd never stop considering herself his mother. "My boy..." she said softly, wanting to reach for him but forcing herself to move at his pace. "How hurt you've been... Who's tricked you so?"

Her tone was low, gentle. No longer teasing, no longer afraid. She had to hold on to the belief that if anyone could reach the troubled young god, it was her. For centuries she'd shown him a mother's love. It had to have meant something.

She was also skilled enough with her own magic and knew his enough to know what he'd just done. She had, after all, guided him on how to do so. How it was no longer the physical presence of her son that stood before her. She stepped out from the shadows, dissolving her own projection in his view. "You can come out now, my darling. I promise you...this is no trap. There is nothing to be sprung."

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subtletrick
2013-12-08 05:01 am UTC (link)

It was difficult to maintain a healthy degree of anger and wariness when she sounded so genuine - even more, when she stepped forward and the magical image of her faded away, the small power-use as she dismissed the copy of herself registering as the same burst of it he had sensed in the first place, the reason he’d come out here, looking. She knew he was doing the same, projecting himself and remaining hidden, placing himself strategically near but out of harm’s way - they used to play, like this, projections and illusions and hide-and-seek in the palace... of course she would have known. If it hadn’t been her, perhaps not, but...

If this was still a trap, it was a good one - spectacular in its process and attention to detail - and at the moment Loki was strongly considering allowing himself to risk being snared. If he was right and it was, indeed, the most elaborate trap ever lain, then Loki would be able to see who was behind it, or at least go out knowing that he had seen it. If it was real...

Loki was not entirely sure how to respond. He remained where he was, hidden in a place that was not a place, observing through the eyes of the copy of himself, whose posture was, in keeping with Loki’s own bearing, starting to seem less like he was preparing to attack, and more like he was simply at a loss. He truly was at a loss. He wanted to do as she said - to return his physical form to where the empty shell of him now stood; he found himself hesitating, because no matter how simple the magic involved, it was infinitely more complicated to simply decide to give in.

The moment felt eternal, caught between action and inaction, but it was only a second before he finally let go of the magic holding the illusion in place, appearing a bit nearer to her than his image had stood just a moment ago. His anger was still bleeding away, and in its absence he was left feeling worn thin, pleased to see her but afraid, tired - this meant one more person he had to protect, in a world that was being torn apart by a devil with more power than Loki had been able to pull together thus far. Frigga was far from helpless, of course, skilled in sword and spells alike, but...

But she had died, or she would die...

He would not allow it to happen here.

“What had happened, before you arrived here? What is the last thing you remember?”

He should, perhaps, have been moving in and offering a hug, or at least some greeting that was not skipping directly to questions, but Loki was already spinning ahead with his thoughts, trying to reconcile time-lines, thinking of how he could prevent her from seeing the films if she had not already lived them (even if she had, perhaps), how to convince her not to watch them. Planning the moves in this game that had now changed on him rather unexpectedly - for the better, for once. Loki had never been one to spill into words, anyway; he may have them there, stacking up against his voice, waiting to tumble free - but his control over them was something he had learned early, learned watching Frigga herself, watching his brother’s complete freedom of word and how much trouble it caused him. He could say many things, but until he had weighed the situation, an ill-placed word could make matters more complicated, upset her... He had no desire to do that any more than he was certain he someday inevitably would.

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bamfqueen
2013-12-16 08:28 pm UTC (link)

It seemed a strange question to be asked, but Frigga took it as if it were ordinary. Their world was peculiar enough, and this one they'd found themselves in clearly wasn't what anyone could consider 'normal'. Loki hadn't been there when Malekith had invaded the palace. He hadn't seen her shielding Jane Foster. Maybe he hadn't even been told yet. But what a terrible way to learn of her fate.

And yet, what was he doing here, if this was some form of afterlife? He had tricked them with his death once. Was he tricking her with his life, now? Or was this her reward, her ending. Being given the child she feared hated her so. But why in this form? If she were to be given Loki as a sign of things she'd done right, why wouldn't it be the child, the baby she'd raised as her own son?

She was confused. Unsettled and upset and the Queen of Asgard did not like it. She was never without her footing and did not appreciate being as such now.

Warily, she eyed him. "Why do you ask such things?" she questioned, a hint of fear in her voice. Not so much that the average subject would catch it. Even Odin would think perhaps he'd imagined it. But her boys knew her better than any, and Loki likely would catch it where none would.

He wanted an answer, he would get one. And she would be entirely honest. Even if it nearly broke her inside to say it. Lifting her chin regally, Frigga straightened her shoulders, meeting her son's eyes. Or the image of her son. She'd been so certain, had felt him coming back to himself, but what if it was simply an excellent copy? What if a blade through her had impaired her judgment greatly? "The palace was attacked," she answered smoothly, all fear now doused in the tone that said, simply, that she was royal and dignified and would stand for nothing less than perfection. "I gave my life fighting to defend it and those in my care."

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